[Story] Dog Days Are Over

Author’s Note: Found this buried in my drafts from 2018. Just a random little story on the impressionistic, surreal flicker of a college encounter between a girl and a boy (and dogs). 

Raining Dogs

She met him in the dorm room with a slanted ceiling. It was a mixer of about fifty people, with a makeshift bar (a scruffy-looking bookshelf colonized by dark liquor swimming in bottles), the washed-out glow from two sentry-like lamps, a lack of ventilation that put to sleep the dogs in her mind (a quiet bubble in a sea of noise), and the bright red cups swirling on sweaty hands like neon atoms in the dark.

He had a forgettable but good-looking face and an open, sudden smile. She had glanced up and there he was, a flash of white teeth and unfamiliar eyes.

It felt like it could be the beginning of the Play, which she didn’t know if she wanted to be a part of. Because that was only one day after she thought she had inspected the dust particles gathering on the stage. It felt impossible that any performance would ever start. She didn’t dare to read the opening lines of a new script that she might have to once more figure out. She walked away, cloaked in the memories of gray carpets of non-beginnings, unlived possibilities, and almost-heartbreaks. Her mind yelped, but she told it: Shh.

*

When she saw his name on her phone the next morning, everything was too quiet. In the stillness, she tried to remember how he looked like. She could only draw up hollows and shadows and teeth and eyes, an outline of a feeling, something close to being airborne. The dimness had rubbed his person of the valleys and ridges.

Her fingers tap-danced across the screen. Then the phone made a tiny arc through the air, landing on the cushions. The paws in her mind lifted by a whisker and with the pull of gravity, fell.

**

She didn’t expect a conversation to develop out of that encounter under the slanted ceiling. But, she found herself replying, enveloped in the rhythm of what could be an opening act.

When she made her way towards the T station, three days after the first phone message, she almost thought she might not recognize him in the glaring expanse of broad daylight.

He was wearing a white shirt, and he watched her as she came to him.

He wanted to say something, but she — more alive, less withdrawn than in the dorm-room light, was now full of sharp edges and splatters of colors — started talking. No scripts, no audience, just two people, almost strangers, barely friends, drawing an emotional asymptote on an unknown plane.

So he listened, the boy inside him first raising an eyebrow and, as the night went on, her animated words were punctuated by an undeniable pounding in his ears, like the sound of small palms fervently clapping in an empty auditorium. As she talked, he was nodding, and slipping, and tumbling down into a hole, gaping open. It was exhilarating.

***

She said goodbye to him by a bookstore.

I talk too much, she said, almost helplessly. The And Yet hung in the air between them, like subtitles. Anecdotes poured out, so did the crinkled, dog-eared details she thought she had long forgotten, drab, insipid, self-indulgent, confessional, strange, inconsequential bits and pieces of the arc of her life. And yet he listened. And yet she felt listened to.

Plans were made, a stroke here, penciling a vector there, in the blank space and black lines, a promise of something. And then a lull.

She felt the brief touch of his hands on her lower back. The enfolding of arms. The barest of hugs.

As she walked back to her dorm, she tilted her head to grasp the cacophony of barks in her head. Oh, shut up, she said, but couldn’t stop smiling. Shut up. Shut up.

****

He didn’t text her for five days.

The dogs were wild. They blanketed everything.

When she saw his name on her phone after the gap, everything was too loud.

*****

They stood close to each other like the first time, sat across from each other like the second, but she had the sense that everything was going terribly wrong. Somewhere between the crunched up movie ticket stub in her fist and the silences in the uber, between his distracted eyes and her reluctance to say anything, the tenor of this evening had changed.

They had not seen each other for merely a week, but it keenly felt like a meeting between two strangers. Strangers who knew too much about one another.

Tentatively, they tried to venture into unexplored terrains — Florence, childhoods, pasta — but each time they sought to erect a pole to build anew the tent that could house two souls, the earth turned to quicksand. So they kept scrambling, exerting force at All The Wrong Things, squinting in concentration, not meeting each others’ eyes, building a set like single-minded craftsmen, grasping at their shambling dignity and splintered ends.

The And Yet that had wafted over from the effulgent night a week ago, brimming over with everything said and yet so much unsaid, now crumbled into dust like moth wings between calloused fingers. She stared at him, and he stared at her.

