您在這裡
SAMPLE》Grandma's dress
During my summer and winter vacations, especially from kindergarten to the lower grades of elementary school, I often found myself at Grandma's place. My mom's hair salon kept her busy from dawn to dusk, my dad, working on the security team, had unpredictable hours due to emergency police calls, and my little sister, still very young, would cling to Mom's legs, crying loudly whenever she helped a customer wash their hair. Mrs. Chang, a beverage wholesaler down the alley, would come over to help soothe her cries. There were multiple reasons why I stayed at my grandmother's house. On one hand, the son of the neighboring shoe store was just a year older than me, so he became my playmate. On the other hand, I could assist in my grandmother's gold paper shop, which sells Taoist ceremonial stuff like gold paper, incense and so on.
Grandma's store was situated in Gukeng, at the base of Jianhu Mountain Fancy World. Every morning, before opening the shop, Grandma would rise early and ride her bicycle to climb and stroll around Jianhu Mountain. I often joined her, hopping on her motorcycle around 4:00 a.m., just before dawn, and ascending the mountain against the wind. Humming along to a familiar Taiwanese song, perhaps a new hit by P.G.S.T, the abbreviation for Pretty Girls from a girls’ band in Southern Taiwan, or Fang Shunji, whose performances I occasionally caught on TV, I held onto Grandma's waist as we climbed. The roads were lined with small houses and three-story residences, most of them surrounded by trees. Since the route was mostly uphill, I clung to Grandma's waist, fearing I might fall if I let go. During these rides, I noticed Grandma's natural scent, completely distinct from my mother's. Sometimes, I could catch a whiff of starflower water. Grandma explained that rubbing some of it on her temples helped when she was bitten by mosquitoes or when she wanted to fall asleep. She always kept a jar of it on her vanity table.
Grandma and Grandpa slept in separate rooms, with Grandpa's room located next to the road. He wanted me to sleep with him, but I preferred Grandma's room because Grandpa's snoring was as loud as thunder. Whenever I attempted to slip into bed before he fell asleep, my efforts were usually futile. Once he started snoring like a thunderbolt, I would quietly retreat to Grandma's bed next door.
The only thing I liked about Grandpa's room was the morning sounds of the bustling vegetable market downstairs. There was a family that raised chickens, and I would often be awakened by the sound of the chickens, sparking my anticipation for the day. I loved going to the market to observe the chickens and ducks and chat with the aunties and uncles. One of my favorite activities was buying eggs for my grandmother. While purchasing eggs, the shop owner, a middle-aged woman, would let me play with the electronic scales and even assist in weighing items for the customers. Both Grandma and Mom used to say that I was exceptionally friendly and sociable when I was young, able to strike up conversations with people wherever I went.
Looking back, I realize that this was the beginning of my fascination with people and their stories.
When I assisted my grandma in the store, I enjoyed observing customers' attire and secretly mimicking their voices. This talent allowed me to quickly recognize people. If I heard the rhythm of footsteps or the sound of slippers tapping on the floor, I could often guess which customer had arrived. When my grandma was organizing the gold paper on the second floor, I would eagerly shout, "Grandma, the lady from the stationery store wants to buy some incense! Grandma, Auntie from the market wants to purchase silver paper, where are you?" I felt like this ability was my superpower. Just to clarify, the paper used for gods is called "gold paper," while the paper for ancestors or ghosts is referred to as "silver paper." I retained this knowledge from my grandma, memorizing prices and understanding the specific requirements for worshiping different deities like Land God, Heavenly God, Deity of the Foundation etc. On significant worship days, when there was a surge of customers, my grandma, who had a quick temper, would sometimes get impatient. My mother used to tease her, saying, "I inherited my impatience from you," and they would both laugh, proud of their shared trait.
One day, while my grandma was bustling around and several groups of customers were waiting in the store, I found myself unsure of what to do. Suddenly, a sharp voice came from behind me: "Move aside, don't stand in the queue!" The scolding was directed at me, and the customer added, "You're in big trouble if your grandma scolds you." I turned around and saw the customer taking two packets of incense away from me and continuing to serve another group of customers. Overwhelmed with anguish, I rushed back to my room in tears. "Where are you going?" Grandma called after me, but I didn't respond. I entered my room and immediately picked up the house phone, my voice trembling and tears streaming down my face as I dialed my home's number. When my mom answered, I couldn't stop my emotional outburst. "Mom, I want to come home, I'm trying so hard to help, but Grandma... Grandma said I'm very 'careless.'" Homesickness, coupled with my grandma's scolding, became unbearable. Looking back, there's a hint of comedy in the fact that I was the protagonist of my own tragic tale.
