Warmth from an Autumn Night
By Huang Qianyu, Class 3, Junior Three, Shunde No.1 Middle School Experimental School, Shunde District, Foshan, Guangdong
The autumn night carried a trace of chill; a few lonely stars shed their faint light in the darkness, and the desolate scene around me was a portrait of my heart at that moment.
Only minutes earlier, after a quarrel with my mother, I had stormed out and slammed the door behind me, that ruthless line still ringing in my ears: "If you dare go out, don't bother coming back." I wandered the empty streets with only scattered lights and swaying trees for company; the hollow stillness left me — so rarely out at night — with an inexplicable unease and tension.
Suddenly, among the shifting light and tree shadows, someone seemed to be walking briskly toward me. Unconsciously I clenched my fists, a flicker of worry crossing my mind — what if it was someone bad? Instinctively I quickened my pace, pretending to be calm as I headed back, but the approaching footsteps and hurried breathing gave my impulsive willfulness no chance to repent.
Just as I was nearing despair, the figure swept quickly past me — it was only a sanitation worker just off the night shift; a false alarm. Relieved, I walked on toward home behind him. Watching him ahead of me: dressed in a thin cleaner's uniform, a towel draped around his neck, shod in worn canvas shoes, hurrying forward while carefully cradling a bag of milk and bread in both hands, as if something urgent awaited him.
At the corner near my home, he stopped and stepped into a makeshift garage, and at once I heard the cleaner say warmly: "Son, how was your studying today? Did it go well? I bought you milk and bread — have them while they're warm. The night is getting cold; put on another layer." Rude as it was, I crept close to the garage and looked around. The garage was small to begin with, and cluttered with bottles and jars everywhere; only one corner was neat and tidy, holding a desk and a chair. The little boy doing homework at the desk put down his pen at the sound, ran over at once and hugged the cleaner tightly — like a flower at last watered, such was his joy. Taking the bag of food in both hands, he said with a beaming smile: "Thank you, Dad! I'm just finishing my homework. The teacher praised me again today — she said my composition was very good. It's called 'My Dad'. Let me read it to you..." The boy let go, ran to fetch his composition book and the chair, brushed the dust off the seat with his hand, and said to the cleaner with that innocent smile of his: "Dad, please sit." He stood straight before him, holding his composition book, reading it word by word with utter devotion, while the cleaner sat in the chair listening attentively, like a faithful audience. Lamplight spilled around them, lighting up the room — and it glinted, too, in the corners of that father's eyes.
The autumn night's wind blew gently past — so gently that it warmed my heart.
That little garage brimmed with the breath of love and understanding: the father toiled at work with his son at home in his heart; the son studied hard with his father out striving in his. With only each other to depend on, their life was far from rich, yet they lived it well simply because of the love between them.
I turned to leave, a bitterness in my mouth. The wind struck my face, stinging like needles; I raised my hand to my cheek — it was tears. Gazing down the dark road ahead, recalling my own willfulness and rebellion, and all the tolerance and love my mother had given me over the years... without realizing it, I quickened my steps toward home.
(Supervising teacher: Lin Liujun)