He swaggered into my Sophomore Oral English class last semester with his top three shirt buttons undone. He sometimes wore a white sport jacket without knowing that it came straight from the lot sale of Miami Vice. He was trailed by the pungency of cigarette tar but managed to pierce his own nicotine cloud with a quick grin and shiny eyes. He wasn't the HIT-fashioned student with short cropped hair, rectangular glasses and awkward glances at girls. There was something about him that seemed more rebellious and also more calloused, as though he had somehow managed to skin his knees on the world's playground long before his classmates were even allowed out of diapers.
I soon learned that he took frequent smoke breaks, skipped classes more often than not and never considered homework a priority. These truths rose to the surface early because my classes are small enough for me to do a superficial glance to see who's prepared and who's not. And as quickly as I learned about him, he learned about me and how I can usually detect the deadbeats and will call on them ruthlessly. He skipped out on my class, once, because he had failed to do the homework assignment and was afraid that I'd single him out (I would have). During the mid-class break, he and another classmate disappeared and never returned. By that point in the semester, I knew his penchant for bailing and decided to address him immediately. I delayed the class, pulled out my cell phone, and called him. He didn't have my number plugged in and was blindsided by a seemingly benign call. When he answered, I said, “This is Meagan. Where are you? I haven't seen you in half an hour.” He blanked. Then stammered. Then breathed heavily. Then paused. He confessed that he was in the dining hall hanging out with friends. Both he and the other boy had left their things in the classroom because they knew that a full migration out the door would've raised my suspicions. That also meant that they had to retreive those items before the workers would sweep through after our session. So, I reminded him that they'd have to return and that I'd maime and/or kill them with my bare hands once class was finished and they showed back up.
As the other students filed out of the class, they cowered in the doorway. I stared them down and then told them to come get their things. They paused, unsure of what I was going to do. I told them very plainly, “Don't ever do that to me or your class again. From now on, you come on time and you leave on time. You are MY responsibility, and I don't deserve to worry about you like I did today.”
They sheepishly walked out, and as I watched them scuttle down the hallway, I realized that I was only worried about one of them. And it was him.
I worried about him for the rest of the semester, not really knowing why but certain that it was justified. I never got a chance to sit down and learn any life details from him, but what I did find out only added to my burden. One day, he mentioned that he would enlist in the military after graduation. A rough kid like him getting tossed into the cycle of a soldier's life doesn't usually have a healthy outcome. And then I understood why he seems to defy the stereotype of an HIT student. He has been sent here because this is a feeder school for the military. He's here because he has to be.
I only saw him once on campus after our class ended. I kept my hello simple because he was with other guys, and I didn't want to give them fodder for ridicule. After that, I went home for the summer and then returned to Harbin in late October, right around mid-terms. He crossed my mind occasionally, but I don't normally chase down students. Part of knowing on whom to concentrate my efforts involves seeing who comes to me and initiates conversations. He was silent.
Until Christmas.
That day, filled with activity from sunrise to sunset, was the day I heard from him. He sent me a quick text message in Chinese. I could only decipher part of it, but I knew it was the standard message. Still, he had written, and I wasn't going to lose the opportunity before me. So I promptly responded with, “I'm delighted to hear from you! I haven't seen you on campus all semester. Are you still here? I've been a little worried about you.”
A few minutes later, he sent me another message confirming that he is still a student at HIT and that he's been busy. He also confessed that he had wanted to call me but that he had lost his confidence because his English isn't so good. (He's not being modest; his English could use some help.) I wrote back a very earnest appeal for him to reconsider calling and left it with, “I would climb a mountain to catch up with you, so if you've got some free time, let me know.” His curiosity must have been ignited because he soon nominated Monday (yesterday) to have dinner. I said yes without any hesitation.
We met outside my dorm. His telltale swagger gave him away. I asked him if he would like hotpot, and he agreed. So, we walked off campus to a place that I thought would provide some slightly quieter atmosphere. As we sat there, we talked about our summers and about the rush of fall semester. And then, in his broken English, he said, “I wondered why you are worried about me.”
Do you really want to know?
“Yes,” he said eagerly.
I began. I met you last year. You walked into my class, and you were different. You had a rock 'n' roll look, but my heart saw something underneath the surface. I only know a few things about you. I know your hometown, I know your dorm and room number, your major and your birthday. I know you smoke. But, I also know that you've had a difficult life. I just don't know how difficult.
He stopped eating. “You know my hometown?”
Yes. And I named it.
"You know my dorm number?"
Yes, and I named that, too.
“And my birthday?”
Yes, and I named the month, day and year.
He sat there in disbelief and could only respond in Chinese.
And then it was his turn to blindside me. “My mother died last year. That's why I missed your first class last semester.”
My heart ached. I softly spoke, “I'm so sorry,” but I decided to keep pressing him. What about the rest of your family?
“My dad is a salesman. I have a younger brother and a sister. My brother did something bad and he's in prison for three years. He gets out next year. He's one year younger than me. My little sister is in junior high school.”
And I bet she watches and listens to everything you do and say.
He blushed and shook his head. “Nahhhh.”
So you and I are both the oldest children in our families.
He nodded.
I've been a big sister for a long time. Part of being a big sister involves protecting others. When I came to HIT, I realized that I was also a big sister to my students. I want to protect them even though I know that I can't do that all the time. That's how I feel about you. When I heard that you are going to become a soldier, I was fearful for you and wished that I could protect you from a lot of mistakes that young soldiers make. My hometown is a military town, and I've seen many young men ruin their lives because they're far from home and they choose friends who are no good for them. I don't want to see that happen to you. That's why I've been concerned about you. I want you live a wonderful and purposeful life and become an old man with very few regrets. I want you to be remembered for your wisdom and your compassion and your courage and your love for others.
His face suddenly softened and he looked down. When he looked back up, his eyes darted from left to right in the frantic search for words. Finally, he met my gaze and said, “Before today, I didn't know that you cared about me so much. I don't know what to say. I feel so lucky.”
I smiled. You don't have to say anything. I just want you to remember this moment because there will be challenges and difficulties waiting for you in the future, and I never want you to forget that even though life isn't fair, [someone] loves you and desires great things for you, and He sent me all the way across the world to tell you that.
