Under The Same Blue Sky

When Bill was very young, they had been in love. Many nights they had spent walking, talking together. Then something not very important had come between them, and they didn’t speak. Impulsively, she had married a man she thought she loved. Bill went away, bitter about women.

Yesterday, walking across Washington Square, she saw him for the first time in years.

“Bill Walker,” she said.
He stopped. At first he did not recognize her, to him she looked so old.
“Mary! Where did you come from?”
Unconsciously, she lifted her face as though wanting a kiss, but he held out his hand. She took it.
“I live in New York now,” she said.
“Oh” — smiling politely. Then a little frown came quickly between his eyes.
“Always wondered what happened to you, Bill.”
“I’m a lawyer. Nice firm, way downtown.”
“Married yet?”
“Sure. Two kids.”
“Oh,” she said.

A great many people went past them through the park. People they didn’t know. It was late afternoon. Nearly sunset. Cold.

“And your husband?” he asked her.
“We have three children. I work in the bursar’s office at Columbia.”
“You’re looking very . . .” (he wanted to say old) “. . . well,” he said.

She understood. Under the trees in Washington Square, she found herself desperately reaching back into the past. She had been older than he then in Ohio. Now she was not young at all. Bill was still young.

“We live on Central Park West,” she said. “Come and see us sometime.”
“Sure,” he replied. “You and your husband must have dinner with my family some night. Any night. Lucille and I’d love to have you.”

The leaves fell slowly from the trees in the Square. Fell without wind. Autumn dusk. She felt a little sick.

“We’d love it,” she answered.
“You ought to see my kids.” He grinned.

Suddenly the lights came on up the whole length of Fifth Avenue, chains of misty brilliance in the blue air.

“There’s my bus,” she said.
He held out his hand. “Good-bye.”
“When . . .” she wanted to say, but the bus was ready to pull off. The lights on the avenue blurred, twinkled, blurred. And she was afraid to open her mouth as she entered the bus. Afraid it would be impossible to utter a word.

Suddenly she shrieked very loudly. “Good-bye!” But the bus door had closed.

The bus started. People came between them outside, people crossing the street, people they didn’t know. Space and people. She lost sight of Bill. Then she remembered she had forgotten to give him her address — or to ask him for his — or tell him that her youngest boy was named Bill too.

The kiss of Prince awakens sleeping Beauty. So kissing should be regarded as a symbol of pure and holy love. This is my understanding of kiss. Nowadays, kiss is abused in public places: kisses in a crowded bus, kisses on the wooden chair of campus, kisses in front of dormitory, etc. as a spectator, I think kissing in public places would pollute other’s eyesight. It’s not only immoral but against our culture and tradition.
No one could deny its nobility to express affection to another person through a kiss so long as it is in a right place and at right time. But out of place and at wrong time, it will make many people feel disgusted and uncomfortable. Some people may claim that kissing is their own business and they don’t force others to see them. This is nonsense just like a person who smokes in public claims that he doesn’t force others to smoke; also like a neighbor who turn his volume up on the stereo to make noises claims that he doesn’t force his neighbors to hear it. It’s true that our society is becoming open for our personality, but as a person in a civilized society, we should not do things without considering others’ feeling. It is a matter of social morality.
Every nation has its own cultural tradition. The same can be said of China. Chinese people put great value on affections among them, yet the way to express feelings is quite different from that in western countries, where kissing is considered common just as shaking hands in China. Under the influence of western culture, many young people swallow blindly the fresh and exciting way of expressing love. However, we must know that opening door to the outside world doesn’t mean welcoming everything with exotic tastes. We must learn to distinguish what’s proper and what’s improper for us. It is by no means a good thing for one to imitate something foreign just for showing that he or she is an avant-garde. Our attitudes towards public kiss may change as time goes on, but I assume it still have a long way to go.
In my opinion, love is private and should be treated privately. We can equally express our deep feelings towards a person without public kisses. Still water runs deep.

Sometimes I really doubt whether there is love between my parents. Every day they are very busy trying to earn money in order to pay the high tuition for my brother and me. They don’t act in the romantic ways that I read in books or I see on TV. In their opinion, “I love you” is too luxurious for them to say. Sending flowers to each other on Valentine’s Day is even more out of the question. Finally my father has a bad temper. When he’s very tired from the hard work, it is easy for him to lose his temper.

One day, my mother was sewing a quilt. I silently sat down beside her and looked at her.

“Mom, I have a question to ask you,” I said after a while.

“What?” she replied, still doing her work.

“Is there love between you and Dad?” I asked her in a very low voice.

My mother stopped her work and raised her head with surprise in her eyes. She didn’t answer immediately. Then she bowed her head and continued to sew the quilt.

I was very worried because I thought I had hurt her. I was in a great embarrassment and I didn’t know what I should do. But at last I heard my mother say the following words:

“Susan,” she said thoughtfully, “Look at this thread. Sometimes it appears, but most of it disappears in the quilt. The thread really makes the quilt strong and durable. If life is a quilt, then love should be a thread. It can hardly be seen anywhere or anytime, but it’s really there. Love is inside.”

I listened carefully but I couldn’t understand her until the next spring. At that time, my father suddenly got sick seriously. My mother had to stay with him in the hospital for a month. When they returned from the hospital, they both looked very pale. It seemed both of them had had a serious illness.

After they were back, every day in the morning and dusk, my mother helped my father walk slowly on the country road. My father had never been so gentle. It seemed they were the most harmonious couple. Along the country road, there were many beautiful flowers, green grass and trees. The sun gently glistened through the leaves. All of these made up the most beautiful picture in the world.

The doctor had said my father would recover in two months. But after two months he still couldn’t walk by himself. All of us were worried about him.

“Dad, how are you feeling now?” I asked him one day.

“Susan, don’t worry about me.” he said gently. “To tell you the truth, I just like walking with your mom. I like this kind of life.” Reading his eyes, I know he loves my mother deeply.

Once I thought love meant flowers, gifts and sweet kisses. But from this experience, I understand that love is just a thread in the quilt of our life. Love is inside, making life strong and warm…