City Smoke (crossover)

(the story was purposely re-written in imperfect-english

for the Viet version has its own agenda)

Human has a strange concept about time and their memories even a stranger flow.

Such as a time when I turned 35 and received a birthday present from a friend of mine that I don't even know that well. A DVD copy of an old movie named The Big Blue. When people asked me which movie of all time I like best I often said that name out of convenience. It's just something on top of my head, but people took it seriously anyway. Not until I actually hold the physical copy of the movie, my mind suddenly brought me back to a quiet afternoon, in which a beautiful girl was leaning into my arms and talking about some classic French movies. She liked movies that are romantic, but must be the type of romance that made people feel blue; it would never be enough to cry, yet audience couldn't forget, couldn't let go, forever stuck in an infinite moment of the final act. I was reading some sort of entertainment magazine at the time, didn't really pay attention to what she was saying. The memory stopped at that point, and I never knew why I remembered her out of so many ex-girlfriends, how did the three words become a symbol of the whole French filmography in my head, or that I have that piece of memory at all.

Maybe that's why I wasn't surprised when a girl appeared, and looking at her face behind the veil of smoke and the low yellowish light of the bar made me think of another much more familiar face. The clean eyebrows, the long eyelashes and the high nose were enough to started the time machine, unleashing the flow of memories that within seconds assembled the portrait of an old friend from the past. Down to the details of a bright smile, shimmering eyes, and some random talks during some certain moments. Ten years has passed and I was so sure every memory had faded away, every emotion buried deep down in the grave; yet just a second like this and half of them came back alive, vivid like various film records playing spontaneously, and simultaneously.

Nancy stood up; with her petite but strong figure of a woman already had her first-born, came waving out the smoke and embracing her like embracing a dear friend, a sister of many years apart, like embracing Michael. Everyone knew how Nancy had always wanted to be Michael's bride, the bride of intoxication, of a beautiful dream, of freedom; to be able to burnt in an utter madness before settling down to the much calmer, normal life.

Michael. Michael. He owned such an unisexual beauty that it was so easy to put him into a frame and with a little bit of make up everyone would be fooled into believing he's a gorgeous woman. Maybe that's the reason his love life was full of obstacles. The first girlfriend at the age of 16 left him after only a year, still honest and hurtful, saying he was too beautiful. The girls later on came and left like lovers on a stage, he loved them within the length of the show; the characters never had an actual ending awaited for them.

Nancy stood up, came waving out the smoke and pulling her into a tight embrace; while Tony were crashing his cigarette into the ashtray almost violently, as if not comfortable with what he was reminded from that face. They have been married for about three years, Tony and Nancy; but they shared the same past knowing the same friend had passed away. With Nancy, Michael is a dream never came true. With Tony, it's a race never had a closure, about many things, including his wife.

Ryan.

She called out my name first, in this bar full of smoke and low light and vague music, so innocent as if it was still many years before, when she was still a little girl with two pony tails skipping her steps trying to follow me and Michael on the road back from school full of sunshine. Ryan, she used to whisper my name, pulling a sleeve of my shirt while we were both looking up at Michael climbing up the apple tree. The sun rays made his movements became indefinite. That little girl now is her mid-twenties, gorgeous and beautiful, eyes beheld the depth of a decade has passed that I didn't know about. No one knew. Even her voice was different, not resembling at all the vague innocent childhood.

We gave each other a brief hug; I heard a sweet perfume that's slowly blending itself into the music and the toxic breath of alcohol. Through her shoulder I could see the singer sitting on a stool onstage, her legs crossed, the fancy black dress shimmering, her voice low and seducing, There's a blade by the bed | And a phone in my hand | A dog on the floor | And some cash on the nightstand. That same woman had laid under me, her body bended into a wonderful curve, her hands violently grabbing the drap underneath, her moans intoxicated, her shoulders shivering with pleasure. That same woman in the day light looked like a tired patient had gone too many days without a dose, her eyes glittering a type of despair couldn't be described, understood, comprehended in any way. That same woman was sitting on the stool, beautiful and perfect, sexy and mysterious, her singing soothing and flawless. Ryan. Even her voice was different, not resembling at all the innocent childhood that's already fading to the past once again.

Who are you, I murmured. Heard it or not, she didn't answer. She broke the embrace, gave me a smile, the polite sort; her fingers playing with a lock of hair, as if she was feeling shy. She sat down next to Nancy and I also came back to my seat, dropping my head to the back, hearing the alcohol invading the rest of the senses. And then the wind just starts to moan | Outside the door he followed me home

Well goodnight moon

I want the sun

If it's not here soon

I might be done.