The Brightest Part of My Mind

　　Memory can be complex recall, where we may recover the fading enthusiasm, the dying distress, the faint emotions, and above all, the most striking and stifling memory. Several extracts of memory pace back and forth in my mind without minutes＇pause. Perhaps they have been my part of my life, for they have certainly given me immense shake and shock.

　　Now I am very glad to share with you the brightest part of my never-fading memory.

　　It jumped into my life when I was a little pupil in Grade Two. My formal maths teacher was about to have a baby, so he,an old but strong man, substituted her. He couldn＇t be called a wonderful teacher;he always forgot what he had told and even what he was to tell, thus making it our responsibility to remind him where he had just paused. However, he is a gentleman with amiable temper, sending me a feeling of my grandfather being around. For the sole reason,I felt like being close to him to enjoy that kind of happiness.

　　The road, which has been well maintained in my memory,engraved the deep tracks of wheels and two shadows, recording the story of a pleasant evening.

　　That day, I walked home like a swallow. All of a sudden, a familiar shout came closer to me from my back. "Little girl, do you want a free lift?" I looked back, and the swarthy face occupied by deep lines, caught my eye immediately. I just smiled back without any answer.

　　"Jump on! My little girl!" He slowed his riding speed,moving towards me bit by bit. I stood there,motionless and wordless.

　　"Do I look like a big and wild gray wolf?" He maintained his pleasing gentleness.

　　I shook my head with my long hair moving right and left with fixed rhythm. At last, I opened my mouth:"I don＇t know how to jump."

　　"Well, I see. But when I was younger than you, I had already managed to jump onto my father＇s big and heavy bike.What＇s more, I was much shorter than you ! So I guess you can＇t ride a bike."

　　I nodded with my face blushed. Perhaps at that time I was a small and weak child to him, one who seemed unlikely to receive any hurt or challenge. Oddly enough, I lost my feet just with a strong feeling of flying;magically I had sat on the rear part of his bike in security. With the help of his two great hands, what filled the short time flying was not fright but intimacy, because my grandfather usually did so.Now what you can and should do is to stay quietly. OK?"

　　I looked down at his "old friend", one guy suffering from wounds small or big and festering in such unexpected rain. If I saw it at one dark and damp corner, I must feel sick. But now the gentleness felt from my seat kicked out all the antipathy. I looked at my kind "gentleman", behaving as he just instructed.At that moment, we were moving along a narrow path on the soft land.

　　"Now tell me what you are thinking. Do you feel comfortable?"

　　"Yes, very comfortable, teacher!"

　　"Don＇t call me teacher, call me＇Sir＇! You should know it is much politer to call one＇Sir＇who renders help."

　　He burst into laughter, difficult for me to understand.

　　At that moment, I felt the mildness of breeze with a bit of coolness. On the smooth way, I was a happy bird, surrounded with such great warmth which I could only get from my parents and my dear grandfather.

　　Then I arrived, and he wanted to ride back. He held me in the arms from the bike, kissed my red cheek and tapped my small head with his tough hand.

　　Happiness is certain to end. No one will have the everlasting priority on maintaining happiness; each soul must remember that fate is fair. Since it once presented you with boundless happiness, it will deprive all this and deliver them an unexpected gift of sorrow.

　　I am one of them, the one who once smiled from the bottom of my heart but then released all the smile, back to soundless cry. Transition of the two different feelings buried in my fragile heart a sharp sword, stabbing me faintly.

　　Two months later, my former maths teacher came back to her familiar platform, facing a group of familiar faces. He left us, left me, without any word. From then on, every time I faced the familiar platform, listening to the maths teacher, I can＇t help thinking of him, my kind "grandfather"; Every day, I met a lot of people, familiar or unfamiliar, but had never caught his shadow. I came to believe it would be the end, though pathetic.

　　But one day, a familiar shadow was before a blackboard at the corner of stairs. It was he, the one I longed for.

　　"Sir!" I shouted with all my strength.

　　He looked back at me, no exciting in his eyes and no gladness on his expression but surprise. He just stood there, chalk in hand, gazing at me at a loss, a little pupil with tears rolling down her face.

　　"What＇s the matter, pupil?"

　　Hearing the familiar tone but odd words, I am caught both in delight and in bewilderment, What＇s the matter? Was I not the little girl he knew? I became dumb with a splash of what had been heard from one teacher that he had moved to logistics department for his serious forgetfulness.

　　"Nothing! Thank you !"

　　I rushed out of the dreadful corner cruel enough to flood me in cruelty, loneliness and callosity. He had thrown away all the memory of a little girl who brought him glory.

　　With the passage of time, I had to believe that he had cast me in a dark corner, but I would put the memory of him in the brightest part of my mind for good.

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