I really want to write a novel like this.You can play whatever you want, freely, and it feels very fun.Fantasy novels, private novels, essays, every genre is fascinating.Just when I read Kawabata Yasunari's "Hand Novel" I felt so emotional.He asked me if I was interested in writing ten manuscripts a month and serializing them in their house magazine. The content and structure can be freely developed.At that time, I still had the serialized novel in my hand, and my schedule was already packed.However, in the end, I still couldn't resist the temptation to write novels at will.This novel is a collection of my achievements in those two years.This is a rare collection of works written without considering the reader.Just as the first line of a novel is the life of the work, so the first line of a short story is extremely important.When I was twenty-six, my mother passed out due to a cerebral hemorrhage.The whiteboard hanging outside the intensive care unit of the hospital is exactly the same as the one described in the movie.Only the part where my girlfriend came to me is fictional, and the other parts are almost real.I was still a freelancer at the time, and when I saw that number, I secretly made up my mind.One day, I'm going to write it as a novel.Sixteen years have passed, and now, it has turned into these words.The encounter and fate between novels can never be expected.

77 1 58 65 14 0 61 39 2 I stared blankly at the numbers on the whiteboard in front of me.During these three days, I would watch twelve hours a day.Even with eyes closed, the numbers don't disappear.I'm sitting on a dark gray bench that's made of synthetic leather that's so stiff it doesn't look like it's upholstered at all.In the corridor, fluorescent lamps installed at intervals cast pure white light.There are no windows here, only the time of day is left on the watch.The first night I used the bench as a bed and took a nap for a few hours before dawn. This is a general hospital near the terminus.On the right side of the corridor where the whiteboard is hung, there are twelve intensive care units separated by white plastic curtains.Unless someone comes in or out, the curtains are always motionless.It looks like unless the hospital is demolished, there probably won't be any wind blowing into this room.Among them, there are nine intensive care units inhabited. Those numbers represent the age of the patient, and the date of operation and simple condition are written next to it.

My mother is the third number, 58.She had been in a coma for seventy-two hours.Mother had passed out while out, and she had fallen into a deep coma when my father and I took her to the hospital three nights earlier. Say something inexplicable.Compared with normal people who thought they were busy preparing for hospitalization and running around contacting relatives, the body temperature of the mother's forehead, palms and toes seemed warmer. My father and I took turns guarding the corridor.During the day, I, who skipped my college studies, was in charge, and at night, my father, who was off work, stayed here.It's not so much that we accompany mother in the hospital, but that we take turns asserting the right to occupy this bench.I like reading, but when I was in the corridor, I challenged reading several times, but the words seemed to have turned into dry sand, lost their original meaning, and left my field of vision.

My father and I didn't talk about my mother.It seems too early to talk about the past, and besides, we are all exhausted.In just three days, my father's face became thinner and his eyes sunken.If I look in the mirror, my face should be similar.I had no appetite at all. In order to avoid adding another patient to the hospital, I had to eat on time, but the food was tasteless. At the end of the second day of my mother's hospitalization, two classmates who said they were from her girls' high school days came to visit her.They stood in the corridor, watching the mother on the life support system for a long time through the drawn curtains, and one of them said:

"She is really a good person and a good mother. Don't be discouraged and work hard." Her eyes were flushed, and those ordinary words contained amazing power, which caused my inner feelings to break through the calm heart and burst the embankment.The first time I saw these two friends of my mother, I didn't want to cry in front of them, but the tears still flowed down. That was the first time I cried after my mother passed out.My head hurt from crying too much.I sat on the bench and started my homework again looking at the numbers on the whiteboard in front of me.Staring at the time of those nine numbers is the most relaxing moment for the mind.There is no sadness or joy in the numbers, just counting the years that the patient has gone through.During the total 317 years of the nine people, I don't know what happened?

I added and subtracted numbers, killing the hours I was responsible for. In the evening of the next day, my girlfriend came to visit me.She and I attended the same university, specializing in American literature.She reads books by He Wen, but not Mark Twain's works.I was not interested in any department in the university, so I studied economics according to my parents' wishes.It was Saturday, and my father got up from the bench to greet him, and she handed him a bouquet of lilies.It was the short summer day before the rainy season, and she was wearing a light blue and white seersucker short-sleeved dress.The arms exposed under the slightly tight cuffs are round and plump, bringing a dazzling light to the dark corridor of the intensive care unit.

After listening to her words of condolence, my father took out the banknotes from the wallet and handed them to me very considerately. "Go and eat something delicious." "When you come back, do you want to bring you a lunch box?" I asked, and my father shook his head tiredly.My girlfriend and I walked along the corridor to the elevator lobby.When I couldn't see my father, I said to my girlfriend who was a few steps behind me: "Excuse me, can you please stop talking about my mom? I want to be as dating as possible." She raised her eyes, covered with a blue handkerchief, with a puzzled expression.

"Since what you say, fine. No problem." Although I don't know if I'm okay, I still nodded with a smile.I didn't tell her that since my mother passed out, I always felt as if I was floating ten centimeters above the ground. Walking out of the entrance and exit of the glass hall of the hospital, we walked towards the station.Next to the platform, there is a huge station building.My previous high school was nearby, so I was familiar with the building.When we walked up the escalator next to the ticket gate, she held my hand with her fingertips, and we were sent upward by the escalator without saying a word.

Fashion, cosmetics, leather shoes, books and CDs.The merchants in the station building display products that can be seen in any station building. These products, which have never been able to attract my attention, become gleaming and attractive at that moment. Every handwritten price tag, gold and silver ribbons placed in the window, and carefully calculated spotlight angles are no longer decorations for the purpose of sales promotion, but efforts to please the eyes of passers-by. I held her hand and went up the escalator, deeply moved by every floor of the station building.When I came to the food street on the top floor, I couldn't help crying, but it wasn't because my mother was dying.

We walked into an Italian restaurant.Usually we just order pasta, but that night, thanks to my father’s sponsorship, I added antipasti and Milanese pork chops, and each ordered a glass of house wine. We once toasted something, but the reason I have forgotten.Outside the high-ceilinged glass windows is the dazzling night view of the city station.It was a dreamlike happy date. When going down the escalator, there is a sporting goods store right in front of the fifth floor.On the display rack of white barbed wire, there are various competitive shoes.A pair of bright green suede joggers caught my eye, and when I held them in my hands and touched the velvety soft leather, I couldn't help but take them home.

I asked the clerk to come up with a size that fit me, changed into the pair on the spot, and put the old shoes in a paper bag.My girlfriend stared at me with wide eyes, but I didn't say anything. After breaking up with my girlfriend at the ticket gate at the station, I went back to the hospital alone.Father dozed off on the bench.I shook my father awake and told him to go home and rest.My father looked up into my face and said: "Looks like something good happened." Nothing good happened, but I smiled and nodded.Watching the hunched father gradually go away from the corridor, I sat on the fixed position of the bench with my head up and chest out.Under the feet is a pair of exciting light green jogging shoes. These new shoes are shining on the gray tiles, as if they are shining from the inside.I stared intently at the numbers on the whiteboard. During the next three days outside the intensive care unit, my feet remained bright green.My mother's forehead, palms and toes were still warm as she breathed her last at dawn on her seventh day in the hospital. During the week my father and I sat on the bench, three numbers disappeared from the whiteboard: my mother's 58, 65, and 1.

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Notes: author.