I am 54 years old this year. Looking back on the road I have walked over the past 50 years, many people around me will scatter as I walk. The accidental death of my elementary school deskmate made me feel that "death" was so close to me for the first time in my life.
When I was in elementary school, my deskmate was a male classmate named Hongbing. I remember that he is short, white and fat, very cute, and a bit introverted. He was not very good at studying, but what impressed me the most was his breakfast every day. At that time, our breakfast was generally a steamed bun, and we brought some pickles. When we arrived in the classroom, we all surrounded a large stove and took our own steamed buns on the stove, and then ate them during breaks. However, his breakfast was a steamed bun mixed with white flour and corn flour. You should know how scarce white flour was in that era. Therefore, among the many yellow steamed buns in the classroom, his steamed bun mixed with white flour seemed particularly prominent and tempting. Later I learned that he had several sisters, all of whom were much older than him. He was the only boy in the family. No wonder he not only ate better than us, but also wore different clothes from us. His clothes were often newer than ours, and he never wore patched pants. In that era when every family had similar conditions, his special food and clothing seemed not very sociable, and he was a little out of place with his classmates. So although I am at the same table with him, we don’t communicate much in our daily lives.
I remember it was a winter morning. The class was already in class and the deskmate had not come yet. The second section was our class teacher's class. As soon as she walked into the classroom, her eyes turned red. She stood on the podium and looked at the table next to me and said slowly: Let me tell you a unfortunate news. Student Hongbing was killed by a cement jar in the factory yesterday... I could no longer hear what the teacher said behind. I stared blankly at the desk of my deskmate. There was half of the leftover corn flour mixed with white flour. So much so that for a long time later, when I saw the steamed bun, I thought of my deskmate.
After his deskmate passed away, his mother went crazy. She stood at the school gate early every morning, staring at the students coming and going, smiling foolishly. Sometimes when she saw a boy who was about the same height, fat and thin as her deskmate, she would go up and grab someone's clothes and touch someone's face. Some bold and naughty boys often gathered in a circle and deliberately teased her. She was not angry, and even a kind light radiant in her eyes. Until now, I can still remember the silly smile and loving gaze of my mother at the same table.
