A Little Piece of Me
When he told me he was leaving I felt like a vase which has just smashed1. There were pieces of me all over the tidy, tan tiles2. He kept talking, telling me why he was leaving, explaining it was for the best, I could do better, it was his fault and not mine. I had heard it before many times and yet somehow was still not immune3; perhaps one did not become immune to such felony.
He left and I tried to get on with my life. I filled the kettle and put it on to boil, I took out my old red mug and filled it with coffee watching as each coffee granule slipped in to the bone china. That was what my life had been like, endless omissions4 of coffee granules, somehow never managing to make that cup of coffee.
Somehow when the kettle piped its finishing warning I pretended not to hear it. Thats what Mikes leaving had been like, sudden and with an awful finality. I would rather just wallow in uncertainty5 than have things finished. I laughed at myself. Imagine getting all philosophical6 and sentimental7 about a mug of coffee. I must be getting old.
And yet it was a young woman who stared back at me from the mirror. A young woman full of promise and hope, a young woman with bright eyes and full lips just waiting to take on the world. I never loved Mike anyway. Besides there are more important things. More important than love, I insist to myself firmly. The lid goes back on the coffee just like closure on the whole Mike experience.
He doesnt haunt8 my dreams as I feared that night. Instead I am flying far across fields and woods, looking down on those below me. Suddenly I fall to the ground and it is only when I wake up that I realize I was shot by a hunter, brought down by the burden of not the bullet but the soul of the man who shot it. I realize later, with some degree of understanding, that Mike was the hunter holding me down and I am the bird that longs to fly. The next night my dream is similar to the previous nights, but without the hunter. I fly free until I meet another bird who flies with me in perfect harmony. I realize with some relief that there is a bird out there for me, there is another person, not necessarily a lover perhaps just a friend, but there is someone out there who is my soul mate. I think about being a broken vase again and realize that I have glued myself back together, what Mike has is merely a little part of my time in earth, a little understanding of my physical being. He has only, a little piece of me.
当他告诉我他要离开的时候，我感觉自己就像花瓶裂成了碎片，跌落在茶色瓷砖地板上。他一直在说话，讲解着为何要离开，怎么说这是最好的，我可以做得更好，都是他的错，与我无关。虽然这类话我已经听上好几千遍了，可每次听完都让我非常受伤，可能在如此巨大的打击面前无人能做到无动于衷。
他走了，我尝试着继续过我们的生活。我烧开水，拿出红色杯子，看着咖啡粉末一点点地落入骨灰瓷的杯子里。这正是我一个人的鲜活写照，不断地往下掉咖啡粉末，却从来没真的地泡成一杯咖啡。
水开了，水壶发出警报声，我假装没听见。迈克的离去也是一样，突如其来，并且无可留住。要了解，我宁可忍受分与不分的煎熬，也不想以如此的方法被宣判死刑。想着想着我就忍俊不禁，自己居然为一杯咖啡有这样多的生活感怀，我一个人肯定是老了。
可是镜子里回瞪着我的那个女生还是那样年轻啊！明目皓齿，充满了前途与期望，光明的将来在向她招手。没关系的，反正我也从来没爱过迈克。何况，生命中还有比爱更要紧的东西在等待着我，我对自己坚持说。我将咖啡罐的盖子盖好，也将所有关于迈克的记忆尘封起来。
那天晚上，出人预料的是，他并没入到我的梦中。在梦里，我飞过田野和森林，俯视着大地。忽然间，我掉了下来醒来后才发现原来自己被猎人打中了，但令我坠落的不是他的子弹，而是他的灵魂。我后来才日渐了解，原来迈克就是那个使我坠落的猎人，而我是那只渴望飞翔的小鸟。到了第二天晚上，我仍然做了类似的梦，但猎人不见了，我一直在自由地飞翔，直到遇上另外一只小鸟和我比翼双飞。我开始意识到，总有那样一只鸟，那样一个人在前面等我，这个人可能是我的爱人，可能只不过朋友，但肯定是知我懂我的人，这令我感觉如释重负。我想起过去感觉自己像花瓶一样裂开了，才意识到原来自己已经把自己维修好了。迈克只不过我生命过程中的小小过客，他仅仅知道我的表面，他只是我生命中的小小一部分。
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