My, how she has grown.

That, is the first thought that crosses my mind when I see her, tall and lanky, calmly strolling, or more so, stumbling, down the streets of Jingshan.

She doesn’t notice me, of course. As usual, too absorbed in her own world, some strange fantastical thoughts, some product of her imagination that she’s created. Whenever this happens to her, it’s as if the real world itself does not exist.

When she’s in this state, she may look at you, or register some acknowledgement of your presence, but she will not say a word, her mind obviously elsewhere.

As she walks down the street, her wavy brown hair tossing with the wind, creating unfortunate tangles and knots, she eyes the awaiting bus suspiciously, her already gigantic eyes growing even larger. She believes that near-empty buses limit the amount of interaction with other students, and she’s too tired for a conversation first thing in the morning. Luckily, the bus she boards holds only a handful of students, so choosing a seat, she pulls her book out from her bag. Her fingers drum rhythmically against the book she’s reading, a habit she picked up from her two year of drum lessons. Finally, the school bus arrives.

She steps off the bus, taking long strides towards the school, trying to avoid eye contact with the Chinese men leering in her direction. She loathes the attention, and I can see her slouch in a desperate attempt to appear less noticeable. It isn’t working. Soon, she enters the school building.

She talks and laughs with her friends for a bit, bringing her into wakeness. As class begins, she perks up, answering questions, and having lengthy discussions. She chatters on and on with her classmates, getting in a quick comment or facial expression in-between the lectures. Her sitting position constantly changes, from perched on the very edge to drowsily leaning against the chair, her eyes down-cast. It’s as though her emotions themselves are changing every minute. She goes from being cheerful and enthusiastic to completely avoiding eye-contact with everyone. I find it strange, but who am I to judge another’s emotions?

Class is soon dismissed, and the students jump eagerly out of their seats, rushing to get to their next class. Sara, however, simply stands up, and walks briskly, if not a little clumsily, to her next class. Her eyes dart back and forth a she walks towards her next class. She brushes back an escaped strand of hair, all while blowing at the bangs hanging in her eyes. From the many conversations I’ve had with her, she’s told me that she loves her bangs, and treasures them, but can’t help finding them annoying when they begin to grow out. Tests, homework assignments, every time she bends over her desk to complete them, the bangs flop limply into her eyes. But she would rather they obscure her vision then wear a hair clip. She absolutely loathes the metallic, unnatural feel of the clips, almost like a sharp, jagged tooth cutting into her skin. I smile as I think of this memory. She sure is one strange person.

During class, I noting her constant swallowing. It’s not exactly hard to miss, as I can hear every one that goes down her throat. I’m starting to find it a bit annoying, as it’s test taking time, and while she is visibly trying to control it, it isn’t exactly helping. I sigh, and continue writing down copious answers.

During lunch, I sneak a glance at her. She’s chatting with her friends, giggling and smiling, her face lighting up at the slightest mention. It’s strange, seeing her interact with all of the students, each bringing out a new side of her personality. In short, she seems to act differently around each person, as if they each bring out a new aspect of her. In some ways, I admire her for this.

Finally, at the end of the day, she waves goodbye to her friends, affirming her promise to skype them when she get’s home. Smiling, she boards the Jingshan bus, taking seats nearest to her friends. She leans her head against the window, her bangs ever so slightly drifting into her eyes. She makes no effort to brush them away, and instead stares out the window, her thoughts enveloping her in a soft blanket. I can almost hear her think, as the bus slowly begins to power forward:

“Tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow will be different.”