A Christmas Encounter, a Lifetime of Longing

I was sixteen, in my final year of middle school. As Christmas approached, I decided to organize a Christmas party in my capacity as class president.

My good friend Sharon Dale came to me, hoping to bring her brother along. I readily agreed, thinking it would just be one more kid, as we were all still middle school students at the time.

Later, Sharon mentioned her brother named Anthony Dale who had come from abroad, and I found his presence to be a surprising coincidence, sparking a bit of anticipation in me.

Anthony's mother and Sharon's father were cousins, and since his mother went to study in Germany as a teenager, she had never returned to China, gradually losing contact with her relatives here.

This year, on a whim, his mother decided to send him back to visit, allowing him to travel from distant Germany to our unremarkable little town.

His Christmas break was short, yet he had many relatives to visit. Originally, he planned to stay at Sharon's house for just two days, but when he learned that Sharon's father was a martial arts instructor, he decided to extend his stay to learn from him. This led to our eventual meeting on Christmas Eve.

That evening, snow fell heavily, blanketing the entire town in white.

After dressing up carefully, I headed to the designated spot for the party and ran into him and Sharon at a street corner.

I was quite surprised, expecting a small boy shorter than us, but instead, he was a tall and handsome boy, leaving me momentarily speechless.

Sharon introduced us briefly, and he offered a gentle smile as he extended his hand for a handshake. I was taken aback, as it was my first time formally shaking hands with someone.

"Oh, hello." I responded coolly, maintaining my usual aloof demeanor, though my face was already flushed, too shy to meet his gaze.

As his large hand enveloped mine, an indescribable feeling welled up inside me. It was strange yet comforting, and I thought that this must have been what they called a heart-fluttering moment!

The three of us walked side by side towards our destination, and I spoke little, focusing instead on listening to their conversation. He occasionally asked me questions, like what kind of music or instruments I liked.

The party was held at a music bar, with food, games, music, and drinks, creating a lively atmosphere. I remember a couple publicly confessing their love and kissing passionately, prompting everyone to cheer and tease them, making for a fun night.

Perhaps I was the only one not fully engaged, my mind preoccupied with him, debating whether to approach him for a conversation. Unfortunately, I never mustered the courage to speak to him, remaining as quiet as a mouse.

Should I talk to him or not? I wrestled with this question for quite some time. After all, he was just passing through, and in a few days, he would leave, returning to his faraway home abroad, possibly never to be seen again.

It was 2004, and MSN wasn't widespread yet, nor was WhatsApp, and smartphones were nonexistent, so our only means of communication was the landline.

So, since there was no future, it was best not to start anything at all! Though I made this decision, I still felt a bit unwilling and disheartened.

I spent the evening in a mental battle with myself, and when it was time to go home, I decided to sing one last song before leaving.

Hoping to make a good impression on him, I chose a challenging English song, "My Heart Will Go On".

I knew he was watching me from the audience, which made me extremely nervous. Fortunately, I managed to finish the song smoothly, earning a round of enthusiastic applause as expected.

To my surprise, he suddenly stepped forward, took the microphone from my hand, and stood at the center of the stage. The crowd erupted in cheers and applause, mostly from the girls in our class.

Under the spotlight, he was tall, fresh-faced, and charming, with a slightly shy smile. He introduced himself briefly before singing a beautiful English folk song, his voice clear and captivating.

Before he finished his song, I quietly slipped away.

......

The next day, Christmas Day, the snow outside was thick and pristine, a rare sight. I found myself thinking about him, so in the afternoon, I called Sharon's house, hoping to hear some news about him.

On the phone, I chatted with her about the party gossip while gathering the courage to suggest we hang out. Twenty minutes later, I proposed going out to enjoy the snow, and Sharon was keen on the idea, so we decided to do just that.

Along with another girl, Vicki Holden, we enjoyed an afternoon snack at Pizza Hut, eating, laughing, and quickly becoming friends. Sharon and Vicki chatted about their topics, while Anthony and I talked about ours.

Influenced by my older sister, I had been interested in gay comics and gay films since elementary school, but most of my friends and classmates scoffed at such interests.

