That day was a Wednesday in the first semester of junior high school.
When she woke up in the morning, Bian Feifei felt her stomach heavy and throbbing, as if she had a cold stone in it.
She didn’t pay attention.
The previous night, she had worked extra hard and thought it was because she was tired.
She went to the classroom as usual, did morning reading as usual, and pushed the discomfort away.
By the second class, the pain was even worse.
Her face turned pale, and her palms were covered in cold sweat.
She slumped over the desk, unable to hold the pen.
Her deskmate gave her a sideways glance: “What’s wrong with you?
Your face is like paper.”
“Nothing.” She gritted her teeth and said.
By noon, she returned to the dormitory.
As soon as she entered, she froze.
She lifted the quilt and saw a dark red stain spreading on the quilt, printed on the gray cotton fabric, so glaring and so impossible to hide.
Her mind “buzzed” and went blank.
She didn’t know what it was, but she knew it was wrong, it was dirty, and it didn’t want to be seen.
She wanted to cry, but she didn’t have the strength to do so.
She hurriedly rolled up the quilt, making it more and more messy, and the dark red rubbed onto the sheet and onto her hands.
Just then, the door opened, and several girls came in chatting and laughing.
“Oh—” The round-faced girl screamed, as if burned, “She…
she’s done it!”
“What?
“The one!
That one!” The round-faced girl pointed at the dark red stain, her face turning red.
Her tone was both frightened and excited, “She doesn’t even understand this?
I tell you, my mom taught me that long ago.”
The girls gathered around, like watching some kind of dirty thing.
Some covered their noses, some stepped back.
A tall girl frowned and said, “It’s really dirty.
Quickly take it out to wash, what use is it in the room?
”
“Her family didn’t teach her, right…
” Someone whispered, “Her mother is mute.”
This sentence, like a needle, pierced straight into Bian Feifei’s ear.
Her face immediately burned hot, blood rising to her head.
She held the rolled-up quilt, rushed out of the dormitory, and ran to the water room, squatting down, burying her face in the quilt, crying one after another.
The faucet in the water room wasn’t tightly closed, dripping, dripping.
She cried so hard that she trembled all over, but she didn’t dare to make a sound, afraid of being heard.
The ground in the water room was wet, and a black mark was left with each step.
She sat there, her knees pressing against her chest, holding the quilt tightly, as if that could hide the red stain.
Outside the window, on the playground, someone was running, shouting the chant, one, two, three, four, the sound was loud, so far away from her.
She thought, why would the mother of others be able to teach, but her mother couldn’t?
Suddenly, she had a strong desire for her mother, for her pair of embroidered cushion covers, for the warmth she gave her when she gave her hot sweet potatoes.
But she couldn’t say a word, nor could she go to ask the teacher.
She didn’t know how to tell people.
She couldn’t ask her mother – she couldn’t hear or speak.
She couldn’t ask the teacher either.
She felt that the entire dormitory and the entire grade were talking about this matter that day.
That afternoon’s classes, she didn’t attend.
The next day and the day after, she didn’t either.
She hid in the dormitory, using stomach pain as an excuse, nibbling on a corner of the six dry cakes when hungry, drinking cold water when thirsty.
She was like a wounded little animal, huddled in the innermost corner, shrinking back as anyone approached.
On the third evening, there was no one in the dormitory.
She curled up in the quilt, suddenly hearing rustling sounds under the pillow.
She reached out and touched, finding a small roll of paper and half a bar of soap – still the same one.
Inside the paper, there was a note with crooked handwriting:
“Don’t cry.
I’ve been there too.
My name is Li Qin, I’m in the lower bunk.”
Bian Feifei held the note, and tears welled up again.
This time, for the first time, she felt that the darkness in this world could also let in a sliver of light.
She sat up, lifted the quilt, looked at the washed white quilt.
She said to herself: I have to get up.
I can’t hide forever.
That night, she folded the quilt and walked out of the dormitory for the first time.