My First Relationship Heartache (Part 2)

(This is the 2nd part of the story. The 1^st part is here.) 

As if she was deliberately trying to annoy me, she talked about her family all the time. I was not so much jealous of her good fortune as I was terribly bored since I had no family story to tell to reciprocate her conversation.

“My little brother was sitting on the ledge, about to fall over. We live on the tenth floor, you know.” She said. “I wanted to scream, but my father stopped me. He sneaked behind my brother, like a cat, and suddenly he grabbed my brother’s little body and brought him to safety.”

Apeng spoke with pride and described her father’s heroic movement in detail, but by now I’ve forgotten most of her glowing descriptions. I listened in silence. When the story ended, she waited for my response, but I had none. She looked at me expectantly, but I kept my silence. I knew she wanted me to say, “what a good father you have.” However I couldn’t bring myself to say it.

Her family lived in the city, about eight bus stops away from our school. Every weekend she would go home. On Monday, she would bring back new stories. My continued silence on her family stories conveyed nothing to her—she was rather unobservant. Or probably she was just too naïve. She believed that every family was as perfect as hers, and she would not believe there were bad families even if you put all the evidence in front of her.

At the time, I was reading a book about Russia under Stalin. It was said in the book that an honored writer of the Stalin era killed himself after Nikita Khrushchev revealed Stalin’s crimes after Stalin’s death. I can’t remember the writer’s name now. I began to think that if Apeng really understood the dark side of the world, she was probably going to be crushed or disillusioned. She was happy in her naivety. Why did I want to spoil it for her?

Or probably I was just trying to find an excuse for my cowardness. I didn’t have the courage to tell her my hatred for my family. I was not so courageous. If I were to tell her the truth, probably we could become closer. However I was very pessimistic about this. My estimation was that my revelation would not bring us closer, but rather it would confuse and confound her gullible mind. She would end up dislike or despise me.

“My father could sew and knit. He is so dexterous with his hands.” “My father could cook so well. He cooks so much better than my mother.” “My father says you are very nice to tutor me on math problems. He wants me to thank you.” Her praise of her father came out, often completely out of context, without any provocation at all. I almost asked her one day, “are you in love with your father or something?” But I refrained. I didn’t want to be a killjoy.

I knew she wanted me to reciprocate, “no need to thank me for the tutoring. You are very nice in being a friend to a poor rural girl like me.” However I just couldn’t say it.  

(To Be Continued Here)