To avoid being seen differently, I gradually stopped expressing my knowledge and interest in these cultures. But to my surprise, he could discuss these topics with me, and we had an engaging conversation!

In his presence, I could openly express my support for homosexuality and share my favorite gay stories without any reservations. He also showed his approval of my views, which really surprised me.

The four of us walked a long, long way through the snow, with me and him side by side, while Sharon and Vicki walked behind us, arm in arm, chatting away.

We left a neat trail of footprints in the pristine white snow. The sky remained a dull gray, and the snow continued to fall, yet my heart felt incredibly bright and warm.

We talked about everything from films to famous personalities, and even our favorite music and singers. Sometimes we hummed along. Although we had just met, it felt like we had endless things to talk about, never quite satisfied.

For the next week, while I attended classes, he was learning martial arts. At noon, he would come to the school to have lunch with Sharon and me, so I always looked forward to the end of class, wondering if he was looking forward to it too.

After the fourth class, Sharon and I would quickly weave through the crowd to meet him outside the school gates.

He stood out in the crowd, waving at me with a smile. The two hours at noon felt incredibly short and precious because of him.

One day at noon, after a snowball fight, we queued up to buy coffee. My hands were red from the cold, and he pulled out his gloves from his thick coat pocket to give to me. I instinctively refused, but he insisted.

His gloves were large, warm inside, as if they still held his body heat. It was the first time I felt so tenderly cared for by a boy, and it was heartwarming.

......

He left on a Saturday. That morning, I tossed and turned in bed, not wanting to sleep or get up, feeling a whirlwind of emotions. Around ten o'clock, he called to say goodbye.

"I'm leaving. Can't you come to see me off?"

His voice was so gentle over the phone. I didn't reply, and we fell into a long silence.

He continued, "We might never see each other again. Can't you say a few more words?"

"If we're not going to see each other, what's there to say? I dread farewells." I replied with a bitter smile.

"Come to Germany with me!" He suddenly said, a bit excited.

I was taken aback, thinking he was joking, but his sincere tone made me feel that, at least at that moment, he was serious.

But we were still young, and there was nothing we could do.

I fought back the urge to cry and comforted him, "It's okay, I think we'll meet again."

"Okay, I believe that too."

He really left, leaving behind a trail of memories and an email address.

I never cried over his departure, but in the many years that followed, whenever I walked past the places where we had walked together, the scenes of our time together would come to my mind.

He returned to Germany, a place far beyond my reach. I thought we would have no further contact, but during the summer vacation of my third year of middle school, I received a call from him.

He said he was in Boston and would be staying at a school there for a year as an exchange student. He sounded excited, speaking much faster than before, both touching and amusing.

Perhaps because we hadn't been in touch for so long, he suddenly said many inexplicable things. He said that when he first saw me, he thought I was a very special girl. The next day, when Sharon mentioned going out to see me, he said he practically bounced out the door.

Faced with his enthusiastic words, I was a bit confused, but I felt an unusual joy listening to him. I wanted him to know that I missed him very much, but I didn't know how to express it, feeling awkward and tongue-tied.

During that summer vacation, the thing that made me happiest and that I looked forward to the most every day was to send text messages to him, while the thing that made me unhappiest was to wait for his replies.

My sister said that waiting for someone to reply makes you stupid! I knew that, and I kept telling myself not to care too much, but my heart wouldn't listen!

Some people and things, once you cared, you became bound, unable to completely ignore them. I actually disliked this feeling, disliked losing my inner peace and freedom because I cared too much.

That summer was the period when we communicated the most frequently. We talked late into the night, always saying goodnight to each other.

There were no promises, no commitments between us, and no one ever talked about "love", just mutual attraction and longing. I thought at that time, we were probably in that gray area between friendship and romance.

In my first year of high school, I entered a private school.

The school was very strict, not allowing the use of mobile phones or personal computers. If our parents didn't pick us up, we couldn't leave the school, felt like being trapped.

Unless there was something at home, my mother wouldn't come to pick me up, so I almost lost contact with him again.

Whenever I managed to go home, I would send him an email, telling him about my recent situation and asking if he was well and if anything interesting had happened.

He would always reply with a lot, sharing stories about his family and friends with me.