Tuesday Afternoon

Adelaide is pushed against the window, her entire body indented by the frame ledge, the grime smudging slight fingertraces on the left side of her chin. Her bag is pulled up tightly against her chest, propped up on her knees, also pressed to her chest by the wheelhub directly beneath her. Her soft curves are spilling slightly from the fitted gray skirt, her heathered sweater rises slightly off her rounded hips. Pressed next to the ball of Adelaide is an old, old man, with coarse, folded skin and threadbare trousers. His patched navy blazer is folded softly at the cuffs, and he is holding a rickety cage of two chickens in his lap. Adelaide is the only Western person on the bus, which is currently barreling into traffic at 40 km an hour. In China, one passes to the left, while the oncoming traffic dodges the passing cars. Into the mix of cars and busses streams a slew of professional bicycle riders with great posture and wicker baskets. When it rains, the bike riders are soldiers in plastic, each with their different colored plastic tents which are cut to shield the bike basket without tangling up the gears and wheels. On a dusty warm day like today however, the bicyclers are somewhat boring, intertwining with pedestrians laden with large wicker baskets and fresh produce bending their backs.

Adelaide is responsible for traveling one hour to Kunming's cooperatively owned Wal-Mart to find tuna fish and popcorn. She will then duck into the cornershop, lift the curtain into the back room and peruse the Western movies. She will select two- one comedy and one action, and ask the manager to play it on the DVD tv to make sure the movie plays in English or is subtitled English. She will then pay the 8 RMB for each, have her card stamped, and walk back to the bus stop for her return journey. This means Miles and her will have a lovely weekend in, with some beer and pool across the street from the school they teach at, followed up tunafish and crackers for dinner, and popcorn with movies.

Adelaide has never had a partner really, has never been responsible for someone else's happiness, has never picked out movies knowing whatever she chose would end up being acceptable. Adelaide really misses toasted bread, double old fashioneds slinkily half full of amber, delicious scotch, and nutmeg with cream in her coffee. Its been three whole months, or 92 days exactly.

If this were a man's novel, and thus slightly greater, this would be where the story began, hurtling through brightly colored fabrics and food and dusty homemade brick, Adelaide's frame svelte, her eyes darting, her hands tapping restlessly with Miles next to her. Miles would be musing lightly about Lisa from the Bluebird Cafe, where he had had a quick drink yesterday while Adelaide took snapshots of the city for her murals. Miles would be wondering about Lisa in a way that he would consider separate from Adelaide, a way that was prefectly acceptable given that he was a man in pain. Although he had never been left pregnant or raped by someone he loved, he had had a gilfriend dump him once, and the pain left him a womanizer for all his days. Adelaide would know this, and would spend the better portion of her life, the portion that was not devoted to her silly, childlike indulgences and hobbies, to easing Miles' pain. She would love him unconditionally and tolerate his cheating heart, lying next to him hopefully every night. Every now and then she would cry, dig her nails into her palms, exhale with a muffled shreok. Miles would love her quietly, and sip whiskey at dusk.

Thankfully, this is not that kind of story.

Adelaide is here alone, listeining to Cinerama, and Miles is with Huey. He is lucky he is not with Dollar or Apple or Fabio or any of the random words the Chinese picked up as their Western names. He is also lucky that the Chinese do not seem to mind Westerner's total ineptness at saying Chinese names. So Miles knowingly enjoys his privileges, and Adelaide rides to Kunming, and all of this has already happened.