I took my son to a Sharks' game Sunday evening. It
was my first time to a hockey game (in the US) and
purely for Tim's sake. As we strolled toward the
SAP center downtown San Jose, I realized it sat
just across the street from the CalTrain Diridon
station. Mike picked me up there 14 years ago.
I knew him from my first job back in Beijing. He
was thin, short, and a couple of years senior. He
had a great sense of humor and was very friendly.
We hit it off right away and soon decided to rent
an apartment together. Everyday, we biked between
ShangDi and our workplace in HaiDian District.
We were young, care-free, and flush with cash. He
admired my English pronounciation and I enjoyed
his witty style. I was intense; he was relaxed. I
fought mosquitos; he preached ahimsa. I smoked and
he didn't and we argued about many things. The way
he could always turn a debate into some joke
frustrated the hell out of me. We competed in
coding and swimming. We often ate at restaurants.
Cooking for ourselves, he would insist on putting
large chunks of ginger in an egg-tomato soup to
end the meal. He was like a brother.
Then I left for graduate school in Canada and, a
couple of years later, he transferred to work at
his empoyer's headquater in San Jose. Every time I
had a conference or a job interview nearby, I
would call him and we spend some time together.
I moved to the Bay Area a couple of years after
graduating and lived in the same apartment
complex. We each had family and were busy
adulting. We met more often but were no longer
close. (There seemed less and less to talk about.)
He became a Christian and went to church. He had
a second son and moved into a house in a costly
town. Eight years later, colon cancer brought us
close again and then took him away.
As for the hockey game that night, despite the
home ground and the fans, the Sharks lost.
