The Foreigner

A Story by Star Noble

Inspired by the foreigner riots in China.

Flooding the classroom is a sea of teenagers about the same height, with similar eye color, and deep shiny near black hair floating on top of their heads. But a speck within that sea, reveals an eighteen year old boy who distinguishes from the rest. He possesses light brown pigmentation in his hair, with peculiar hazel eyes, and most obvious of all, stands six feet one inch tall. He is called Zhang Lei.

The bell sounds, signaling that the students may vacate from their captivity. Zhang Lei decides to make his way over to the desk of Wang Yan, and shade covers her space when he arrives. He stares disturbingly, standing in prevalent silence. Finally, after moments of quicker paced heart beats and excelling levels of annoyance she looks up. She already knows it was him and decides to speak since he wasn’t already, “Can I help you?” He responds with hollow words while plotting a harsher way to articulate himself, “Yes, Wang Yan I have a question for you.” By the end of his sentence he figures out what to say and Wang Yan’s mind is wandering off, thinking about how she will find lunch this time to satisfy her vegetarian self. “Wang Yan!” he catches her looking out into space, not listening to a word he is saying.

“Look do you have a problem?” she already knows the answer.

“Yes as a matter of fact,” he briefly scrunches up his nose, bringing its narrowness to her attention, “Why can’t you just be like everyone else? It’s so stupid how you keep bringing up how much you love your paintings and how important they are to you. That has nothing to do with importance in anyone’s life and you’re probably not even good.” Wang Yan is hurt only slightly, because she is used to all the peer doubt.

She explains herself, “It brings me Xíng Fú!” Her words push him back into a cage of temporary speechlessness. Xíng Fú means happiness. And that is all she wants, and to have the freedom to do whatever brings it to her. She picks up her already packed back pack with one whoosh and flings it over her shoulder.

“Just remember what I said, you can’t just pretend that society doesn’t exist!” His loud words sound in her ear, although she tries not to listen. She shifts her day out to the streets trying to make productivity out of her lunch break.

Wang Yan takes a seat on the bench to eat her fried eggplant she bought for lunch. The aromas hit her nose and a delicious nutty fragrance triggers saliva to awaken in her mouth. It juxtaposes from the chaotic world that speeds past her. Gas invades the air and people call out to each other, when she finds a means of isolating herself from all of it. She pulls up her news app that one of the international students had introduced her to. It is called Time. She springs the phone up to her face and her eyes immediately grip onto the article title China: Chaos. She decides to bury herself in the article, curious to find out about things going on in her country that natives conceal from her. Her gaze reads across and down the screen as quickly as a knife cuts through butter. After she finishes, she shifts her glare up, immediately involving herself back in reality, as noises become more pungent than ever.

She hears gun shots blister into her ear, leaving behind a ringing. She immediately snaps her body down to the ground, underneath the bench, and creates a barrier in front of her face with her palms. Angry boycotters are yelling nasty slurs while marching in unison, moving anyone who stands in their way. They are holding up signs of various sizes and colors filled with hateful words. Wang Yan peaks at one of them through the space between her fingers. The sign is written in Chinese, telling foreigners to leave the country. A strangely pale man paces past the Wang Yan concealing bench. He strides at a speeding pace as everyone’s eyes center on him. The atmosphere slows down before the man positions himself in front of the protestors and tries to get out his words. It is too late. A boycotter spits out quick beats of anger in his face and raises a gun to him at eye level. It occurs at too rapid unjust speeds for Wang Yan to process. Right then and there the boycotter pulls the trigger, starting an explosion of mayhem throughout Shanghai. Wang Yan closes her eyes, squeezes out a tear, and hushes the word to herself, “Xíng Fú… Xíng Fú” over and over again.

She starts to tap her foot, impatient and confused with the situation. How can this happen? What? Oh my goodness, am I really witnessing this? What the hell? Has this happened before? Her thoughts fail to ration her now dysfunctional world. She sits there, eyes closed, as she waits.

Suddenly, after she makes herself completely dazed as a self defense of events that beg for emotional pandemonium, her experiences are brought back to her attention. She is reminded of the things that occur and cannot control her tears once again. A tear splatters on to the ground as a wave of realization starts inside her. It’s begging for her to figure it out. Wang Yan plays tug of war with it, not sure if she wants to accept what conclusion reality is bringing. Finally she gives up and a thought plays through her head, I am exactly the same as the foreigner. Whoa. Her eyes become ajar, then open wider with each blink. Her vision is blurry, dizziness curses her. She just wants to coexist with the world the way she is, because she cannot change. She is stuck like this forever, like her own personal box of function. I can’t take this, “AHHHHH!” Darkness casts over her body, as she begins to feel someone’s presence.

“What’s wrong?” Wang Yan gets some normality gifted to her with the arrival of a girl that is in her science class. She looks up at her and lets out her relief through a rare deep breath. “Zhang Li?” she shakes off a bit of the daze inside her and Zhang Li reaches her hand out to help her up. Zhang Li notices her puzzled face and her abnormal quietness.

“Are you okay? You look like you just witnessed your first foreigner riot or something?” She releases her words alongside a chuckle, not for certain that was the case at all.

“How did you know?” Wang Yan finally brakes out of her silence, her prior thought now answered: Yes this has happened before.

Zhang Li shows teeth this time, and snickers out a burst of amusement. Soon a growth starts in her stomach that triggers a good kind of pain. Trying to collect herself, she gasps for air in the way that she wishes she encountered more often. A few uncontrollable laughs escape her before she calms down. Wang Yan stares at her with a blank face. What is so amusing? She thinks. Finally Zhang Li looks over and is able to read her expression, quite easily.

“I’m sorry, I just, well, it’s kind of cute.” Wang Yan’s face doesn’t shift the least bit out of its motionless, “I remember my first time; I should be more compassionate.” She sees that Wang Yan is able to arrive in a slightly more comfortable place as a barely noticeable grin shows on her face. She pats her on the back and offers, “Come on, let’s walk to school together.” The two take off, fading into the crowd, until they find their turn into school.

Wang Yan suddenly remembers her paintings and tries to count how many hours it’s been since she’s worked on one. She can only focus on agitation the rest of the day. The sweat starts on her forehead the way it always does when she hasn’t painted. It gets more noticeable with each passing moment she remains in class. She begins to smell herself, growing disgusted. It is an endless series of agonizing hours before the bell rings. It is finally 8:30 she frees herself, speeding out of the classroom breezing past all the unsuspecting humans. She only notices blurs, not people as she makes her way to the basement of the International Department.

She arrives home, where all her art supplies have been waiting for her, and instantly relieves her canvas of its loneliness. Her paint brush borrowing vibrant blues and fiery oranges glides across, wherever Wang Yan’s mind takes it. Her mind is depicting the scene she saw today on that bench. She feels the emotions return with every stroke. It is the moment when she is delicately stroking over the murderous boycotter’s nose when she can’t help but think of Zhang Lei. She decides that he doesn’t possess any Xíng Fú and wanders deeper. Wang Yan gets to seeks past his foreign looking body and finds that he almost identically resembles the boycotters.