Chapter 3 August is young (2)

Joe is a woman.We met in English class at evening school. She wears a gray-green cotton embroidered blouse, that green, like damp moss that has never seen the sun, parasitic in the cool corner of the wall.The foot of the wall is a place that can bring a sense of security, so I chose to sit next to her.We put the books upright, looked down at each other's palmistry, as if we were back in the school days when we were teenagers.I love how her hair brushes against my face. There aren't any unwanted lines on your palms.Joe said, you are a terrible person. Why? Because it says some premature deaths and accidents.

Is it scary? Maybe.There was shock on her face. I smiled lightly and pinched her fingers instead.A woman's skin is soft and fragrant.Like petals.After class, we go to the bar for a drink, or just stand by the little shop and buy a Coke with ice.She works in an advertising company and has a software boyfriend whom she calls Chaoyan. We have known each other for 10 years.She said, I have to hold his hand when I sleep. Are you going to marry him? yes.I want to marry him.affim.I want to give him 10 children.she laughs.Innocently put her face on my shoulder. I smoked lightly and didn't speak.

As a child I was a silent child.A silent child brings fear.If she has no joy when she should laugh, no tears when she should cry, no promises when she should believe.She is suspected of being disabled. I love flowers and tearing their petals off one by one, leaving fingernail nicks, or crumpling them into juice.I don't understand why they don't have blood.This is a life that does not know pain, which makes people suddenly hate. My mother often smokes alone on the side, looking at me indifferently.She is a woman with blue eyes and a sad smile. She regards me as her peers, not a child, because she is a different mother.

First, she is lonely.Second, she is not married.Third, she died when I was 12 years old.