I met a woman a few months back in the city of Yaan, renowned for rain, fish and beauties. She’s a young music teacher at a high school in town. She took me and Oliver around and we talked till 2am. She is married, has a child and is irrepressibly curious about the world outside her world.
She carries herself like a lady at all times. She knows what to say when, and how to inflect properly. Her skin is porcelain white and her make-up is immaculate. She dresses in the fashion of her day, which would not go over in the States, but is resplendent in reserved elegance here in Sichuan. Her dimple flashes when she laughs and her eyes betray suppressed emotions. She never mentions the word “marriage” and i have yet to see a photo of her son.
She’s just a young girl doing grown woman stuff. Like raising her kid. And dreamin those dreams — the ones half-men dont know what to do with. I have done nothing but look at her, smile at her and put my finger on her wrist. Her reaction is what i love about all women. No matter how long she has been keeping her self pent up, singing karaoke with her friends and smiling demurely at admirers, a brazen touch will bring a flush to her face and make the stiff doll soften. She laughs with abandon and widens her eyes. The porcelain cracks like an eggshell and reveals a throbbing heart. There are so many women like her in China, in the world. They live with Dilbert, dream of the Marlboro Man.
I know some of you are thinking “you dirty bastard.”
I refute you all utterly.
If i possess the key, who am i to deny her the unlocking?