The Metro

Her phone was an Android. Her backpack was pale blue nylon, printed with a cute cartoon icon. There was noticeable down on her neck just below her earlobe, and her umbrella had a cartoon pattern. She wore a polyester T-shirt and black pants of the same material, with one stud at the very top of her ear and another in her earlobe. Near her chin, in the lymph-node area of her neck, she had two large, conspicuous moles, set apart from each other. There were small moles on her face, and moles on her arms too. The fine hair on her arms was very visible against her skin, yellow with a hint of white.

She was completely absorbed in talking to her different friends on WeChat, telling one of them, “I scored…”

There was also a white plastic bag. Her hair reached her shoulders, but the upper part at the back was tied with a bow, dark red like a rose that had been sitting for two days.

I was drawn to her face, but I have already forgotten her features. I sensed a plainness and a kind of innocence. My eyesight was very poor. Before, I had only been able to make out her features roughly. She was beautiful.

Ask for her WeChat, I thought.

I didn’t.

She turned her head toward me and looked to my right. I saw her face clearly; flaws appeared, and I chose to forget.

This was on the metal seats of the Shenzhen Metro. The scrape of the rails wasn’t sharp or grating. It was an ordinary scraping sound that sank into the background. The air-conditioning blew a gentle cool breeze. The announcements were in Mandarin, Cantonese, and English. The glass reflected me, this woman, and the other passengers. Orange and white lights crossed and flashed on the glass.