The Parallel Me

The rain started at 3 p.m. I remember it was three. At 3:05, Old Chen packed up his stall. His tricycle had a broken back right wheel. It clattered when he pushed it. You could hear it two streets away. The moment I heard that sound, I knew it was going to rain. He was more accurate than the weather forecast. It rained into the night and didn't stop. I sat at the stairwell entrance, counting money. Seventeen and a half yuan. Three one-yuan bills, one ten-yuan bill, and two fifty-cent coins. The bills were soft. The edges were frayed. I spread them on my knee and smoothed them out. Smoothed them twice, then folded them. Folded them into a small square. My mom used to fold money like this too. When she came back from grocery shopping, she smoothed out the change one by one. Folded them into small squares and stuffed them into a biscuit tin. The tin was metal. Red background. With two pandas on it. One holding bamboo. One without. Later, the tin disappeared. I asked my dad. He said he threw it away. I didn't ask again. It was useless to ask. That man's mouth was tighter than a metal tin. The stairwell light was broken again. It broke eight times a year. Fix it once, it worked for half a month. I stomped my foot. It didn't turn on. Stomped again. Still didn't turn on. Fine. I'll walk in the dark. I felt my way up the wall. My hand got covered in dust. I brushed the dust onto my pants. I patted it. It wouldn't come off. The door on the third floor opened. Aunt Wang came out with a basin of water. Splash. She threw it into the hallway. "Aunt Wang." "Oh, Momo." She leaned the basin against the wall. "What are you doing sitting here?" "Cooling off." "Cooling off? It's pouring like a waterfall." She wiped her face. Water dripped from her chin. "Where's your dad?" "I don't know." "Don't know again." She clicked her tongue. "Your dad, this person is—" Nothing. She didn't finish. Aunt Wang had a habit. She always stopped at the critical point. I'd been her neighbor for six years. I heard her say "this person is" forty-seven times. Not once did she finish. I counted. I have no other skills, just counting. She stood for a while, turned around, and went back inside. As the door was closing, she poked her head out again. "You haven't eaten, right?" "I ate." "What did you eat?" "...Noodles." "Oh." The door closed. I didn't eat. My phone rang. Teacher Li. "Chen Mo." "Yeah." "Where are you?" "Downstairs." "Do you still have your medicine?" "Yes." "Don't stop taking it." "Yeah." She was silent. I heard a ballpoint pen clicking on the other end. Click. Click. Click. Press down, let go. "How's your dad been lately?" "Pretty good." "..." "Teacher Li." "Yeah." "I'm fine." She hung up. I looked at the screen. Three cracks. From bottom left to top right. Like a web. I fell last winter. Rolled down the stairs. The phone hit the ground first. Four stitches. The web of my right hand. There's still a scar. I picked at the scar. Hard. Like a little bug. I didn't use to live here. Freshman year, I lived in the Teachers' Village. Two bedrooms, one living room. There was an elevator. Back then, I ranked third in my grade. What does third in the grade mean? At parent-teacher meetings, the homeroom teacher would keep my mom behind. And pat her arm after talking. Red paper was pasted on the office wall. My name was on the third line. After exams, parents I didn't even know would stop me. "So you're Chen Mo." Then I was hospitalized. For three months. The day I was discharged, my dad came to pick me up. My mom didn't. He said she was on a business trip. I didn't know back then. She had already started to not exist at that time. Only Teacher Li at school knew. It wasn't in my file. When people asked, I said I took a break from school. They just said "oh" and stopped asking. First monthly exam of senior year. 187 points. Dead last. 52 people in the class. I counted three times. Afraid I counted wrong. A piece of paper was pasted on my door. Written by the landlord. Ballpoint pen. Heavy strokes. It even tore the paper. "Two months overdue rent, 2,400. Clear within three days, or your stuff gets thrown into the hallway." I tore it