Winfred Wong: Son of the Tank Man

“Come. I think they’re in the manager’s room,” I said, striding across the empty half, and knocked on the thick wooden door, painted gray with a brass knot.

“Come in,” said a masculine voice, which belonged to the manager, and I turned the doorknob and went in.

“Just in time. Where is he?” the manager, slouching all the way back in a reclining ergonomic office chair set behind an L-shape office desk, said.

I pointed my thumb over my shoulder at the door. “Right outside.” And I beckoned at Aaron.

“Well then, tell him to come in. What is he waiting for? He has to listen to what Betty is going to tell us. It’s very important,” he said and turned his head to look at a bulky man with an old-fashioned eagle tattoo on the back of his neck standing before the desk. “Brian, I don’t need you here now, you can go out, and, Ashton, thank you for bringing Aaron here, but I believe you still have many things to do, right? It’s your last day with us after all.”

“Yeah,” I said, wondering why he had such a dingy mood astride his cranium, realizing he had never told me to get out of his room with Brian before.

So, as Brian stepped out of the door while Aaron was coming in with a confident gait, head up, chest out, which contrasted greatly with Brian’s sullen, dejected look, I followed him to leave. And when I was done with the door behind me, I found he was standing in the middle of the ‘grassfield’ staring at me in his usual ‘popping’ way, which was whenever he wanted to talk he would stare at me with his eyes popped out to seize my attention. And as time went by, we would sometimes say things like ‘I’ve been popping for you. Where’ve you been the whole day?’ and that’s what I had believed to be some kind of a symbol of our friendship. Anyway, our usual practice was to wait for him to speak first, but in some occasions, like this time, I would take the initiative to break the silence first.

“Hey Brian, is everything all right with you?” I asked, hurrying over to him.

“Yes, everything is all right,” he answered after he let out an excessively long sigh of disappointment, which was his way of saying ‘hi’ – even on the usual practice occasions, he would do this to start a conversation – yet this time, it was something more than just saying ‘hi’. “It’s just, you know, he declined my proposal, again. He thinks Betty’s suggestion is much more feasible and effective than mine.” He hissed. “Anyway, I think I’m just a little bit disappointed with myself. It’s not the first time, after all. I wish I can do better.”

When it came to his proposals, which he would always ask for my opinion while crafting them, I would usually become speechless because, as a matter of fact, I could see his ideas weren’t really creative enough for him to stand out in this team, I had never told him that though.

And this was what I would usually say to comfort him, and I did say it that time as well, “Don’t worry. I believe one day he is going to find your proposal so impressive that he is going to kick Betty out of his room so that she couldn’t steal your brilliant idea, and you’ll be on top of the world.”

“Ha,” he uttered oddly, not actually smiling. “Oh, before I forget, I want to let you know that having the privilege of working with you for all these years has always been the highlight of my time here, my friend.” He kind of smirked and touched my shoulder twice.

“Thank you, Brian. I will be missing you.”

Then he frowned, his smirk switched into a pursed smile, “But why are you leaving? I have always wanted to ask you this. But are you not happy here?”

“Of course not. I’m not unhappy here. On the contrary, I do enjoy my time here, but I’m…” For a reason I didn’t know, I just didn’t feel like unearthing the truth that I was going to leave the country to him, probably because it would be too much trouble to explain; I wouldn’t have to explain anything to the newcomer though.

“Because you’re still mad at him, right?” he asked before I could make up an excuse.

I didn’t understand what he meant. “Mad at him?”

“Don’t tell me you don’t know who I am referring to. You’re still mad about what happened a year ago, aren’t you?”

“You mean Robert?”

“Yeah, I know you two haven’t been on good terms since that day. You never talked to him again. I can still remember, as if it’s yesterday, the angry look on your face on that morning when you finally managed to get aboard the plane and came back. You were so enraged that you reached out and nearly strangled him to death, yelling so loudly like a gorilla. I’ve never seen a man so angry. You literally lost your temper.”

Then a sudden flash of hazy memory drifted into my mind, reminding me of the reason why I couldn’t cast my vote last year, bringing up a burst of grief mingled with remorse and hatred inside me.

“I can never forgive him.”

“But hadn’t he apologized once?”

“Yes, yes, he had, but first of all, what he had said can hardly be construed as an apology, and secondly, I think he did it deliberately, and it’s unforgivable regardless of how many ‘I’m sorry’ he said. He wrongly deprived me of my right to vote just because I don’t share the same political ideology as him. It’s absurd.”

“Wasn’t the flight delayed because of inclement weather? I mean, no one could have seen the storm coming.”

He was obtuse. This wasn’t the first time we had this conversation, but he could never see from my point of view. So I went silent for a minute that seemed ages, then gave a perplexing sigh of indignation, feeling bothered, and scratched my head, as if it was the biggest irritation of all. I didn’t want to talk about it any more even though I was certain Robert had deliberately bought me the flight ticket of a flight that would be delayed, and I just wanted to have that irksome conversation terminated quickly because, considering him as a fervent supporter of the idea of the-best-policy-is-to-stay-neutral, I knew he would never understand my fury.

“I don’t want to talk about this any more, at least not today. It’s painful. Let’s just get to work.”

With my lips pouted, I then stormed away squarely toward the ‘barn’, the pantry, which appeared stylish with an elegant sliding barn yellowish door, built right opposite to the manager’s room, and I hauled open it, dragging it violently until it hit the wall, and entered. It was about the size of the ‘grassfield’, and it was the only place here where I could compose and seclude myself for a quick moment of tranquil meditation. Every time after picking a quarrel with someone, mostly Betty, I would go in there for some quiet moments to recover.

The rest of the day was just like another day in the office and was pretty uneventful as I just packed up my things and causally instructed Aaron as to what he needed to do in the next few days. Time flew so fast I didn’t realize the hour hand had already reached six and the sky had already engulfed the world in complete darkness when my mind was occupied with pleasurable fantasies of leaving the country soon. And when I gathered up my bag and stood up, ready to go, Betty, a mature-looking woman with a ponytail, who was well-known for never gossiping with anyone, approached me.

“We’ll all miss you, Ashton, keep in touch,” Betty said, gave me a quick, distant, friendly hug, and cackled with laughter.

She seemed really happy about me departing my post because that would mean one less contending competitor for her, and obviously, Aaron was not a threat looming to her, but that was not a problem I should concern myself with any more, so I glanced over her shoulder to the manager, who was seemingly hoping I would look at him, with a rueful grin on his big fat face, standing by the door of his room.