The Stop Light

If you had heard about the pressure to get into a college after high school in Taiwan, you’ll know where I am coming from. The senior year of high school was like preparing for war. If you were well prepared and were victorious in all the battles of the “College Entrance Examination,” you would be the war hero. You would be rewarded with the choice of attending one of the four top universities in Taiwan. Who knows, you might even had gotten a shot at the most prestigious National Taiwan University. On the other hand, if you lacked preparation and stayed behind the warriors and just took it easy, you would be admitted entry to the various “Entrance Exam Prep Academies.”

I was in my senior year in high school. Even though my school had always been one of the top three schools in the city, my personal grades and score did not reflect my association with my alma mater. I managed, however, to pass at the low altitudes. I was comfortable with this fact because I believed in the motto of those before me: “I have no glamorous goals in life, just wishing for a score that lets me survive.”

Senior year was one bitterly boring year. The daily routine consisted of just school and the academy; test on this and exams on that. The wake up time was sometime before six and I could not get home until after ten. But somehow, I found an energy source that enabled me to continue to bear with this embittered life. Her name was Megan and she attended the class neighboring mine. She has neck-length, silken hair that was always neatly trimmed one centimeter from the shoulders. Tidily managed bangs gently rested over her brows. When the sun beats down on her hair, it would give off an elegant glow.

I think it was after classes one day late in the semester last year. I was on my bicycle ready to go home. There was this girl riding a bicycle about 30 feet in front of me on Roosevelt Road. She had short hair and a pretty good height for Asian girls (about 5’4” to 5’6”). The girl possessed a nice slim figure and revealed a pair of very proportional lower legs beneath the all-so-common “A-style” high school uniform skirt. The back seat of the bicycle sat a book bag with a sign that said “Provincial Phoenix High.” Ahh yes! Such a titillating back view.

I increased my speed, rushed past her and took a glance. Oh wow! What a cute girl! I became puzzled immediately. I have attended PPH for the past two years. Why was it that I had never discovered such a gem? Then I decreased my speed to let her pass me and I followed her. We came to the intersection of Roosevelt Road and Keelung Avenue, at which the traffic signal was always green. I stopped following her because she made a right turn and I needed to keep on going straight.

After that encounter, I could not stop thinking about her. I began to do some detective work to find out her name and what class she was in. That was when I found out her name and that she was in the same grade as I was. Her academic aptitude was quite impressive. Megan was on the honor roll every time, which was the opposite for me. I just hoped to pass.

Starting from then, I waited for her after school everyday at the convenience store across the street from the school gates so I could “accompany” her home. I continued this stalking job until the senior year. I found out from my connections that she enrolled at an entrance exam prep academy. I then purposely enrolled in the same academy. This is the only way I can follow her home everyday. What more exciting was she was put into the class neighboring mine when the classes were rearranged during the senior year. I can see her everyday at school. My daily routine, then, became wait for her at the intersection of Roosevelt and Keelung at 6am, wait for her in front of the convenience store after school, and accompany her home after the academy classes. Of course, at the intersection, I continued straight while she made a right turn.

The traffic signal disgusted me. It was always green. When it was green, I must continue straight. It never gave me a chance to make a right turn with her. As the days went by, I liked her more and more. I could not even imagine one day without seeing her. But I am chicken and shy so I did not dare to approach her. Just becoming her friend would be out of question, too. So, I would write a letter everyday before I went to sleep. I put in the letters everything I wanted to tell her. I revealed the feelings I had for her when I saw her in the letters. Every time I made up my mind to deliver them to her for sure, I would find an excuse not to. “I’ll give them to her during lunch…” “Uh… I’ll give them to her after class…” “I don’t really know the people in the academy, maybe I’ll deliver then…” “I’ll give them to her at the intersection before she makes the right turn…”

My emotions had stalled under the wearisome and ironic conditions. Things always fell apart at that freaking always-green intersection.

The date of the college entrance exam was approaching fast. I told myself that I got to get my act together and hit the books hard. Her grades, for sure, can get her into a renowned public university. My grades, on the other hand, were not going to attract her attention. I began to study very hard. I still wrote the letters everyday because I told myself that if the traffic light turned red before she turned right, I would hand the letters that I wrote for a year to her with no concern for the consequences.

Graduation is just around the corner and my hatred for the traffic light had deepened. That damned traffic light always stayed green. I was carrying about three hundred letters everyday and never got a chance to deliver them. During the graduation ceremony, she was invited on to the stage to receive the academic honor awards. I was in the audience, deserving the “award for applauding the hardest.” To every student, graduation was a proud moment. But it was quite painful for me. The academy, however, still held classes after the graduation. So I still waited for her after the ceremony to go to the academy and rode home with her in the evening.

Something held true though. My hard work with the studies paid off. I have made significant and obvious improvement with my grades. But my feelings for her had not decreased a bit with the time I spent on studying. On the contrary, my feelings for her had grown more… and more.

No one knew which university I would be admitted to. Also, no one knew which university she would choose to attend. My last hope of communicating with her was that traffic signal at Roosevelt and Keelung.

The academy had let the classes out. Like usual, she gathered up her books and rode off on her bicycle. Like usual, I gathered up my books, rode off on my bicycle and accompanied her home….

Today’s date is June 12, 1999. I graduated from high school one year ago today. And that was also the last day that I saw that guy. I can remember vividly that it was a red light. But I did not have the time to tell him that I liked him. His bicycle was crushed under that drunk driver’s sedan. The letters he intended to deliver to me spilled all over the intersection.

I am Megan. I wrote this story after I read his letters. This is the first time I wrote something like this. “Will you still accompany me home?” I softly asked in front of his grave.