Blooming Against the Stream

"Annie." The teacher called my name. I nervously walked up to the podium. "Failed." She coldly tossed me a test paper and called out, "Lillian." Lillian strode forward like a gust of wind, and the teacher praised her with a smile: "Excellent, you got full marks." The handwriting on Lillian's test paper was clear and elegant, as beautiful as the teacher's blackboard writing. Compared to her paper, my characters were crooked and scrawled, with the page full of corrections marked by the teacher. I looked at her curiously, thinking how amazing she was, always ranking first in every exam, even the boys couldn't match her. Lillian was a very special girl. If other girls were compared to potatoes, she would be a cake. Potatoes vary but are generally similar, just cheap food served daily, while cakes are different—they bring surprises. Lillian had beautiful, thick black hair and large blue eyes, with fair, delicate skin and small, exquisite facial features. Unlike other girls who spoke loudly with foul language, her voice was soft and pleasant, and her every move was elegant and proper. Before, I never dreamed I could become friends with her. I was the youngest girl in the class, two years younger than most of my classmates, and no one wanted to play with me. But now, I could actually walk home hand in hand with Lillian. Unfortunately, her attention wasn't on me. She always held my hand while joking and playing with the boys, and I was like a little dog she was leading. She didn't even need to pay attention to me or talk to me. The boys pushed and shoved like a disorderly flock of sheep, roughhousing and playing, but when passing by Jonathan's Bar, they all quieted down in unison. They tiptoed past the area, more timid and docile than newborn lambs. In Milton, Jonathan was a terrifying name. When people talked about them, they would lower their voices and show cautious, fearful expressions. Adults even forbade children from mentioning the name Jonathan, giving everyone the illusion that Jonathan was a fearsome monster that would devour you in one bite if you got too close. But I knew they weren't monsters. The Jonathan family had a pair of twin boys who studied in our class—Bill and Heine, two handsome boys with blond hair and blue eyes, always dressed in identical, prim jackets and plaid shorts, and wearing leather boots that even adults couldn't afford. Although mischievous and unruly, they were very polite in front of Lillian, always speaking to her gently, just like now as they caught up from behind and flanked her on both sides. Bill was solely focused on talking to Lillian, while Heine did greet me, but before I could respond, his gaze shifted to Lillian. When they looked at her, their eyes seemed to glow. Both brothers were tall, slender, fair, and handsome, but their personalities differed slightly. Bill was domineering, never did his homework, and often bullied classmates. We had been classmates for years but had barely exchanged greetings. Heine, on the other hand, had excellent grades, was polite to everyone, and some female classmates secretly called him "Prince." As usual, I silently followed behind the three of them, watching them chat and play. Suddenly, a series of agonizing screams erupted behind us. In front of Jonathan's Bar, several young men armed with clubs were ganging up on a middle-aged man. The middle-aged man, wearing a dirty shirt and suspenders, covered his head with his hands and rolled on the ground like a ball, enduring the blows. Amid the flying dust, he vomited all over the place, thick yellow vomit mixed with streaks of blood. Though his face was smeared with mud, the one-eyed face was quite recognizable. It was Withers, the father of Jolene, a drunkard and gambler. He lay on the ground groaning in pain as a young man grabbed his hair, forcing his face upward. "Hey, repaying debts is only right and proper. What do you plan to do now?" The young man, Mike, was one of Jonathan's thugs. Young and handsome, with a muscular build, he wore a frivolous smile even as he threatened viciously, his relaxed expression as if asking about the weather. "Please, just a few more days..." The man knelt on the ground, his bloodied mouth gasping for breath. He pleaded while reaching for Mike's pants leg, then prostrated himself like a dog and kissed the other's leather shoe. Mike made a disgusted expression and kicked the man in the face: "I just polished these shoes." Another thug kicked the man hard in the stomach and cursed, "You worthless coward! Didn’t you say last time you’d send your daughter to the brothel? I heard they’ve already reserved a bed for her there. Don’t worry, we’ll visit often and help your family pay off the debt sooner." The men swaggered away, leaving Jolene's father lying on the ground like a dead dog. The watching children dispersed, while Lillian hid behind Bill and Heine like a frightened little white rabbit. Bill comforted her gently: "Don't be afraid, Brother Mike is a good person who never loses his temper for no reason. This is all the fault of those deadbeat scoundrels who refuse to pay their debts." Lillian nodded timidly and showed a faint smile. The three of them walked away chatting and laughing. I didn't follow them, but instead tightened my backpack and ran toward Sister Jolene's house. Sister Jolene lived in a dark, drafty dilapidated building. She and her mother often washed clothes for neighbors to earn some daily expenses. She also washed clothes for my family. Every time she came to our house, she would always smile gently and compliment me on growing taller and prettier. Actually, she was the one who had grown taller and prettier. At fifteen years old, she had beautiful golden hair and a curvaceous figure that made men look at her differently. Besides that, there was something else about her, something hard to describe clearly. Many women around had this quality, and sometimes it would blend with that gentle smile, turning into a wooden expression. The door to Jolene's house was wide open. She and her mother were washing clothes, surrounded by basins of water. Jolene's mother was a somewhat frightening hunchbacked woman. Her face resembled withered tree bark - dark, rough, and full of wrinkles, with patchy gray hair. Her voice was hoarse like a crow's, just like an old witch from a fairy tale. She was always having babies. I didn't know how many children Jolene's mother had given birth to - her belly would always swell up and then deflate, and the babies would always be born only to die. From deep inside the room came the sound of a baby crying, heartbreakingly loud, yet no one went to care for the child. It seemed like they were just going to let it cry itself to death. "Sister Jolene." Jolene came out with wet hands: "Annie?" "Sister Jolene, you need to run away! Your father was beaten by the Johnson family. They said they're going to send you to a brothel," I whispered. Jolene's face gradually turned pale, even her lips lost their color. "Before your father comes back, run away! Hurry and run!" I urged, pushing her slightly. But she didn't move at all. After a long silence, she said to me quietly: "Thank you, Annie. I'll be fine. You should go home now." That day, as I gazed into the dark, cold entrance of her building, a strange feeling suddenly arose within me - as if Sister Jolene had been swallowed by this hallway, and that indescribable quality about her gradually became clearer, like a rose plucked from its stem that appears vividly alive but is actually already dead. Heavy-hearted, I walked out and unexpectedly encountered Heine. He stood in the middle of the road, smiling at me as if he had been specifically waiting for me. Hadn't he left? Why was he here... "Hey Annie, what are you doing here?" he asked as he approached me. "Came to ask for my mom - whether our laundry is done," I said. "Oh." He nodded. But the next second, he pressed my face against the wall like grabbing a chick, bending down to whisper in my ear: "That's good, I was really afraid you might come to meddle in others' business." "Let me go!" I screamed. "Brother Mike and the others don't care whether you're a child or not. If they find out you've done unnecessary things, your parents will be in trouble." I could feel the gravel on the wall scraping my face, tears unknowingly welling up in my eyes as I shouted: "I'll tell my dad and have him beat you up!" "Your dad? That cuckolded cripple? He doesn't even dare hit his own wife, let alone me." "You're a bad person! Your whole family are bad people!" Sobbing, after a while he released me and walked away without another word.