off. Halfway, I stopped. Didn't know where to put it. Throw it away, and the problem's gone. Put it in my pocket, it feels like a rock. I thought about it and pasted it back. When pasting, I pressed the corners three times. Pressed it flat. At least it proves I've seen it. I'm so poor, all I have left is this bit of fussiness. I went up to the rooftop. It was raining hard. The drain was clogged. A layer of water pooled. I stepped on it, splash. The cold flooded from the sole of my shoe to my toes. I walked to the edge. Looked down. The trash can at the alley entrance. The lid was gone. Covered by a wooden board. I put that board there. Last winter. Back then I even thought, once I have money, I'll buy a new lid. Now the board is black. The edges are curled up. A puddle of water pooled on it. I looked for a long time. So long my legs went numb. I took half a step back. Then moved half a step forward. Even I didn't know what I wanted to do. Maybe I wanted to smoke a cigarette. I don't smoke. I only had 17.5 yuan in my pocket. Then the voice came. "Momo." I froze. "Momo, don't jump." The voice was very light. Like drifting from far away. Yet it was right against my ear. Only my mom called me Momo. In the whole world, only her. After she left, no one ever called me that. "Mom." "Don't come here." "You're not okay." "I'm fine." "You've been standing here for forty minutes." I froze. Exactly forty minutes. I had been counting the rain. Counted to over three hundred, lost track. Then started over. "Mom." "Are you here to take me away?" "No." "Then why are you here?" "To tell you one thing." "What?" "You are not my son." I laughed. Laughing turned into coughing. Coughed so hard I crouched down. Rain mixed with tears. Couldn't tell them apart. "Then what am I?" "You are me." I couldn't stop laughing. As I laughed, I heard another voice. "What's so funny?" Very close. Right next to me. I looked up. Someone was sitting on the railing. A girl. School uniform. High ponytail. Her legs were dangling outside, swinging. The rain was so heavy, but her shoes were white. Dazzlingly white. "Who are you?" "Guess." "No one's allowed on the roof." "Then why are you up here?" I opened my mouth. No words. She took a lollipop out of her mouth. Strawberry flavor. Pink wrapper. Tore it open and popped it in. Handed me the wrapper. "Take it." "Why?" "The paper in your hand is wet." "Swap with this." I looked down. The rent overdue notice. The words were all dissolved. A messy blur. I took the wrapper. Hard. Cold. "You're Chen Mo." "How do you know?" "Guess." "Can you say something else?" "Yes." "But you have to get down first." "I'm not getting down." "Then jump." I looked at her. "Jump." She swung her legs. Tone casual. Like asking what's for lunch. "Didn't you want to jump?" "Jump. I'll go with you." The rain was loud. Her eyes were very bright. Too bright to be alive. I stepped back twice. "Coward." She said. The phone in my pocket vibrated. I pulled it out. The screen with three cracks. It was lit up. Three lines of text. No sender. [Mission 1: Tomorrow at 6 a.m., help up the drunk man by the trash station downstairs.] [Reward: 1,000 yuan.] [Give up: You will stand here until dawn.] Raindrops hit the screen. The words didn't blur. "Who is this?" "Me." Not my mom's voice. An adult man. Very cold. Very steady. Like reading a report. "Who?" "The you from another dimension." "What dimension?" "Another possibility of this world." "I'm thirty-eight." "I'm crazy." "Maybe." "Why did you only come now?" "Because you only stood up here today." I shoved the phone into my pocket. Walked downstairs. At the stairwell entrance, I glanced back. She was still sitting on the railing. Not looking at me. Looking at the rain. I went downstairs. Took seven steps. Heard her shout from above. "Hey." "Don't stand so close to the edge next time." "It won't look good if you fall." I didn't turn back. "Got it." I said. My voice was shaking. f**k if I know why it was shaking. Third floor. Two people stood at the stairwell entrance. A skinny guy. I knew him. Half a month ago, he broke my third left rib with a stick. The other one I hadn't seen before. Leather