Ying had always imagined it would start like this: on a sunny afternoon, she walks by a ginkgo tree, under which a young man sits playing his guitar. Sunshine sneaks through ginkgo leaves and shines on his black hair, giving it a golden glow. He notices her approaching and raises his head. Their eyes meet. They fall in love. They marry and live happily ever after.
But it didn’t start like this.
As Ying rode her bicycle to work that June morning, she looked at the gray sky and thought, “It’s going to rain today.” She found herself excited at the idea. At least it would be a change. She’d been working as a cashier at a local convenience store since high school. Now, she was twenty-seven, and her life in the small town of Shazhou was quiet and unchanging. She hadn’t expected herself to like a cashier’s job, but she gradually got used to it and enjoyed standing behind the counter, seeing people come and go and wondering about their lives. It was like watching movies.
The convenience store was located on a small street. With the impending rain, hardly any people came in all morning. It felt humid in the store even with the air conditioner running. Ying usually read on slow days like this, but she was in a low mood. She leaned against the counter and stared at the grayness outside. From the window, the only view was the square, dull buildings of the apartment complex across the street. That was when Mr. Cool walked in.
Ying couldn’t remember how many blind dates she’d gone on. She was aware of the rules. A cashier, especially a chubby cashier with brown freckles on her nose, wasn’t the first choice for men. Men preferred pretty girls who worked in offices, banks, or schools. That none of her blind dates had called her back hurt her mother more than her. She wanted Ying to have her freckles removed.
Ying’s mother made it her mission to find Ying a husband. She enlisted the help of warm-hearted family and friends to play matchmakers.
“I found someone who’s a perfect match for you,” her aunt proudly announced over the phone. “He’s twenty-nine, 170 centimeters tall, works for the steel company. His aunt works with my husband. Really nice guy. Good income.”
Ying hated blind dates. It seemed odd for two strangers to meet and fall in love just because her mother’s matchmakers happened to know them both and think they might be compatible after weighing their family backgrounds, jobs, appearances, and ages. But how much do they really know about her?
As expected, the date didn’t turn out to be exciting. They met in a crowded teahouse. Goldfish gasped for oxygen in a fish tank by the entrance. Her aunt went with her, and the young man arrived with his aunt as well.
The two aunts talked much more than the two potential lovers.
Afterward, when Ying got home, her mom asked eagerly, “How did it go?”
“I don’t know.” Ying was having a hard time remembering if he wore glasses or not.
“Did he ask you for your number?”
“No.”
Her mom said, slowly, unable to hide her disappointment, “Don’t worry. We still have time.”
It had been ten years since Ying last saw Mr. Cool. He’d been a year ahead of her in school, and they’d never taken a class together. She’d been too shy even to find out his name. Occasionally, she’d encounter him in the hallway, at the bicycle shed, or in the gym. She named him Mr. Cool because something about him stood out. Once, at the bicycle shed, a dozen bicycles had tipped over and were lying scattered across the ground. He was walking by with several other boys, and immediately he stopped and started to set the bicycles upright.
His friend said, “Why do you bother? If the bike owners come, they’ll think you’re the one who caused it and be mad at you.”
He continued to work. She had the urge to help him, but she didn’t.
Another time, she was playing badminton in the gym. He was there, too, playing volleyball with some boys. Her birdie landed at his feet. He picked it up and started to walk toward her across the gym.
One of the boys said, “Hey, just throw it back. We’re waiting for you to serve.”
He kept walking, as if he didn’t hear him. He stopped in front of her, placed the birdie in her hand, and said, “Here you go.”
She blushed and forgot to say thank you.
Mr. Cool hadn’t changed at all—still handsome, tall, with a crewcut. He wore a tan ironed shirt without a tie. She wondered what he had been doing all these years. Did he still live in town? Did he go to college? Was he married?
