by Taylor Dean
It’s Saturday and we had the day off from teaching. “We went sightseeing. Just wandered the city. We stopped at a place and got a massage. I didn’t realize how ticklish I am. Even though it felt wonderful, I couldn’t stop laughing and I think I annoyed my masseuse. I don’t think I’ll let her tickle me again anytime soon.”
Julian chuckles at my unexpected wit. Even I’m surprised, wondering where it came from.
“Enjoying teaching?” he asks.
“Yes.” Can I really not think of something more to say than that?
Julian makes up for my silence. “On one of my first days, I went with another teacher to a kindergarten class to help model the English language for the students. The Chinese teacher would say, ‘Hi, my name is Patrick. What’s your name?’ Then I would answer and say, ‘My name is Julian. It’s very nice to meet you.’ Then the children would participate with us, basically memorizing the phrases. Then we would point to our face and say, ‘Face.’ And the kids would mimic us. Then we did eyes, nose, and ears. The funniest part was when the Chinese teacher pointed to his mouth. He kept pointing to his mouth and saying ‘mouse.’ The kids knew their animal names and they were totally confused. Heads up, the ‘th’ sound is tough for the Chinese.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” Say something. Anything. “What made you decide to come to China, Julian?” His name rolls off my tongue easily and I like the feel and sound of it. His name is as velvety as his voice.
Stop it, Savannah. You have found Paul.
Julian shrugs. “Just wanted to avoid life.”
“How so?” He’d promised the unabridged version of his decision to stay in China and I am suddenly very curious about him.
“It’s a long unpleasant story.”
“I’m listening.” It’s what I’m good at.
“You asked for it. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. My mother met a lady who was down on her luck and, having a soft heart, let her stay in a room of her house. Then my mother became ill. While my mom laid in bed, my father and their resident became close, if you know what I mean. My mother knew what was going on, we all did. Her eyes were always red rimmed and puffy. We all knew she was crying when no one was looking. It killed me. Eventually the doctors realized she needed gall bladder surgery. It should’ve been an easy, somewhat routine surgery. Instead my despondent mother passed during the surgery.” Julian stilled. “She shouldn’t have. It was as if she’d given up on life.”
Whoa, I didn’t expect that. “I’m so sorry.”
“My father married Ruth, the resident, only two months later. I couldn’t stand seeing them together. My life wasn’t going where I wanted it to anyway. I decided to get away and here I am.”
“That’s horrible. I’d want to avoid them too.”
“Right? Needless to say, I don’t speak to my father. I’m still pretty angry with him.”
“With good reason.” I thought of my mother and the way she’d lost her will to live after losing my father. “Your mother, she died of a broken heart.”
He scoffs. “You’re a romantic, Savannah Tate.”
“Maybe.”
“The world needs more people like you.” He lets out his breath. “I need someone like you.”
The room spins and inky blackness surrounds my sudden tunnel vision. Why would he say something like that? “You hardly know me.” My voice sounds breathy even to my own ears.
“One glance and I knew,” he says enigmatically.
“Knew what?”
He stands, finished with his tune-up of my bike. He approaches slowly, almost tentatively. I stand too, aware of nothing but him. His hand touches my cheek, softly at first, then he rubs as if removing a smudge. “One glance and I knew you’d been handling a greasy bike.”
That darn disconnect between my brain and my tongue manifests itself again. I swear the wires are crossed in there somewhere. An embarrassing little sound from the back of my throat erupts, and I want to say excuse me, as if I’d burped or something.
But as he carries my bike down the stairs, all I manage is a quiet, “Thank you.”
I’m not even sure he heard me.
Chapter Eleven
September
“SAVANNAH?”
I open my apartment door. “Ni hao, Miss Li.”
“Good morning, Savannah. You have a phone call.”
“I’ll be right down,” I say with a cheesy grin. It has to be Paul. I haven’t heard from him in several days. I’ve been trying not to read too much into it, especially since he’d asked if we could get together again. I figured I just needed to be patient, even though I long to be with him.
