“We’re here!”
We were strolling along the verdant green path when the trees suddenly opened above us. A long, brown gray building loomed before us.
A cool, dry gust of air conditioning greeted us upon our entrance. The austere but elegant space was so quiet that even the sound of someone flipping through the guidebook was crisp and clear. The smooth floorboards reflected Kewei and me. We’d started tightly holding hands at some point. I felt her pulse through her fingers, more anxious and fluttery than normal.
“Kewei, Xiaorong, is this your first time at the art museum?” Mr. Yangy asked with a smile, seeing how nervous we were.
We nodded.
“Thank you for bringing us, Mr. Yang,” we thanked him at the same time without prior discussion. We would not have found this place if he hadn’t driven us here for almost an hour and showed us the way. After all, the school and Kewei’s house were both in the suburbs while I lived in a faraway military dependents’ village. We barely went into the city, much less the art museum.
“You guys deserve this prize! You both worked hard at last semester’s masquerade ball!” Mr. Yangy said as he patted us. “Alright, you guys get free time now! Let’s meet up here in two hours. Look around everywhere and explore the pieces you guys like!”
Kewei’s face was flushed and she held my hand even tighter, as if to tell me just how excited she was.
Ever since Mr. Yangy had come to our class, Kewei had more time to create as she desired and share comics at school, but she was also troubled because of it.
“Xiaorong, do you think my art looks good?”
This was her twentieth time asking me this in the past few days. She had always charged straight ahead without hesitation, so it was my first time seeing her so lacking in confidence.
“I’ve already answered twenty times, but I’ll give the same answer an unlimited number of times. Your comics are really great!”
“What’s great about them?” she followed up.
“Everything, of course. Even the upperclassmen don’t draw as well as you. The comics you draw are just like the ones sold in the rental bookstore.”
“Are they like real comics?”
“Yeah!”
I had thought that these compliments would raise her spirits, but she became even more despondent.
She dejectedly put away her comics in her backpack and sprawled over her desk like a balloon with its air let out. “But I don’t want to be ‘like’ real comics…”
Huh?
“In the beginning, I only thought manga were really pretty so I did my best to copy them, just like ‘replicating’ in art class, thinking that I would reach their level some day. After a lot of practice, I finally didn’t need to copy anymore and could draw just from imagination. I thought that would let me get closer to my dream of being a comic artist. But when I looked at the dozen or so comics I’ve drawn recently, I suddenly realized that my style was still like that of the manga I originally copied. Were these comics really mine? What could I do if I was still copying no matter what I drew? If my drawings were always like someone else’s? If I couldn’t draw in my own style, how was I supposed to prove to my mom and dad that I could be an independent comic artist? Grown ups always say that comic artists don’t make enough to survive and that comics are a hobby not a living. The more I want to prove myself, the more I can’t draw something that’s mine…”
Kewei vented everything on her mind and then suddenly apologized to me, “I’m sorry, this is all me just complaining. AHHHH!!! I don’t like me when I’m like this! Just whining and not knowing how to solve the problem!”
She was so agitated that her hair was beginning to get mussed up. I hurried to comfort her, “Meow! You can complain as much as you want to me! It’s just I’m too useless. I can’t give any suggestions besides listen to you complain…”
She suddenly sat up and tightly hugged me from where I was standing by her. “I’m not talking to you if you say that you’re useless one more time. Meow, you listening to me is my biggest source of motivation.”
The rest of the class had long since gotten used to us being glued at the hip, but my heart still kind of ached at being hugged in broad daylight.
But that’s just how it had to be. Kewei was in a bad mood. If it would help her feel better, she could hug me as many times and for as long as she wanted.
“Mr. Yang’s taking us to the art museum in a few days. Maybe inspiration will strike with a chance of pace when you’re looking at other works?” I suggested.
Kewei finally looked up from where she had buried her head into my waist and blinked. “Meow! Good idea!”
Back in the present at the art museum.
Kewei started her journey to find inspiration.
Not wanting to distract her, I’d decided to wander by myself. Looking at abstract and hard to decipher art one after another, I felt even more that Kewei and I were in two separate worlds when it came to art.
A dream, huh? I don’t think I had ever had something I pursued that fervently, that I had to achieve. When had Kewei discovered that becoming a comic artist she had to achieve? I could understand how she felt, but it also felt vague. When I attended the contest through her encouragement, did what I feel then count as a dream? Did how I felt when drawing comics with her, working furiously to catch up to her, count as a dream?
Before I knew it, I had come full circle and saw Kewei starting intently at a large artwork that took up the whole wall.
The artwork was formed from overlapping layers of colored squares and rectangles. Because it didn’t depict anything “real” and the colors weren’t that vivid, I had skipped over it just now, yet Kewei had been standing there for a long, long time.
“Kewei,” I asked quietly, “Do you get this painting?”
“No,” she quickly acknowledged without any dejection. She straightforwardly continued, “Although I don’t understand it, I feel some sort of emotion from it.”
“An emotion from it…?”
“Yeah. It’s not the way we’re used to objects being drawn, but I can feel an emotion, a mood from it… It’s strong… Like it’s going to suck me in…”
If a dream were to look like anything, then it must look like her captivated, determined expression in this moment.
On the way back, it was barely past noon but the asphalt road was hottest at this time.
We went to a nearby convenience store, and Mr. Yang reminded us, “Primarily buy things that’ll replenish water, best something that can be drunk in the car. That way you won’t overheat.”
I couldn’t help but pause by the refrigerator. I saw my favorite pudding ice cream bar!
I reached in and then discovered that Kewei put her hand on the last ice cream bar at the same time as me.
We took our hand back at the same time. We really liked pudding bars, but we wanted the other to get to eat it even more.
Seeing this scene, Mr. Yangy teased us, “The sun will have set by the time you’re done letting the other go first. It’ll be my treat, and the two of you can divide it!”
We greatfully accepted it from him and slowly opened the packaging.
Kewei said, “You take the first bite.”
“You go,” I said.
“It’ll melt if you keep fighting! It’ll be a treat only for the ants!” Mr. Yang laughed at us again.
We each bit one side at the same time, and then took turns.
The afternoon heat wave was stifling. Seeing that the melting ice cream bar was about to drip on my hand, Kewei rushed to take a huge bite.
“You’ll choke like that!” I carefully patted her back. “You can take all of it. I ate a lot already.”
It seemed that the ice cream hadn’t gone down yet. Kewei kept her mouth shut clearing her throat and shaking her head for a moment. After finally swallowing the bite, she said, “It tastes better when we take turns.”
It was the first time I knew that Kewei’s raven hair could reflect glints and wisps of gold in the sun.
If a dream were to taste like anything, then it must taste like this soft, cool sweetness that melted in the mouth.
riverFlower 
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