Old Roads(a narrative story by Alex)

The fool I was, I did not bring an umbrella, and in anxiety I stood, doused. I could feel the raindrops rolling down my cheeks and the fierce Spring winds. The bustling streets boomed full with sounds of cars and the splashing of rain trying to find a resting ground amongst the crowds trickling in and out of the University’s main gate like a sea of tides fighting amongst itself.

The blazing noon glare was blinding and searing, yet no less chilling in equal measure. Rampart winds tore through the streets and rain bore down on pedestrians like bullets - a clear reminder that Winter had not laughed its last laugh. Thankfully, down South there was no rain nor snow to further dampen the murky sky, as much as their splashes of colorless clarity would have certainly been welcome in that dull canvas.

The test was over. After 4 hours, it was over. I could see plenty of other test takers straying around the streets like they’ve just lost their souls before disappearing into the sea of people. With the traffic slowly trickling in, naturally, several taxi cabs followed.

I briskly tread over to the first one and peeked inside the car window, asking, “could ya run me down south near the coast to this place about 14 miles away?”

The tall but cramped man slumped on his seat turned his head over, staring at me with a tired and fixed glare, sized me up, then shrugged and gestured with his hand for me to leave. I trot down the street to the next, and to the next, until one cab was willing to take me out of the dreary rain, and gladly I scrambled into the backseat, the annoyance of wetness and humidity beginning to set in.

The driver glanced back and asked: “Where to sir?”

I replied, “Down south, ” promptly showing him the destination with my phone.

He replied by flooring the gas pedal, and the roaring crowds subsided away until I could not see them anymore past the corner.

“Don’t mind those pricks, ” he assured.

“The cab drivers?”

“Yup. They too incompetent to learn politics and too nameless to know anyone important so they give seats instead of offices. ”

“Isn’t that bad for business?”

“Probably.”

“Why then?”

“They feel better.”

“Wouldn’t they feel better with more money in their bank accounts?”

“I should ask you that, shouldn’t I? You’re a student at that university, no? Why’d ya think being able to read better and know more random facts about people makes ya

better than any of them?”

“I’m in highschool sir, and I’m only there to take a test. ”

“See? You are not so different.”

“See? You should think, rather than see. That’s what education is.”

“Don’t be stupid, ye learn to see this place around us, but ya can’t even see yourself? Do you really believe thinking and your opinions solve our issues?”

“Better than choosing not to think.”

“No, I’m not talking about them, I’m talking about you. Do your opinions get

anywhere or do anything?”

I glanced out the car window, which was now glistening with raindrops slowly

making their way back down to Earth, even if it meant braving the chaos of finding their way back through the vast streets of concrete. We were nearly sailing, water flooding up on the streets in a shade of Earth yellow from the scattered dust and contaminants it picked up on their journey through the air and streets. At least in the drains they’d find solace in their return. Even in the rain, the town square bustled with people hiding under umbrellas, painting a colorful stream along the gray landscape. A couple of overturned umbrellas sailed along the curb, further and further on their own journeys. I knew not how to answer.

“Which route ya wanna go, across the bridge or through the underwater tunnel? The one they just opened yesterday,” he interrupted the silence before I could give an answer.

“You’re the driver.”

“Well you’re the one deciding the destination.”

“The tunnel then. Haven’t seen any tunnels go under the sea before.”

“Mmhm.”

The tunnel was brightly lit with lights and walls freshly painted white, with several patches revealing the unending stretches of structural profiles and wires

underneath. The stench of recently dried concrete and paint lingered in the air of the nearly empty tunnel, save for one or two cars. Several police officers stood in the middle of the lane with roadblocks blocking the path. One came up to us and greeted us as we approached the “checkpoint,” stating: “The tunnel isn’t open yet. There is a detour available. ”

I leaned forward and opened my mouth, yet no words came out of it. I sat back again as we turned around, out of the tunnel, back into the rainy daylight.

“Well. Bridge?” the driver muttered under his breath.

“Do we have a choice?”

“Fair. ”

I withheld my temptation to inquire more, for I knew it was futile. A futile thought; for in that moment I thought all of my thoughts were too futile, too powerless, drowned under the rumbling of the engine and the tapping of rain on the window as the sea revealed its vast expanse, as far as the eye can see. In silence we sat until we approached the destination beneath the dying light.

Tipping was not typical in China, yet I knew not out of what intention, I gave the cab driver 2 RMB on top of what was due.

He stared back at me in confusion, reminding, “I didn’t charge ya extra. Are you sure you didn’t make a mistake?”

“No. I can’t do anything with two RMB anyways”.

“Yes you can. There’s a lot you can do with two RMB. Far more than you think.”

“I insist, and, sorry, ” I replied as I left the cab, welcomed back by the rain, which felt oddly refreshing. Once again, I felt, perhaps, human, perhaps, a fool. What once dispelled ignorance and foolishness now is foolish and delusional? That thought immediately bubbled to the surface as the chilling rain cleared the clouds in my head, leaving much needed headspace to think.

I quickly sped up my steps as the rain began pouring down, the feeling of clumsiness becoming apparent. Underneath the street-lamps, the rain sparkled golden in the darkness, creating lively dots dancing upon the puddles. The signs were still brightly lit, but not the roads, which always puzzled me. It was the familiar crossroads I went through, but under this torrential rain, there was not much of a decision in taking the same old road I took every day. Under the light, the road was still some blindingly dark chasm, but away from it, the road was quite visible, and, indeed, the same old road. Sturdy, well-known, and leading home. Could I have taken another path? Indeed, but no more did I have a reason to than any other madman.

Roads were not always “necessary, ” “they just came into existence as more and more travelers passed there,” yet there I was, on a road, pondering the point of thought beyond necessity and practicality. This may not be an underwater tunnel, but it will always be that trusty old path, open and awaiting, yet, beyond reason, laid there forever.