I practically fly down the stairs to the back door desk. Miss Li hands me the phone with a knowing smile.
“Hello, Savannah,” says a deep and confident voice.
It’s Paul. I knew it would be. I quickly agree to spend the afternoon—after classes—with him at a local park. The call is brief and I can tell he’s busy.
“Who is this man, Savannah?” Miss Li asks with her penetrating gaze.
I find myself saying, “I think he’s the one, the man I’m meant to be with.”
“How do you know this?”
Mr. Pow Pow had asked the same question. Only he’d been kidding. Miss Li is utterly serious.
So, how do I know? Is it just because his name is Paul?
Feeling ashamed, I know the answer to that is a resounding yes.
But there’s more to it. So much more.
Because the mysterious lady from my childhood told me so. Because the Red Bird made it all true.
I ponder over the truth. I feel unwilling to explain the whole story to Miss Li, even though she feels like someone I can confide in. I worry she’ll think I’m a bit on the crazy side.
Besides, I can’t brush away the most convincing truth—too many random coincidences have brought Paul and I together. Who am I to argue with destiny?
All that aside, why am I drawn to Paul Brooks? His handsome face? His business success?
There needs to be more than that and I know it. So far, I love his gentlemanly nature. His demeanor was a tad serious on the phone a moment ago, but I’d gotten a glimpse of his sense of humor in the elevator, so I know it exists.
I’m still getting to know him. In spite of my strong feelings concerning fate, I know we need more time together before I can be totally sure that he is the Paul. My common sense is holding me back and keeping me safe from making a huge impetuous mistake. I need to listen to that voice or I’ll be a fool. I’m not about to fall in love with him just because his name is Paul.
Am I?
Yes, I am. Who am I kidding?
But I know he needs to be the right Paul. And he needs to feel the same things I feel for him.
So many ifs. How does anyone ever find love?
“I just know. I can’t explain it. I mean, I’m not positive, but I’m pretty sure.”
Miss Li touches my arm lightly. “Remember, Savannah, all things are difficult before they are easy.”
Somehow, there’s a message conveyed in that Chinese saying, I’m just not sure why Miss Li feels the need to say it. “What do you mean?”
“It is easy to find a thousand soldiers, but hard to find a good general.”
Frustrated, I wish Miss Li would come out and say what she wants to say instead of speaking in code through Chinese sayings. “I’ll keep that in mind, Miss Li. Thanks.”
She nods her head. “Be true to yourself and you’ll be fine. I’m always here if you need me, Savannah.”
That afternoon I decide to cast all of my indecision away. “This is amazing,” I say as I walk hand in hand with Paul amidst the beautifully landscaped Zhongshan Zhan Park.
There’s a huge lake, bridges, and immaculate Suzhou style gardens surrounding me and I feel like I’m dreaming. The paths meander up and down stairs, leading us to new and amazing settings at every turn. It’s one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever seen.
Even
more beautiful because I’m with Paul.
“This is one of my favorite places in Zhongshan,” he says.
“Thank you for bringing me here.” I feel like a silly little girl at the biggest toy store I’ve ever been in. I expected to feel slightly terrified in China. Instead, I find it magical.
“So, what have you been up to?” Paul is wearing khaki slacks and a short-sleeved polo. He looks as handsome as ever in his somewhat casual clothes.
“Occasional sightseeing. And preparing lesson plans. I’m teaching the Basic Reading class. I teach for four hours every afternoon. I have ten or twelve students at a time as they rotate through English lessons. I teach the same lesson once an hour, so it’s not too terribly hard to prepare for.”
“Hmmmmm. Sounds interesting.”
As we near a pagoda, we hear the peaceful sounds of monks chanting.
“Would you like to stop and listen for a bit?” Paul asks.
