The sign is new.
Something in my heart disappears, seeing that new, shiny, neon sign. Of all the things, I had hoped.... I raise a hand to my mouth to stifle the sob that is sure to emerge as it has so many times these past few expectant years. And I nearly walk forward and place my hand on the doorknob, nearly open the door and confront whoever is inside. Maybe it is Min-Jun. She was always nice to me. I wonder whether she has changed?
Of course she has. She must be.... what, twenty-nine now? Yes, twenty-nine. So old. I catch sight of my reflection in the window: I have changed too. My face is wrinkled. It seems to be painted in black-and-white grainy film. There are numerous spots on my gaunt cheeks. My hair is nothing to speak of. They will not recognize me, I am sure. It was so long ago, after all, a time when the sign was hand-painted on wood, beautiful Chinese calligrahy traced and beaten into it by wind and storm. I had loved that sign. What have they done with it?
Someone rudely brushes by me, knocking my shoulder. I turn to shout after whoever it is the familiar, oft-repeated words, "No respect for your elders, eh!" but catch myself in the nick of time. I would not have said that then. The sign...
The sign is new. I am old.

Comments

Want to comment? Login or Join

Login Sign up

Gossamer Waters (joined over 6 years ago)
Visit Website

Writing and reading and dreaming and filling up the big wide world with wonder.

No favorites

Story information

License

Creative Commons Attribution 3.0

Contact


We like you. Say "Hi."