xhu

The snow after dawn


When I was walking to the bus stop after I finished work, it started to snow.
It was early winter, two days before Christmas Eve. The tree on the street were just bold. Branches on them were covered with thick snow. Looked like they wanted to bow themselves. The snow on them looked extremely white and shinely flicking while the light snow fall danced in the sky. The sky looked dark. The street light on Main street were flashing faintly with whitish-yellowish color. I turned over the corner and walked to the bus stop.

I was working in a restaurant to do the delivery. It was one of my many jobs
already, I just found a while ago. One and a half year earlier, I was having a
very good paid job doing what I am interested to do. The company became no good, I became unemployed. I was searching for a good job, but it seemed the economic condition did not allow one to work on what they are interested and get a good pay. Job is hard to find. I startted to work in the restaurant
around the town, and sometimes a little better paid part time jobs. The
situation was stressful.

I stopped at the bus stop and waited there. Downtown streets looked empty.
Occasionally there were some people walking by. Two youngers also were waiting for the bus, two males. They were talking about their adventure in the pub tonight dancing with girls. It was near mid-night already. They seemed very excited. It was cold tonight, I felt. Especially when I just came out of the heated restaurant. Two young man wore very ittle clothes and started to make little jumps on the snow to keep their feet warm. The bus drove slowly to the stop. I stepped onto the bus. Two young men went into the bus after. The bus closed its door, then it ran into the darkness.

The bus is not crowded, a few people scattered. Some of them were talking. I found a seat in the back, sitted down. I looked at the running through building in the downtown streets in the dark. I sighed, "another year..." Along with the motion of the bus, I rest in thoughts.

I did not make very much money in the restaurant delivery. And I have to pay for the gas. The money I made for the job just could cover the gas and the food. Yesterday I talked to my father that I wanted to quit, he is mad at me. He is right, I must support myself. He is my foster father. My real father is dead during Chinese culture revolution, before I was born. He was a writer. Communist party in China made him to write after the establishment because he owes Chinese people during the war. He was the official. Then he wrote about his life and about how sorry he is for Chinese people during the second world war, and even before, the revolution in 1918 and the subsequent event. My real mother was afaid of the government in the culture revolution because he married my father after the estalishment under the arrangement of the government. She gave me away, to my foster parents. Can I hate her? Anyway, even though it is important. My foster parents, well, did not
treat me so bad. But I still miss my real parents.

Thoughts took me back to the restaurant, I wanted to quit even more because of the gas today. The boss is a bad guy. I devlivered the food to a family. But the address was the wrong one, about three miles further from the customer. I went back, then he gave me the real address, but he had to warm the food because it got cold. I realized later he just want me to spend more money on the gas for the three miles more and the running back distance I had to drive. That was all because I made not bad tips today, and he wanted to adjust my earnings. What a cheap guy he is, isn't it? I suddenly got sad. I decided, to leave that restaurant. I wanted to find a better job or to write novels, or better yet, to start a business.

The bus has stopped. I stepped down the bus, and the bus again ran into the dark. What a night, I turned around. It was still snowing. The white snow
flicks dropped on the ground without a sound at night, just after the dawn. The air smells fresh in the dawn. I took a breath and then walked throught the street filled with the snow, back to my home.

John Hu