I find fascination in observing children crying by the roadside. Whether it's in a supermarket, outside a subway station, or in a snack bar, their eyes and movements unveil a spectrum of emotions and transitions. As they observe the adults' reactions, they gauge whether it's better to cry louder or attempt a more petulant approach. If cuddling doesn't work, they simply let go, lying down or throwing themselves around, screaming or jumping, as if pressing the gas pedal to the floor. When I was in the room talking to my mom on the phone, I was aware that certain elements exacerbated the feeling of being wronged, almost like a performance in its own strange way.
After the phone call, I felt a sense of stability (the word "stable" felt oddly fitting and amusing). I gazed at the window-type air conditioner in my room, contemplating, "I should turn on the electric fan; otherwise, I won't hear the sounds from the floor below." In the heat of summer, my tears mingled with sweat, prompting me to dab my face with toilet paper. I sat quietly at the end of the bed in my grandmother's room, listening for her movements downstairs, thinking, "Good, she's still occupied." Gently closing the door, I meticulously secured the latch and opened her closet. In those days, closets were often mounted on walls, extending from floor to ceiling. Grandma's closet was partitioned into three sections, with two opposing doors in each section. The inner section held some of Grandpa's clothes, the middle section housed various tops, blouses, and shoulder pads in different colors and styles, while the outer section, my favorite, boasted an array of one-piece dresses and scarf accessories.
That day marked my first venture into my grandma's closet. I was both astounded by the assortment of one-piece dresses and scheming to close the closet door in time for my grandma to come upstairs. This way, I could swiftly open the door for her, pretending that nothing had happened—a clever way to handle two situations at once.
During that moment, I was astounded to discover that my maternal grandmother, who cherished beauty just as much as her daughter did, had her clothes meticulously arranged in the closet. I couldn't resist reaching out and caressing one of the pink dresses, the type adorned with thick shoulder pads and large buttons on the chest, akin to what Japanese actresses wore at that time. As if by magic, I took the dress off the hanger, opened my senses wide, pursed my lips, slightly bent my knees, cradled the dress to form a circle in front of me, gently slipped my feet into it, and then pulled it up to my shoulders, mimicking my grandmother's customary way of slipping her hands into the sleeves. Perfect, I didn't mind the zipper at the back, the dress was a tad too long, trailing behind me, but it didn't matter; it gave me the air of a bride. Swiftly and quietly, I scurried to the vanity table before the large mirror, but alas, I was too short. I stood on the makeup chair, and at last, I beheld my transformed self. Even now, I can recall the sense of awe, my mouth agape, admiring the diminutive figure in the mirror adorned in that dress. The fabric's delicate touch against my skin felt exquisite, and I couldn't help but exclaim, "It's stunning!"
"You-jen? Where are you?" Just as I was about to fasten the large, exquisite buttons on my chest, Grandma's voice unexpectedly reached my ears, disrupting my joy. "You-jen? Are you leaving?" Her voice echoed up the stairs; she was already ascending. Panic gripped me; I swiftly slipped out of the dress, grabbed the fallen hangers, hung it back in the closet, and smoothed out the sides of the dress, attempting to conceal any signs of my escapade. After shutting the closet door, I caught my breath, mopping my brow with a few sheets of toilet paper. Knock, knock, Grandma was at the door. "What are you up to?" I turned the cylindrical lock, pouting my mouth, and went to the bedside. I clutched the toilet paper I had used, making it obvious, pretending I was still upset. My body rose and fell with the rapid breaths of a startled deer. Grandma smiled, comforting me, and urged me to come downstairs. I felt a wave of relief wash over me, grateful that Grandma hadn't noticed anything unusual.
That night, my mom came over, and they chuckled about how I had called, feeling hurt by what Grandma had said, only to discover that in her bustling day, Grandma had forgotten her words and apologized to me. At that moment, I couldn't meet their gaze; I felt a mix of shame, anger, and amusement. Deep down, I missed the pink dress more than anything else, even contemplating trying on another one next time. As I stared at the music video featuring P.G.S.T. on TV, I secretly revealed my happiness, humming along inside.
