The river of time flows silently and quickly. In the blink of an eye, it is already a full moon at the beginning of the school year. The sycamore leaves fell more and more eagerly, swirling in the wind outside the window, like countless letters that had nowhere to deliver. The air in the classroom is still condensed with the chalk dust and the unique warmth of the teenager's breath.
That day, geography class.
In the last class, Dyson assigned a clever mind map assignment, which required to sort out the vein of plate movement. Doris's deskmate Ellie, a round-faced girl with rosy cheeks and always a little ignorance and anxiety, has been wrapped around her like a vine since the class. Doris, I really can't draw this 'death boundary'... How did the Himalayas "grew"? Do you use arrows or wavy lines?" Ellie's pen pointed at the notebook at a loss. Her voice was very low, but with a eagerness that could not be ignored.
The class bell sharply broke through the air. Dyson has stood in front of the podium and is ready to start talking about a new content - wind erosion landform. His clear voice spread in the classroom, like a long axis unfolding a scroll of landform wonders. However, Ellie's request for help did not stop. She seemed to be completely immersed in the dilemma of her homework. Her elbow gently hit Doris from time to time, and her notebook tilted more and more, almost covering Doris's own pages. Hey, do you think I draw like this? Is there anything missing?" She kept nagging in a low voice, and the warm breath brushed Duo Ruisi's ear.
Doris felt bored for a while. She didn't want to interrupt Ellie, and she was eager to hear every word Dyson said. She could only sit stiffly, trying to look over the top of Ellie's constantly shaking hair and fall on the brilliant figure on the podium. Her eyebrows frowned slightly unconsciously, and her lips pressed into a restrained straight line. This is a kind of divided torment: half of the mind is dragged into the quagmire of past homework by the same table, and the other half desperately reaches out to the knowledge and light flowing on the podium.
On the podium, Dyson was talking about how the "ridge groove" of Yadan's landform was carved like a knife by the wind. His eyes habitually swept through the audience to ensure that those young eyes still followed the guidance of his language. Then, he saw a little disharmony by the window in the third row. The two girls leaned close to each other and exchanged words continuously and secretly, completely ignoring the "art of the wind" he was unfolding. A trace of extremely faint displeasure, like bubbles emerging from the bottom of the water, gently brushed his professional calmness. Classroom discipline is his territory, and any form of "private alliance" is a silent offense to this territory.
He didn't raise the volume of his scolding. That doesn't suit his style. He stopped talking, and in an instant, there was only the faint sound of the wind outside the window and dozens of doubtful eyes in the classroom. He closed the handout, and his slender fingers casually picked up the hard-shelled "Overview of Nature Geography" and rolled it skillfully in the palm of his hand, and it became a paper tube that looked quite weighty. Then, he stepped off the podium, and his shoes stepped on the water grinding stone floor, making a steady and clear sound, like a kind of countdown.
The voice got closer and closer, and finally stopped at Doris and Ellie's desks. A shadow shrouded down with a faint and clean smell of soap pods mixed with old books.
Doris's heartbeat suddenly missed a beat, and she raised her head in a hurry.
Dyson stood in front of her, standing upright, blocking a large amount of dusty light pouring in through the window. He leaned slightly, and his eyes first circled between her and Ellie, and finally settled on her face. His expression is very calm, and it can even be said that there is a trace of interest in inquiry, but the eyes that always contain a smile are like a deep pool in autumn at this moment. It is calm on the surface, but deep inside is difficult to distinguish.
"What's the matter," he said in a low voice, but it was particularly clear because of the silence of the classroom, with a polite torture, "to make you so happy, after discussing for so long, even the power of the wind can't attract you?"
Doris was completely stunned. The blood seemed to rush to the top of the head in an instant, and then turned into a roar in the ear. She raised her face and opened her eyes wide in shock. Her pupils clearly reflected the outline of his backlight and the scroll in his hand, which symbolized the authority of the master. Her lips opened slightly, but she couldn't spit out a word. My mind was blank, only his "so happy" echoed repeatedly - happy? No, there is only the anxiety of being troubled and interrupted. She subconsciously looked at Ellie, hoping that she could explain, but Ellie had already buried her head very low, and her neck was red, like a frightened quail.
In this short and long silent confrontation, Dyson moved. He raised his hand holding the scroll, and his wrist knocked three times in a casual and even light arc towards the position of Doris's shoulders and arms.
"Ta, Ta, Ta."
The voice is muffled and not loud. The hard shell of the book is separated from the thin shirt of the autumn school uniform, and the touch is more like being brushed by hard feathers, with a clear reminder than real pain.
But for Doris, those three knocks were like thunder. A mixture of shock, humiliation and misunderstood anger exploded in her chest with a "bang". Her body was as stiff as a stone, but the place where his shoulder was knocked was as hot as a soldering iron. On what basis? Obviously, it's Ellie who has been talking! Obviously, she was forced to be distracted! Why is it yourself who bears this "punitive" gaze and action? Just because I raised my head and met his sight? Her cheeks quickly turned red to the roots of her ears. The eyes, which were always confused or immersed in thoughts, ignited two clusters of clear and stubborn flames at this moment. She bit her lower lip and tasted a trace of rusty sweetness before she barely suppressed the argument that almost came out of her mouth.
