Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction Group 3 - 2017 | Page 205

“Lucy. How about you?” I questioned.
“Catherine. I’m four years old,” the girl said.
“Me too!” I exclaimed.
That was my first encounter with Catherine.
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The sky was still grey when I woke up the next morning. I got off my bed but immediately jumped back inside my
blanket. My cheeks had turned bright red, and I couldn't feel my toes. I walked to the closet and snatched my
sweater, covering it over my pajamas. I was still freezing, and with nothing left to put on, I took my blanket and
wrapped it around me, then tiptoed towards the front door. I swung open the door, silently closing it.
"Hey Lucy!" a young girl spoke, responding to the click of the door.
It was five in the morning, and I was on the streets with Catherine. There was no better way than to start a
day like this.
We walked down the streets. The houses surrounding us all looked the same, and I was curious as to how
Catherine knew her way around the city. I followed closely behind her, scared that I would get lost in this maze.
The city was strangely quiet, much to the contrary of what I saw the day before. Occasionally, we would see one
or two people walk by, with heavy sacks on their backs, or with a bottle in their hands, staggering away. Besides
the panting of the workers and the moaning of the alcoholics, there was silence.
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We sat on the bridge, holding tightly in our hands, the sweet rice sponge cake from the market. It was really
cold outside, but the cake warmed our body. I put my blanket aside. It danced with the breeze, swaying from one
side to the other as if waltzing. White curls of smoke escaped from my mouth as I exhaled, blurring my sight.
When the smoke faded away, I began to see the awaken city. The doors of the shops were half open, with dim
light shining from inside. The curtains reflected dancing shadows from inside the house. The soft whispering of the
city vibrated in my ears. It was the first time I got to truly appreciate the beauty and complexity of Old Shanghai,
uniform but unique; crowded but spacious; diverse but united. The sweetness of the cake, the colours of the city,
and the dancing blanket reflected my heart. The wind had stopped blowing; the stream beneath our feet became
still. The mirror reflected Catherine and I. Our faces were shining under the bright sky, our smiles brighter than
the sun. The cake had cooled down by then, but my heart was still warm.
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Two years passed by. Every morning, Catherine and I would go to the market, then ending up on the bridge
with a cake each in our hands. Then, we would play all the way till noon, where we had lunch in our houses, and
spend the rest of our day together until it was time for dinner. We met so often as if our lives depended on each
other. It never occurred to us that we would ever be separated.
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I was awoken by a gentle rocking.
“Catherine, I’m coming. Wait for me,” I muttered.
“It’s me. It’s time to wake up, Lucy. We have to catch the flight,” Her voice was so tender, so soft, as if a
slightly raised voice would crush me.
“Where are we going?” I cried as my mum dragged me out of the front door.
“We’re going to Beijing. You’re going to love it when you arrive,” said Mum soothingly.