Girl in Translation

My heart was now pounding as hard as Matt’s. The other children were squirming around, but I could only think about how his warm breath felt against my hair. Right in front of my eyes was the contrast of his rough cotton shirt and the smooth skin of his shoulder.

The murmur of English went on outside the door for what seemed to be a long time and then there were the usual factory noises. Finally, the door was opened and the other three kids toppled out and ran off.

Reluctantly, I recovered my own balance and swayed away from Matt, but then his hand was on my wrist.

“Wait,” he said. He reached out with his other arm and shut the door behind him. Then he pulled me toward him and I rested my forehead against his chest a moment. The familiar pain receded again, to be replaced by something languid and inexorable, as if I were riding the extended exhalation of a breath I hadn’t known I’d been holding. His fingertips were entwined in my hair, I could feel the warmth of them against my scalp, and then I was looking up at him. A shaft of light from the window in the door fell on his soft hair. His golden eyes were luminous in the half-dark, and finally, we were kissing in one long heat of melting, and the lush afternoon dissolved into yearning for Matt and Matt alone.

And when we were done with that kiss, there was another and then another, before Matt broke off to say, in a husky voice I’d never heard from him, “They’ll be looking for me.”

“Me too,” I breathed.

Then we kissed again and again before I made myself remember that he had a girlfriend and she wasn’t me. I wanted to be the one to end this. I pulled myself away. “All right, see you then.”

It took him a moment before his eyes focused again, as if he too were waking up from a dream, and then he said, “See you.”

He had his hand on the doorknob, then hesitated. Without meeting my eyes, he said, “Kimberly, my climbing can’t reach your heights.” Then he ducked his head and left.

I stood in the bathroom alone, with my hand supporting myself against the washbasin, shattered. I had made him think he wasn’t good enough for me, when in truth it was I who couldn’t compete for him.

After work that day, Vivian was waiting in her usual spot outside the factory. I’m ashamed to say I had trailed him downstairs, and I saw him go up to her and kiss her on the lips. When he glanced at me, quickly, guiltily, I knew he was conscious I was there. Then they left.

It may not seem like much-a few kisses in the dark-but it was enough to burn a hole like an ulcer in my heart.

I had nothing else, but I always had my pride. I was as kind to Park as I ever was, but I made a point of flirting with the other boys at the factory, especially when Matt could see. Matt himself, I treated with a cool friendliness. I pictured myself packed in a layer of ice so thick that nothing he did could reach me. Perhaps I imagined it, but I believe that Matt’s eyes often followed me during our work at the factory, that he horsed around more than usual when I was around, dropping down on the floor to do one-handed push-ups and the like, while I ignored him. Whatever he may have done, the bottom line was this: he’d chosen Vivian over me, and none of the little things he did to show me he cared about me could stack up high enough against this one fact.

I knew that Vivian was still waiting, every day after work. Fortunately, our staggered schedules meant that I didn’t always have to see her, but what I saw was enough. And to make things worse, I did like her. She seemed kind and thoughtful. It wasn’t her fault she was so gorgeous. How many images of them I have filed away in my soul: Matt with a package of treats-dried candied lotus seeds-hidden behind his back for her; the two of them seen from a distance, arms around each other’s waists, going into the herbal medicine store; once, I’d even caught sight of them together at temple, lighting incense sticks by the flame of the oil lamp and then kneeling next to each other to pray. How many ways can you be tortured by love?

I had finally confided in A

She was the only one who knew about my pain, but in a way, she understood it as something smaller than it was, A

The evening of Curt’s party, I went to A

Mrs. Avery kissed me on the cheek. “It’s so nice to see you again.”

I smiled. She was one of my favorite people, even though I hardly ever saw her.

A

“You’re gorgeous,” she said.

I turned around and hugged her. “You’re a great friend.”

A

I braided the front part of her hair back off her face. “You look beautiful too.”

Mrs. Avery drove us to Curt’s apartment, which was in the city, all the way east in the Seventies. A doorman came and opened our car door so A

I tried not to gawk but A

“What do they do when the flowers fade?” I asked A

“They get new ones, of course.”

What an expense that must be. When we got to Curt’s apartment and rang the doorbell, Curt opened the door. A blast of throbbing music filled the hallway.

“Hey, you made it.” His eyes stopped on me. “Wow.” It was different from his usual flirtatious look. He was staring at me as intensely as if I were a piece of sculpture.

I looked down at the rust-colored carpet, pleased. “Thanks. A

Behind me, A

“Come in. Throw anything you don’t want to carry in my parents’ bedroom.” Curt disappeared through a doorway.

So this was a party. All of the regular lights were out. I peered into the living room, where Curt had gone. Even in the darkness, I could tell their apartment was enormous, because the windows were so far away from where we were standing in the hallway. I could see the illumination from the city and lights on the East River in the distance.

There were already a lot of kids there. In one corner of the living room, a disco ball was spi

“I think that’s someone from theater club,” A