The Distant Road
In my memory, it was a long and wide road. As the car drove past, it raised a thick layer of dust, and people walking along the roadside had to raise their arms and cover their mouths.
It was a distant road. When I was young, my elder sister would hold my hand and walk along the roadside, and I tried to take big steps, and the crumbs under my feet made a creaking sound, as if telling me that my little steps, if I wanted to go home, I had to reach what year and month.
It was a lonely road. My elder sister hummed songs for me, and I, on the other hand, was always thinking about going home. I wanted my parents and my younger siblings. I tried to draw the scene of my family being at home in my mind, which was only the sycamore tree at the entrance of my home. I was a little resentful of this road, resentful that it was so long and so far, and why it blocked my reunion with my family.
In my memory, on that road, it was covered with a thick layer of snow. My father drove a horse-drawn carriage, and my mother and I sat in the car, covered with a thick cotton blanket. We arrived at my aunt's house, and my father didn't go in, my mother said she would come over soon, let me first warm up on the kang. Later, I waited and waited, and they didn't appear in front of me. I knew they had already gone home. After that, I lived with my aunt. I once thought it was a dream, but it was so real, I couldn't distinguish whether it was a dream or not. Until I grew up, I mentioned it to my mother, and my mother's eyes were wet, saying, 'At that time, I was one and a half years old.'
From then on, that road was imprinted in my mind. The gray-blue gravel shards, the dust raised after the car passed, mixed with the smell of gasoline, and on both sides of the road were square and round stone pillars. It was an insurmountable road.
In my dream, I flew over that road and arrived at our village. I excitedly ran home, the door was open, but there was no one inside. I stepped out of my home and came to the alley, and I saw my mother's back. My mother was holding my younger sister and walking ahead. She wore a low braid, a white sweater, green trousers, and black shoes. I shouted at my mother to chase after her, but she walked away faster and farther away. I cried and chased after her, and in my dream, my mother disappeared at a corner. There was a bag on the ground, and I went over to see it, and it was my younger sister! But my younger sister was dead! I! I woke up from the dream, and the towel on my pillow was wet.
Auntie came over and asked, 'What's wrong? Did you have a nightmare? Missing your mother?'
I wiped away my tears, afraid that Auntie would feel uncomfortable. I said, 'I had a nightmare, I didn't miss my mother.'
That year, I was four years old, my younger sister was one year old.
I went to my aunt's orchard to cross the road. Every time I went to the orchard, I would walk along the road towards home and look at it more often, imagining that if it could become shorter, if I could fly, if I could ride a bicycle.
My elder sister rode her bicycle along the road for a long time, taking me to visit my home. Yes, she took me to visit. Because after eating, my elder sister would ride her bicycle to take me back to my aunt's house. But I was still very happy and excited! Because I could see my mother, father, and younger sister! Even just for a little while!
My aunt's neighbors all said, 'This girl stays here, she doesn't want to return to her family.' It's true, children, who will treat them well? If not absolutely necessary, let the child stay with you.
A little me kept everything hidden in my heart. I didn't want to make my aunt sad, and I didn't want them to know that I missed my parents. So I blamed that innocent road. Who made it so long and so far! Far away that my parents couldn't come to see me! Far away that my elder sister couldn't take me there twice a year! Later, when I grew up, I finally knew that the road to my home was only about five kilometers away.
I am Xichenana, insisting on the top headline original. Heard that writing can heal, I use it to heal my childhood. No one can replace parents' love. If not absolutely necessary, let the child stay with you.
