Eighty-Seven: The Edge of the Sky at Ten Thousand Feet

With a month still left before summer vacation, Zhang Qi and I had already made plans to travel to Hainan. This was the first summer since Lele left us, and we thought of it as a way to clear our minds; getting out and seeing the world is always good for the soul.

Initially, we intended to join a tour group, but after hearing from friends that most Hainan tours were just shopping trips with precious little time set aside for actual sightseeing, we steeled ourselves and decided to travel independently.

To be honest, self-guided travel is no easy feat. Just booking hotels online, purchasing plane tickets, and laying out the itinerary took me an entire month. When everything was finally ready, Xiao Gang from Chen Yuan’s dormitory suddenly approached me, saying he wanted to join us.

Xiao Gang’s girlfriend, Candy, is a native of Hainan. His addition immediately set my mind at ease; with someone local to host us, we could avoid a lot of unnecessary trouble once we arrived.

Direct flights from my city to Haikou were quite expensive. By contrast, departing from Xiamen was almost half the cost. To save money, we didn’t hesitate to choose Xiamen as our point of departure.

Eager to see Candy, Xiao Gang left a day ahead of us. Our flight was scheduled for four thirty in the afternoon the next day. Since Zhang Qi and I lived in different cities, we agreed to meet at three o’clock in the afternoon in the departure hall of the airport.

Getting to Xiamen required a four-hour long-distance bus ride. Given the urgency of catching a flight, I couldn’t afford to cut it too close, so I left early. Having studied away from home for years, I was used to long bus rides; the journey felt uneventful, and I slept soundly until we arrived.

Though I’d passed through Xiamen several times over the years, I still had no real sense of the city’s myriad districts and terms. As soon as I got off the bus, I was bewildered. The bus stop was nearby, but after checking the route map, I saw that getting to the airport required transferring multiple times. In an unfamiliar city, taking the wrong bus was a minor issue, but missing the flight would be disastrous.

Thinking this over, laziness got the better of me, and I decided to take a taxi and pay a bit more rather than risk it.

There were plenty of taxis nearby, and I quickly flagged one down. I told the driver my destination and let the car wind its way through the overpasses. Who cared? Even if I was overcharged, it would only happen this once. With that thought, I relaxed, leaned back in my seat, and took in the city sights through the window.

Perhaps because it wasn’t rush hour, the ride was smooth, with none of the congestion friends had warned about. When we reached the airport, I glanced at the meter—fifty yuan. “Not bad!” I told myself, somewhat self-consolingly, I hadn’t been fleeced too badly. I paid the fare and dragged my suitcase into the domestic departure hall.

I hadn’t planned on taking a taxi, so I’d allowed plenty of time for transfers and possible traffic jams. Now I was over an hour early. I called Zhang Qi; he had just left home. That meant I’d have to wait here for another two hours.

With nothing to do, I found a random seat in the departure hall and whittled away the time playing games on my phone.

Fortunately, Zhang Qi arrived right on time—a little after three o’clock. I gathered my belongings and walked inside with him. After exchanging our boarding passes and passing through security, we entered the waiting lounge.

The Beijing Olympics were about to begin, and the lounge televisions were broadcasting the Chinese men’s basketball team’s preliminary matches. The rows in front of the TVs were packed with waiting passengers, all watching intently. Cheers erupted again and again. Clearly, the Chinese basketball team had plenty of fans; if it were football, I doubted they’d get the same attention.

After watching the game for a while, it was time to board. The announcement repeated endlessly, and outside, the shuttle bus was already waiting. Just as we squeezed onto the bus, rain began to fall, courtesy of the typhoon that had hit in recent days. The airport staff responded quickly, passing stacks of raincoats onto the shuttle.

With fifteen minutes left before takeoff and no more passengers in sight, the shuttle closed its doors.

The rain outside grew heavier, water droplets covering the windows so thickly I couldn’t see a thing. Who knows how long we drove around the runway; finally, the shuttle stopped beside a Xiamen Airlines Boeing 737. No one wanted to get soaked, so everyone struggled into raincoats and rushed up the boarding stairs, creating instant chaos. The flight attendants, helpless but still smiling, tried to persuade everyone to keep order, though whether it worked was anyone’s guess.

Once aboard, someone collected the raincoats. Following the crowd, I stowed my bag in the overhead compartment and claimed the window seat before Zhang Qi could. Though I’d flown before, I’ve never shaken the habit of sitting by the window—perhaps enamored with the sight of billowing clouds drifting past, or always hoping to glimpse some hint of that legendary paradise.

I worried that the typhoon would delay the flight, but fortunately, despite the storm, we left the tarmac right on time. As the plane ascended through the clouds, rain still fell below, but above the clouds, the sky was bright and clear. The sun, level with us, turned the lingering droplets on the fuselage to gold.

“So beautiful,” Zhang Qi pressed himself against me, craning his neck to peer out.

The plane made a stopover in Zhuhai. Since phones must remain off during flight, as soon as we landed, I turned mine on, hoping to text Xiao Gang and Candy with our estimated arrival time in Haikou, but there was no signal. Having drained the battery playing games while waiting for Zhang Qi, I had no choice but to turn the phone off.

By the time we took off again, night had fallen completely. The passengers, worn out from the journey, had lost the excitement of boarding. The dim cabin lights cast a tranquil glow, making the atmosphere unusually quiet—a quiet that brought a faint sadness to my heart.

“Piggy, remember to call me often. If I have time, I’ll come visit you.”

…

I always feel as though fate is playing a huge joke on me. If heaven truly exists, I must be infinitely close to it now. Lele, Xiao Bei is coming to see you—can you feel it? Lele Pig, how long has it been since you called me? Xiao Bei misses you so much, so very much…

I quietly pressed my head against the window—outside, it was so dark I could see nothing. Yet faintly, I saw Lele’s familiar smiling face reflected in the glass.

Lele, that night when we left West Lake, I remember clearly you cried as we parted. You said farewells should be tinged with sadness; that’s what makes them romantic. You also told me that whenever I missed you, I needed only to look up at the brightest star in the night sky, and you’d feel my longing at that very moment.

You always knew how to create atmosphere. Watching you in silence, my heart ached. Later, I kissed your forehead, hugged you, and watched as you disappeared from my sight.

“Lele…” I fought back the urge to cry, whispering your name, gently pressing my hand against the window, trying once more to grasp your soft hand.

“Bei Pig, take good care of yourself—only you can bring me happiness.” Your familiar words echoed in my ear, but your figure grew ever more blurred before my eyes, finally fading into the boundless darkness.

Ten thousand feet above the earth, ten thousand feet of longing…

(Chapter revised October 15, 2010)