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Copyright Jade Windchime 2003
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Mei Kuan was frustrated. This was the second mountain bike she lost, and only in her third month at that. Her first bike was stolen exactly 30 days after she bought it, right in front of her doorstep! When she reported the theft to the police, a deputy sheriff came to the house and said to her, "Well, ma’am, this is not like Singapore y’know, where you cane people and all that."
Hmph! Now her mind was weighed down by the fact that this is her roommate’s bike she lost. This time, it was outside the downtown’s library. She loved cycling downtown; it was not like the cities one sees on TV, like New York or LA. This town is much smaller, a little quaint even, it feels like a life-sized version of one of those Lego towns one sees on display at a toy department store.
She will have to pay her friend for the bike, of course. Nevermind that it did not cost that much, not for a bike. They sell very cheap and durable mountain bikes here at their supermarkets. This was before Malaysia had her first Carrefour. Still, a hundred bucks IS a lot of money, especially for a foreign student. At the height of her country’s economy crisis, where at one point the Ringgit was down to 5.8 per 1 US dollar, Mei Kuan’s parents could only afford to send her US$300 a month.
That autumn afternoon was gloomier than ever. The whole biosphere was covered in a drab grayish hue as Mei Kuan made her way home on foot, treading on the cement pathway, that same one she rode her bike on, to town, but in the opposite direction, of course. Luckily, she was not one of those wimpy types; she loved to walk and she had the stamina to walk for miles. Plus, it was not even half as hot as back in her country.
A car slowed down and stopped beside her. The window was rolled down, and she saw a scruffy-looking middle-aged man bent sideways to look at her. He asked her where she was going, and offered her a ride. Now, Mei Kuan had been taught since she was little not to accept rides from strangers. It was one of those lessons parents would teach their kids, "Never accept rides from strangers." With that lesson firmly implanted in her mind, Mei Kuan politely refused.
However, the stranger was not easily discouraged.
"I have a family, and I respect young people," were some of the words Mei Kuan remembered him saying. He had long, brown, curly hair, a rough, sunburnt, slightly unshaven face, wore a plain white shirt and Bermuda shorts. Mei Kuan thought he either looked like a retired hippie, or a homeless redneck. He persisted on offering her a ride, and wouldn’t take no for an answer. So, after a few minutes of half-hearted refusals, Mei Kuan finally relented and stepped into the car.
The stranger started light conversation. He must have sensed Mei Kuan’s reservations, for he did not pry too much into her life, just basically talked about himself. The few questions he asked, Mei Kuan heard herself replying in monosyllables with an unusually strained voice. He asked her if she was from Vietnam, and she said, no, Malaysia. And he went on a bit about how he had served in Vietnam before.
Mei Kuan asked to be dropped off at the town’s K-Mart. As he pulled into the parking lot, Mei Kuan handed him a dollar’s worth of coins, saying, "This was what I was gonna pay for bus fare so....."
Before she could finish, he waved off her offer. "Nah, don’t worry about it."
And as she opened the door, he said to her, "If I see you walking alone the next time, I’m gonna give you a ride again, ok?"
She smiled and said thank you.
As she stepped into the entrance of K-Mart, Mei Kuan watched the car drove away. It occurred to her that she did not even know his name, nor did he hers.
The sky was getting brighter already.
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