She felt a jump in her chest as she thought of the last question. What if he wasn’t married? What if he didn’t even have a girlfriend? Oh, there shouldn’t be any “what ifs.” After all, she was just a plain cashier. He probably didn’t remember her at all. But she wanted to talk to him. She needed to talk to him. Tell him she’d named him Mr. Cool and ask if he liked the name. Tell him some blind date stories. Tell him she didn’t care those guys never called her back because she wanted something more. Something more than them. Tell him all about herself. He’d understand.
“Hi.” His voice startled her. She blushed like a schoolgirl and rang up his items. A box of chocolate. A shaving blade. Poetry Magazine.
“Is that all?” she asked. He read Poetry Magazine. That was her favorite, too.
“Could I have a package of Zhonghua?”
“Sure,” she said and handed him cigarettes. He smoked. When did he start to smoke? Did he drink, too? There were too many things she didn’t know about him. Too many things she wanted to know. “That’s fifty-three yuan.”
“Here you go,” he said.
Here you go. Many years ago, he’d said the exact same thing when he’d put the birdie in her hand.
“It’s muggy today,” he said while waiting for his change. “It’s going to rain,”
“Yes, just don’t know when it’ll finally come,” she said. Did he notice she was flushed? “Better sooner than later. Oh, thank you.” He took the receipt and change.
“Sure,” she said, eyes lowered. Many years ago, he’d picked up the birdie for her and took the trouble to go across the gym to return it, but she hadn’t said thank you. She should have. And she should’ve helped him set the bicycles upright.
He disappeared through the store gate. Outside, the sky darkened. It was going to rain soon.
That night she was sleepless. The air was sticky. The rain still hadn’t come after brewing all day. She’d never felt so bad about herself, about the way she lived. He’d never come back to the store. She’d spend the rest of her life wondering about him and regretting the things she hadn’t done.
Poetry Magazine. She should’ve told him she liked that magazine, too. Who was his favorite poet? Did he like Hai Zi? Hai Zi killed himself by lying on the rail in Shanhaiguan. People said he was crazy. People said all poets were kind of crazy. Did he think so?
She should stop wondering. She had spent enough time wondering. She needed to change. Her life needed to change. She needed to say the things she meant to say and do the things she wanted to do. She hated blinds dates. She wanted more for her life than the convenience store.
She’d start tomorrow. Tomorrow she’d quit her job. The manager and other cashiers would be shocked. So what? She’d had enough quiet life. She would walk out from behind the counter. She’d leave the small town she’d lived in her whole life. Her mother would cry and try to stop her. But she would leave.
She’d go to Shanghai. It was a big city. She’d get a job there. Any job. She didn’t care. As long as it would pay for night school. Yes, she’d go back to school. She’d always liked languages. She’d study French because it was soft and romantic. Maybe she’d meet someone in class, someone who had Mr. Cool’s qualities. There were beautiful ginkgo trees on college campuses.
Tomorrow. Tomorrow everything would be different. She smiled to herself. She didn’t set the alarm clock for 8 a.m. like usual. As she fell asleep, thunder clapped and rain began to fall.
The telephone rang.
“Hello.” She picked it up, her eyes closed.
“This is Wei Zhang.” It was the man she’d just gone on the blind date with. “I got your number from your aunt. I was wondering if you have time to have dinner with me this evening.”
“Oh,” she said and opened her eyes. It was daylight again, a fine day. The sun shone brightly and hurt her eyes.
She remained silent for a while and then heard herself say, “Sure.”
She hung up the phone and glanced at the clock by her bed. It was almost eight. Yesterday was just a dream. Dreams and reality never met. Her mother had breakfast waiting for her. That evening after work she’d have dinner with Wei. They’d probably go on to get married. She couldn’t remember if he wore glasses or not, but that wasn’t important anyway.
Lili Xie was born in Shanghai, China. She currently lives in Austin, Texas, where she works for a translation company as a project manager. She holds an MFA in fiction from Texas State University. Her work has appeared in Chapter House Journal, Whiskey Island Magazine, and elsewhere.