The morning came.
“Guli,” Dad said, I sat down beside him. “We decided… that it would probably be the best if we…”
“What?” I finally said.
“Move,” Dad dropping this message like a bomb. I kept quiet, the bomb exploded in my heart.
“Look, it’s already May. Still no water in the well. We won’t be able to plant the grapes, and if we
carry on, we won’t have money to support the family.”
“Guli, your aunt lives in Urumqi, and she works at a gas station. Your dad could pick up his
old car repairing skills, and I could help you get adjusted to school.”
I lightly nodded, “Finish packing before five, and we will get to the bus station before six.
Bring only the things that are important. We can get everything else.”
Instead of packing, I ran outside. I ran far away, across the sandy hills, the dried out lakes. I
stopped. I dragged my legs and dug my feet into the sand. The tamarisks looked so long, like its
branches were going around my feet, to hold me tightly, never letting me go.
I cried. My tears fell on the hot sand. If only tears could feed our vineyard.
I turned my head, and froze.
Right there, across the dunes, but close enough to touch, the image of an ocean glistening
over the sand. Water, navy, beautiful. So much water. I had never seen so much water. I was
fascinated. I was terrified. The ocean sported white sails from little boats, and the seagulls flew
free overhead in that picture. I didn’t know what I would do with all that water if they were mine.
I don’t know what kind of grapes that water could produce. The ocean sat on the desert, like it was
laughing at this dry and deadly place. Even the hottest fire cannot turn the water of that mirage
into a thirst-quenching reality.
I walked back home, contemplating the ocean in the sky, put it deep in my heart, saturating
all my thoughts. I slowly walked back to my room, like a searchlight I looked over my room, and I
found nothing that I needed to bring with me.
