The Final Curtain

The Locust Tree at the alley's mouth had shed another carpet of white blossoms; delicate petals lay scattered across the bluestone path like a thin veil of snow, exactly like that morning twenty years ago. I crouched beneath the tree, carefully pinching a petal between my fingertips; the morning dew clung coolly to my skin. "Why are you picking up these worthless things?" A low voice came from behind, carrying the impatience unique to youth, like a stone tossed into a still lake, disturbing the peace of the early morning. I turned around and bumped into Chris Lewis's frowning face. His school uniform collar was crooked and twisted, the zipper only halfway done up, and the bangs over his forehead shadowed his eyes, his exposed eyebrows knotted in a scowl that made him look fierce. "It's a bookmark," I said, slipping the petal into the side pocket of my bag and half-closing the zipper. "Teacher Lee said that if you dry and press locust flower petals, they can last for years." Chris sneered and slightly lifted his right foot to deliberately crush a cluster of petals gathered at his feet; the white petals were instantly trampled to shreds. "Childish." He spat out the word, his voice nearly overflowing with disdain. I ignored him, brushed the dust from my hands, and turned to walk toward the school. My canvas shoes clicked on the cobblestone path, their sound overlapping with Chris Lewis's footsteps behind me. The old woman who had been reading fortunes at the alley corner since childhood sat in her bamboo chair, fanning herself with a palm leaf and muttering, "You two are the Seven Lifetimes of Resentful Lovers; brought together in this life, you're doomed to chaos and unrest." Now, thinking back, those words were truly no exaggeration. In kindergarten, we fought over building blocks. Chris pushed me down to the ground again and again. I cried loudly, while he stood nearby, clutching the stolen blocks, pressing his lips tightly and remaining silent; In elementary school, we competed for top of the grade. When I wasn't paying attention, he secretly hid my homework in the drawer of the teacher's desk, causing me to be punished by standing up; At the middle school sports meet, during the relay race, he deliberately bumped into my arm, making me drop the baton. I watched his retreating figure, so angry that tears welled up and threatened to spill. But every time we argued, he would quietly follow behind me afterward. Someone secretly slipped a love letter into my backpack; while I was in the bathroom, he found it, threw it into the trash, and even stamped on it twice. On a rainy day, when I forgot my umbrella, he shoved his black one into my hand, said simply, "Take it," then turned and dashed into the rain. His school uniform soon soaked through, and he came home looking like a drenched chicken.