He walked her back to her dorm. He responded to all her questions. He offered to pay for dinner. She laughed at all his jokes. She asked him one question after another. She allowed herself to be hugged. And Yet. And Yet. And Yet.

As she stood on the elevator, alone and watching the blinking lights move up each floor with a steady tick and a lurch, she felt she was leaving him on the ground as she went up higher and higher, back into a life without performance. All the memories of the three encounters were receding in the distance, he was becoming a speck, and the dogs nuzzled her solemn ego, her cool heart, her shredded script, and they were respectfully quiet in her mind in its moment of incredible stillness and clarity.

******

She learns two new lessons about gaps:

Lesson Number One:
There is a gap between the contours of Ideal Type and someone you can actually fall in love with. 

And
Lesson Number Two:
There is a gap between being in Love and loving the idea of falling in Love. 

*******

She knows that nothing in life will last. But, she says a little prayer as she lulls the dogs to sleep: to look at a boy and feel the whole world fade. And then she too can fade into old age, into ashes, into oblivion. With a rose in her hair and the dogs sighing in content.

Path in the Forest

(120) Days of Summer/Internship

Selina Xu_Felucca

Hellooo May! My favorite month of the year. (Because it’s my birthday at the end of it. Jk.)

😇

Since I’m flying from Boston Logan this Friday, the summer calendar is on the verge of starting. 120 days stretch out before me till September 3 when the Fall 2019 term starts. It’s so surreal that (barring Finals) I am halfway through with college. It feels like yesterday when I first moved in. A snap of fingers and, suddenly, I’m at the midpoint of my Harvard journey, with two solid years behind me and two years ahead.

Life’s moving too fast. High school felt like ten years, but in college, two years have sped by on jet fuel in a month-like blur. So many things have happened and so many things will be unfolding. I always feel like I’m poised to start, but then, semester milestones like this tell me that some chapters are truly ending. Life is a constant flurry of new beginnings and closures. The older I get, the more aware I am of these flipping pages. They no longer slip by unnoticed.

Announcing my summer plans!

May 5-24    Singapore

May 25-June 1    Los Angeles & Las Vegas — I turn 21!!!

June 2-August 10    New York

Fareed Zakaria GPS

This summer, I’ll be interning at CNN’s Fareed Zakaria GPS.

Super excited to be working for a primetime TV news program on foreign affairs — I’ve been a pretty big fan of Fareed’s works (he was the commencement speaker at Harvard in 2012) and have listened on-and-off to his podcasts from GPS (Global Public Square). On GPS, Fareed interviews world leaders and thinkers — a to-die-for list that includes Barack Obama, Bill Gates, Emmanuel Macron, and Salman Rushdie (fun fact: Kishore Mahbubani, who I worked for as a research assistant last spring, was also a guest on the show in its inaugural year, 2012) — and hosts lively roundtable discussions on topics ranging from 5G to Brexit to the world’s next recession. 

Not quite sure yet what the day-to-day work will be like, but I’ve been told that interns are expected to assist in all aspects of production (from a story’s inception to research and fact-checking to gathering visual elements) — so a big YES! 

I’m incredibly thankful to the Director’s Internship Program at the Institute of Politics for this opportunity — highly encourage more of you to check out the list of 100 or so organizations that partner with Harvard to provide fully-funded internships in politics, government, and public service for undergraduates!

August 10-September 2    Singapore + other travels maybe? Any recommendations?

*

Goodbye for now, Harvard! Thank you for another whirlwind of a semester — frosty winter and blossoming spring, some great classes, big ideas, and phenomenal professors, late nights at DeWolfe, Kirkland, and GSD, Harvard China Forum (practically the love of my college life), a flurry of internship applications, a constant state of waiting/in suspension (with a wonderful result at the end of it all 🙏), a precious lesson or two about dating, a long list of UberEats and Snackpass receipts, fluctuating weights and paper deadlines, a Belfer Center research stint on U.S. foreign policy, and friends who always care; I will miss you all dearly. x

But, see you in three days, Singapore~ I’m bringing my Final papers back to you — 42 pages in a week. 😵😵 Let’s do this!!!

Lots of love,

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