Here's to Not Forgetting You

by Andie Capace (United States of America)

Making a local connection USA

I’m riding my bike down an isolated road in the rural south of China. It is a bright clear day, though the afternoon breeze shivers all around me. As it often happens, my curiosity has taken me off track, and I have not seen anyone since the early morning. I come around a shaded bend as the breeze stills, slipping into darkness. A tall tunnel of trees looms overhead. I grip my handlebars a little tighter; I shake with fear and panic, knowing I am completely lost and alone in this foreign land. I feel incredibly small. My grip loosens as I emerge back into the light. To my left is a sea of untamed green: thick vines and branches, lush trees and lively plants, hills and valleys that seem to go on forever. I am lulled by this sight, but only for a brief moment before my brakes let out a grating scream. I pull my bike over to the right and search through my bag to find the map folded at the bottom of it. I stare at the map, stumped, for what feels like hours when I hear an engine rattle in the distance. The noise grows louder, sharper. I look up to find an old, red motorcycle winding down the road towards me. I quickly stuff the map back into my bag, afraid of looking like the lost, vulnerable foreigner I am. The man slows down and pulls his bike over across from where I am standing. The air is still and quiet. He lifts his helmet; the soft light illuminates his tanned and wrinkled skin. I watch him as he dismounts. He is an older man, with sharp cheekbones that jut out from beneath a friendly pair of eyes. He wears black loafers that are lightly dusted with dirt and faded black socks that stretch above his ankles. His gray pants, and oversized tan jacket, hang loosely on his small frame. My face begins to flush when I see him walk towards me. In broken English, he asks if I could please take his photo. I begin to tell him that I do not have a camera, but stop when I remember that I do -- I rummaged past it when I was looking for the map -- I dig it out. There is only one frame left; my body shudders. I hold the camera in my hands, unsure of what to do next. The man looks at the camera, and then at me. He smiles, and slowly bows. I look at him, confused. “I need you to remember me,” he says. Again, I give him a confused look. “I need you to remember me," he insists. His smile softens into the weathered landscape of his face. His eyes are bright and kind. I am overwhelmed by how familiar they seem, despite their novelty. I think about what it means to grow up in this remote part of China; the freedom it affords, the freedom it takes away. I think about my own life, growing up in an urban American city; the freedom it affords, the freedom it takes away. For the first time in my life, I see a pair of eyes twinkle. He climbs back onto his motorcycle and waits for me to take his photo. After the shutter snaps, he walks back over to me. He thanks me and says that "Now he is no longer afraid of being forgotten." At that moment, I, too, am no longer afraid. My heart swells from the beauty held within this small, shared moment: a testimony to the power of human connection, and its innate ability to assuage fear in two people so seemingly separate. He smiles, his eyes still twinkling -- mine start to water.