jacket. Jingling a set of keys in his hand. The skinny guy saw me and grinned. "Yo. Chen Guo's son." I didn't speak. "Where's your dad?" "I don't know." "Don't know again." He stepped forward. "You had a lot to say last time. Cat got your tongue now?" "Nothing to say." "Why?" "Your left foot is injured." He froze. "What?" I didn't say that. The voice did. It said his left foot was injured. When he stood, all his weight was on his right foot. His left shoelace was untied. Not because he was too lazy to tie it. But because he couldn't bend over. It spoke very fast. Shoving the words into my ears one by one. Like someone reading a script right behind my head. I repeated the words exactly. "Your shoelace is untied." "Not because you're lazy." "But because you can't bend over." The stairwell was quiet for two seconds. The leather jacket guy looked down at his shoes. "What the f**k are you looking at?" "Nothing." "I'm just thinking." "If you hit me with that stick again." "You'll lose your balance first." The skinny guy stared at me. For five seconds. Then he laughed. "Fine." "You wait." They went downstairs. Footsteps fading floor by floor. Mixed with the jingling of keys. I leaned against the wall. My legs were shaking. My hands were shaking too. I bit my back teeth. Tasted a hint of rust. "What are you shaking for?" She said from beside me. I turned my head. She was standing at the corner of the stairs. Hands in her uniform pockets. "Cold." "You're not cold." "When you spoke just now, your voice was steady." I didn't speak. "Chen Mo." "Yeah." "Do you know who you sounded like just now?" "Who?" "An adult." "I am an adult." "You're seventeen." "Seventeen counts too." She smiled. Her eyes curved first. The corners of her mouth followed half a beat later. Went home that night. No one was there. A radio was on the table. Old-fashioned. Army green. Shortwave. A layer of dust on the knobs. My dad said it was broken. Couldn't be fixed. I turned the switch. It made a sound. Someone inside was reading numbers. "...Seven, four, zero, nine, two..." Very slow. Over and over. The tone was flat. Like reading the weather. I turned the knob. No other stations. I turned it off. Turned it on again. Still that string of numbers. I turned it off completely. Pulled the plug. The plug wasn't plugged in. I froze for a second. Put the plug on the table. Went back to my room. There was a photo of my mom on the wall. Black frame. Color photo. She was wearing a blue shirt. Hair tied back. The back of the photo faced outward. I reached out and flipped it over. Glanced at it. A line of text on the back. Written by my dad. Pencil. Very small. Afraid someone would see. Three words. I couldn't read them. They weren't Chinese characters. I hung the photo back up. Back facing outward. When hanging it, my hand slipped. The frame tilted. I straightened it. Tilted again. Forget it. Let it tilt. I sat at the desk. Took the pill bottle out of my pocket. The label was torn off. Only a white glue mark was left. I unscrewed the cap. Poured out two pills. Swallowed them. No water. Choked. I stretched my neck. Swallowed. Sat there, waiting for them to take effect. Waited ten minutes. No feeling. I knew it was useless. Vitamins. Bought by Teacher Li. She thought I didn't know. I knew long ago. 9.8 yuan a bottle. She bought one bottle a month. For two years. I calculated it. Twenty-four bottles. 235.2 yuan. How much is her monthly salary? I don't know. I didn't ask. She wouldn't tell me if I did. That woman, her mouth is tight too. Different from Aunt Wang. Aunt Wang never finishes talking. Teacher Li won't say a word if she can help it. The rain was still falling outside. Raindrops hitting the window. Once. Once. Very rhythmic. Like someone knocking outside. I didn't go open it. I knew there was no one. In this building, no one would knock on my door. Except creditors. Creditors don't knock. Creditors kick. I lay on the bed. Clothes on. Shoes on. Socks wet. I slid the rubber band off my wrist. Didn't know whose it was. I held it tight. Held it until dawn. Only later did I find out. That rubber band was left by her. The day she left, it rained this hard too.