Once more, Cynthia Lee found herself at the terminal. This is where it all began, she thought to herself, as she saw the big terminal screen. There was another woman talking this time, but she looked away from it. She had been looking forward to, and dreading this day for weeks, in equal measure. It had been roughly two years since her tutoring lessons with her mother had started. 

Every time she unearthed a new nugget of knowledge, deeply buried from one of the books her mother gave her, she felt the kind of joy she had never known before. But then, when she thought about leaving her mother, her brothers, her father, her house - her whole universe - behind, she felt an unimaginable sadness. She made herself feel better by thinking, almost wishing that her mother would get weak when the moment arrived. There was no way she would let her bao go. 

Her mother’s resolve was about to be tested now. Messages had been sent, tickets had been arranged, money had changed hands. Even a chaperone had been found. All done secretly, of course. It helped that her father usually kept to himself, or his fields, and didn’t have any close friends to speak of. There was always a chance that her brothers could find out. Tongues liked to wag, especially in small villages. But Cynthia’s mother had been thorough. 

Over the past several months, her mother had surprised her frequently. She had shown her a new side of herself, almost every day. She couldn’t decide if her mother was a better storyteller, or better at math. She was amazed at how her mother’s eyes lit up when she was talking about a distant land, although she had not left her little village in years, or the Sichuan region in her entire life. “You can always travel in the ship of imagination, Cynthia”, her mother used to say. Needless to say, she hadn’t been on a real ship either. 

And what amazed Cynthia even more than all of her mother’s knowledge was her ability to conceal it. Around dusk every day, they would pack up their books and return them to the large trunk next to the bed. Her mother would get a fire started and start rummaging the pantry for the night’s supper, young Cynthia helping out where she could. By the time the men came back, the metamorphosis would be complete. The butterfly would have changed back into a caterpillar. As the lights slowly flickered on in their cottage, the spark from her mother’s eyes would slowly fade away, and the woman she had always known would resurface. 

Inasmuch as she hoped that her mother would break down at the last hurdle, she knew that the new version of her also had hidden reservoirs of strength. On the other hand, no matter how much she tried not to think about it, she sometimes also tried to imagine life in the big city. It couldn’t possibly beat what she had seen in her dreams, could it? Since they didn’t have any kind of television set in their cottage, everything she visualized was based on what she read in books her mother brought her, or the odd pictures from the magazines her mother brought her from time to time after a trip to the market. Things looked too colorful, people looked too happy. Could that really be true? While being scared to face it all, the biggest draw for her was the promise of an education. 

She had been receptive like a sponge, and had easily grasped everything her mother had thrown at her, and more. After a while, she felt confined by everything around her. She had grown up around farms and fields and mountains, but despite their expanse, she felt bound by it now because, for the first time, she was aware of the existence of something much grander on the other side. She was thirsty for knowledge and she knew fully well that the big city would be the only place where she could quench this thirst. 

She was still trying to reconcile all these emotions as she stood at the platform, staring at her mother, who had been quiet during their journey to the railway station. She kept checking and rechecking Cynthia’s bags, in part to calm her own nerves, and also to avoid making eye contact. She had summoned all of her strength and did not want it to leave her at the last moment. She knew she would be heartbroken to let her daughter go, but it was the best thing for her. She realized that her intellect was truly special. It would be unfair to keep it caged. While the thought of her leaving was unbearable, she imagined the alternative: Of her little girl growing up to be a wife and mother and never leaving the village. Her little girl would grow up to be another version of herself. She had made her choice. 

As the train arrived at the station, the ticket collector came to the platform looking for Cynthia. One of his assistants was to be her chaperone. Cynthia’s mother thanked him profusely and pointed at Cynthia. They helped take her luggage into the train. And then, it could not be put off any longer. Cynthia stood facing her mother at the platform, and tears started to flow freely from her eyes. Her mother, however, did not let her tears show. At least not yet. 

“Cynthia bao, I love you and that’s why I know this needs to be done”, Cynthia’s mother kept saying, as much to assuage herself as her daughter. 

Cynthia kept staring at her mother’s face, into those eyes, at the greying hair, and kept clinging to her even as she heard the first whistle signaling that the train was readying to leave the platform. She couldn’t manage to get words out. 

“Your aunt will take good care of you. I know you haven’t met her yet, but we spent a lot of time together growing up. She has a good heart.” 

More tears flowed from Cynthia’s eyes. She felt the knot at the bottom of her throat well up. She hadn’t known this kind of pain before. She expected her throat to explode under the pressure at any minute. 

The final whistle sounded. These trains didn’t linger for young girls and their broken hearts. Her mother held her hand firmly and half-walked, half-dragged her to the door, which opened up as they walked closer. Time for one last hug, then she stepped on. The sliding doors shut just as quickly as they had opened, and the train began to move. She kept her eyes fixed on her mother, who waved at her and blew her kisses, even as a tear had started to appear at the corner of one eye. 

Cynthia walked to her seat and collapsed in a heap. She noticed a few travelers in the seats next to her, she saw trees and mountains and farms moving past in the distance outside the window, but it was all a blur. None of this mattered. Her thoughts were focused squarely on one woman who she knew would be making the walk back to the cottage by now. Even in her grief, she continued to marvel at her mother’s resolve. She wished she could borrow some of that right at this instant. 

What she didn’t know at the time was that just as the train had left the station, everything that was propping her mother up left her almost instantaneously. She didn’t see her mother sit on a bench and wail like a child. She didn’t know that her mother would never be the same person again - that the spark Cynthia had seen in her over the past few months had left with her on that train. She did not know then that she had seen her mother for the last time.

Next Chapter: 1.8 Small Tech