She squeezed out three words from between her teeth, and her voice trembled slightly because of the strong suppression: "No. What. What?"
These three words are stiff and cold, like three stones hitting the ground.
This time, it was Dyson's turn to be slightly stunned. He obviously didn't expect such a reaction. The undisguised anger in the girl's eyes, and the almost provocative rigid attitude, like a small thorn, unexpectedly pierced the appearance of him calmly controlling the situation as a teacher. He looked at her red face and stubborn eyes, which did not have his usual shame or playful admitting mistakes after being broken by small actions, only pure indignation of being wronged. This indignation was so blunt that he was embarrassed for a moment, as if he was the one who did something wrong. The slightly mocking teaching he had prepared was stuck in his throat.
He fell silent. I just took a deep look at her. Her eyes were complicated and difficult to explain. There was scrutiny, there was an accident, and maybe there was a trace of very quickly passing by and being offended. Then, he said nothing more. He held the book and turned around. His pace seemed to be slightly faster than when he came back to the podium. He reopened the handout, and his voice returned to his usual clear and smoothness. He continued to talk about how the wind shaped the earth, as if the little episode just now had never happened. However, his eyes did not glance at the window seat in the third row.
The end-o-class bell finally rang. As usual, Dyson sorted out the lesson plan, briefly answered several students who came around to ask questions, and then left the classroom. His back disappeared at the door, and the invisible pressure dissipated.
Doris was still sitting on the seat, motionless. The anger that had been suppressed just now surged up like a river and a sea, hitting her limbs and skeletons. She felt that her fingers were trembling slightly.
"How could he be like this?" She turned to Ellie, her voice was very low, but with uncontrollable excitement, "He actually... knocked on me with a book? This is corporal punishment! Even if it doesn't hurt, it's also a fight! It's too much!"
Ellie has returned to her usual appearance, with a little redness on her face, and she said, "Oh, Doris, don't be so angry. Mr. Dyson didn't work hard, that is... it's just a small punishment, reminding us not to talk in class. Many teachers are like this, patting on the shoulder or something..."
"It's different!" Doris interrupted her, and his chest fluctuated violently. "He asked 'What's so happy about'. He thought we were playing! He didn't ask the reason at all! And..." Besides, he is the one who did it. This recognition made her heart sour somewhere sharp. The light that once illuminated her whole world would also cast a shadow indiscriminately, with unquestionable and even somewhat rough "authority".
Ellie couldn't understand her fierce reaction. She put away the book and stopped talking.
Doris was immersed in a silent and continuous anger and disappointment for the rest of the day. The words in the geography textbook swayed in front of her eyes, but they couldn't enter her mind. She thought of his look down against the light, the touch of the book falling on his shoulder, the flash of astonishment in his eyes and the deliberate avoidance later. Every kind of memory makes the thorn deeper. The first "intersect" she thought, even if it was not beautiful, should at least be plain and normal. Who would have thought that it would open in such a dramatic, misunderstood and slightly disciplined way? It is like an elaborately composed picture scroll, with an abrupt and uncoordinated stain on the first stroke.
Many years later, the world changed, and the dust settled in another way. When Doris and Dyson were finally able to sit in a quiet corner filled with the aroma of coffee and recall the distant past with an almost equal relationship beyond teachers and students, she mentioned this matter. Time has flattened many edges, and there is a hint of curiosity in her tone that can finally be relieved.
"Do you remember? In the geography class in the first year of high school, you knocked me three times with a book because I 'talked in class'.
Dyson's hand holding the coffee cup paused slightly. He raised his eyes and fell back to the classroom in the autumn through the years. Then, he raised a complicated and even childish smile at the corner of his mouth.
"Yes," he said slowly in a low voice, "that's it. I remember it clearly.
He paused, as if he was considering the words, and as if he was relitating the slight embarrassment of that day.
"It's because of your expression at that time - it's not the way you should have been caught doing something wrong. There is no fear, no embarrassment, only... pure and righteous anger, staring at me, as if I was the unreasonable person. Those eyes made me very embarrassed all of a sudden, and I couldn't even get off the stage. I forgot all the sermsions I had prepared.
He took a sip of coffee gently and smiled. There was self-deprecating in his smile, and there was also insight after years.
"So later, I really didn't want to take the initiative to 'get along well'. Subconsciously, I felt that this girl was really stubborn and troublesome. And the facts prove that..."
He looked at her, and his eyes flashed with a familiar light that was no longer separated.
"You have always had a bad temper. However," he added in a soft tone, "the unyielding truth is not too bad in later."
Doris listened. Suddenly, the thorn stuck in his heart in those years quietly turned into a trace of astringent relief in his frank memories and smile at this moment. It turned out that the dramatic beginning, the first shadow cast by the light, had already revealed its real and subtle lines under the lens of time. It is not only discipline and misunderstanding, but also two completely different souls, under the curtain of identity and encounter, a rigid and real first collision. All the anger, embarrassment, stubbornness and avoidance have become the rough and inevitable prelude to the later story.