“Sure.” We enter the pagoda during a brief reprieve. I notice one of the monks takes out an iPod and messes with it for a moment. Soon a recording of chanting monks plays over the airwaves and the other monks join in.
Huh. And here I’d thought it was all them.
For some reason it makes me want to giggle. When a few muffled sounds pass my lips, Paul smiles at me knowingly. Evidently he noticed the iPod too.
While the monks have shaved heads and are wearing orange robes, their footwear isn’t what I expected either. I thought they’d be wearing some sort of old world sandals. Nope, they’re wearing modern Nikes. I hold in my giggles over that one too. Just barely. The incongruity of old and new tickles my funny bone.
Regardless, the chanting is serene, ethereal. It’s easy to close my eyes and let myself drift. With Paul’s arm wrapped around me and my head on his shoulder, we enjoy listening to the calming chants.
Afterwards, we walk lazily until we come across a row of outdoor snack kiosks and decide to try some ice cream.
“This isn’t going to be what you expect,” he tells me.
“In China, nothing is.”
“Black sesame or sweet pea?”
I cringe. How can peas and dessert ever be in the same sentence? It seems like a crime. “Okay, I wasn’t expecting that.”
He chuckles lightly. Several circular chest-high tables dot the patio area, meant for patrons to stand at and eat their quick snack. It’s casual and relaxed and perfect for our day in the park.
“Let’s get one scoop of each and share,” I suggest and he readily agrees. Guess I’m going to give peas one more chance. This is their last chance.
We opt to sit on the grass under a shady cherry blossom tree and enjoy our ice cream. It’s humid, but the September weather is absolutely perfect and I feel as though I’m sitting in a postcard. The water trickles by in the nearby lake and swans float past us. The tranquil setting feels very Asian and very surreal.
The flavors of the ice cream are savory rather than sweet, but not as bad as I’d imagined.
“I’ve been crazy busy, but I missed you, Savannah Tate.”
“I missed you too.” I offer him a taste of my ice cream and he accepts.
“I don’t usually miss people.”
“Ever?”
“I’m a very focused person. I concentrate on the task at hand and don’t think about other things.”
“You’re driven. That’s why you’re so successful.”
“Perhaps. I’m not used to feeling distracted by a pretty face. Please don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re not my usual type. I’m sorry if that sounds rude.”
I know what he means. If he hadn’t been forced into noticing me while trapped in the elevator, he probably wouldn’t have given me a second glance. My quiet nature does not demand attention. “I’m not offended. I know what you mean.” Story of my life. Actually, I am a tiny bit offended. However, I can’t choose invisibility, but then feel sorry for myself when no one notices me. I can’t have it both ways. It’s something I’d accepted long ago. “So, what is your type?”
“I tend to date business women. They’re ultra confident, aggressive, and forceful. They know what they want and they don’t hesitate to go after it.”
The exact opposite of me. I mean I’m not a wimp or anything, but no one will ever describe me as aggressive and forceful.
Paul holds out a spoonful of ice cream and I take a bite. “But you,” he says, “you’re soft and sweet. And I can’t stop thinking about you.”
At last. A compliment was hiding in there somewhere. It just took a while to reveal itself. “You’re my first thought in the morning and my last thought at night,” I admit. In all actuality, my obsession with Paul consumes my thoughts morning, noon, and night. Now I have a face to associate with the name.
His expression brightens as he leans toward me and kisses me on the lips, holding the kiss for longer than I expect.
With a wistful expression, he says, “I never realized I wanted—or even needed—a person who’s thinking of me. I’ve never had it, so why would I miss it? I think I might enjoy having someone who notices when I’m not around, someone who is happy when I arrive home at the end of the day. You’ve made me recognize that I’m lacking in some areas of my life.”
My entire body stills, my stomach tightening with trepidation. “What do you want out of life?” A mantra of “please don’t change now” wanders through my mind.
“I want my business to be successful. To be honest, I’ve never really thought about much more than that. It’s like there’s this huge brick wall in my mind that prevents me from looking any further. Lately though, I’ve begun to wonder if I’d like to share my life with someone else.”
