Words Are Complicated, Silence Is Simple

I drummed my fingers on the table and wished I was somewhere else. Not back home, not yet, but this place had outstayed its welcome.

“Tell me about England,” Jeanie said, resting her elbows on the table and looking at me with heavy eyes. “What is it like?”

I shuddered and shook my head. “I’d rather not.”

“That bad?” she said.

“It’s complicated.”

We chatted instead about China, how much things had changed in Beijing in the last few years, and how much things had changed in the world at large, deciding after much back and forth that everything had, in fact, gone to hell after all.

"The world is a complicated place," Jeanie said.

After finishing our drinks, at around 2am, we decided to call it a night, not knowing what else to call it, and head back to our hostels.

The hostel where I was staying was right across the street from the bar, full of European travelers and English-speaking comfort. For some reason, it was a place where locals weren’t allowed. Perhaps because they felt this would unsettle the tourists? I have no idea.

Even though Jeanie came to Beijing to see me, being Chinese, she had to stay at the Chinese branch of the same hostel, which was further down the street and down a badly lit alleyway. Tourists didn't go that way. There was nothing to see.

Every night since we met I walked her back to that hostel and she hesitated before going in, as if she wanted to say something but changed her mind.

I hoped she always change her mind. I hoped she would never say what she was thinking. Words are complicated, and I didn't want to have to deal with them.

We passed the locals on our walk that night, like we did every night. They all sat at small, white plastic tables in front of their stores playing cards, eating and drinking, laughing and unwinding - but still technically open for business, because they never closed, they couldn't afford to. Their lives had no holidays, no weekends off, no bank holidays, or lie ins in the morning. For them, the race continued day and night, but right now, when it was quiet, they focused on having fun above all else. This was their time.

Me and Jeanie didn't really speak on the way home. I preferred it that way. I sensed she was doing some thinking, and I was happy to leave her to it.

But when we reached her hostel she smiled sleepily, head swaying a little, and put her arms around me, burying her head in my shoulder. She'd never done that before.

Then the words came, those awful, complicated words.

“Can I kiss you?” she said. She'd never said that before either, and she never would again.

I waited a few moments, let those words just sit there in the night, then I said "no" and left it at that. I wanted to say more, but I couldn't. If only things were that simple. But they never were.

There was someone at home, you see. So then why was I here?

It’s complicated.

She didn't question the response, didn't suggest they had affected her in any way, and headed inside, trembling, and shouted back that she would see me in the morning.

I waved and said "goodnight", then headed back up the street, knowing I'd never see her again.

I didn't sleep when I got back to my room, and checked out as soon as someone was available at reception. It was barely dawn. Even the plastic tables outside were empty and silent. Beautiful, simple silence.

Then I left that place forever.