“What else?” I hold my breath while awaiting his answer. Perhaps my soft voice was carried away by the breeze and he hadn’t heard me.
He tilts his head to one side. “What else is there?”
He’d heard me all right, he’d just been deep in thought. “You know, wife, children, family, home. White picket fence.”
“Hmmmmm, there is that. I think if a man is going to have a family he ought to be dedicated to them. If not, he shouldn’t have one.”
“You’re thinking of your father.”
“Yes. He left us and never looked back. I don’t want to be that person. I’m dedicated to my business. I don’t have much time for anything else.”
“And you’re happy with that?”
Paul seems to think on it. “Yes, I am, actually.”
I wonder if the relief I feel is visible. “At least you’re honest.”
“If you can’t be honest with yourself, you won’t be honest with anyone else.”
“That sounds like a Chinese saying.”
“It does, doesn’t it?” He downs his last bite of ice cream. “Pea ice cream. Whoda thought? It’s rather refreshing.”
It reminds me of a palate cleanser, not exactly horrible, but not something I’d ever look forward to eating again.
Maybe that makes it horrible. Never again, peas, never again. Our relationship is over.
Paul stretches and lays out flat on his back, placing his arms behind his head. “I need more days like today. This is relaxing. I can’t remember the last time I took a day off.”
I join him.
“I don’t have to travel anywhere for the next three weeks. It’ll be nice to stay at home for a change and become reacquainted with my own bed.”
I smile.
“So, what about you, Savannah Tate? What do you want in life?”
“I’m not a very outgoing person. I just want someone to love and someone who will love me in return. I don’t need more than that.”
My mother’s dying words pass through my mind.
Promise me you will demand a life that requires all the love inside of you, a life that reaches inside of you and squeezes out every ounce of love from your heart. Only then will you find happiness.
Am I selling myself short? I have many options in life, I shouldn’t s
ettle. Should I demand more of life? Won’t teaching children for a living fulfill the ache in my heart?
Paul wraps his arm around me and pulls me close. My head rests on his chest, the sound of his heartbeat thumping in my ear.
No, this is all I need. Here and now.
We doze for a little over an hour, the shade keeping us comfortable as the light breeze whispers over our skin.
Later, we continue to meander through the park, hand in hand, flitting from subject to subject. Our lazy and lethargic afternoon turns out to be the perfect setting for a budding romance. With every passing moment, I feel more and more convinced that he is the right Paul. Being together feels effortless and the easy camaraderie between us feels natural.
We come across another stunning lake and stand on a charming bridge, watching the ducks float by.
“I visited Guilin once. It has some very old Chinese villages where the fishermen train ducks to fish for them. They tie rope around their necks so the ducks can’t swallow any of the fish they catch. The ducks dive for the fish, then pop back up, and the fishermen hold them over a basket until they spit out the fish. It’s an unbelievable thing to watch.”
“That’s terrible. Seems like cruel and unusual punishment for the ducks.”
He shrugs. “It’s how the fishermen survive and earn their living. But I love your soft heart. It’s rather refreshing.”
As long as Paul finds me refreshing and as long as I make him ponder about his need for companionship in life, I don’t mind the fact that I’m not his “usual type.” At least, that’s what I tell myself. The thought still stings a little.
“I’d love to take you to Guilin. You’d enjoy it. And while we’re there, you can speak your mind to those nasty fishermen.”
His words tell me he plans on spending more time with me. The thought makes my heart swell.
As dusk falls, we enjoy watching the “show” in the middle of the lake. It features a fountain, colorful lights, and music that rivals a similar show I’d seen at an amusement park. Paul stands next to me, our hands laced together tightly.
He whispers in my ear, “This is nice.”
“Yes.” It’s a rare moment in my life wherein I feel utter peace. The sights, the sounds, Paul’s touch—all combine to create a few minutes of serenity.
