We drove across the long bridge above the bay to the sea. It was Fall and cool, and the sun shone not so bright as that on summer days that I dared to glance at the golden ball in the sky by squeezing my eyes without wearing sunglasses. My husband drove. We planned to go fishing earlier in the morning. He loved fishing, but since we got married, he had been sick this year. We just stayed at home with his retirement money spent on hiring home care providers and purchasing medicine most of the time. It was a significant sum of money; we enjoyed our life crazily to make up for what he wanted before he retired. Due to his sickness, the craziest thing we could do was watch movies and try food in different restaurants. 

    The beach was swamped by cars and people. I couldn’t remember how long ago I had seen such a lively sight! I felt that I was reborn again. I was excited to pass traffic lights, to view tall buildings, to see people playing in the water and on the beach, to listen to their screaming, to enjoy exciting performers on the seaside! Everyone was friendly to me. They looked at me, smiled at me, nodded at me!

     Bare feet, I held my husband’s left hand. He carried the fishing rod, and I had two fishing buckets, one yellow and the other blue, with our shoes inside. He wore a light blue shirt, milk white shorts, and a pair of brown leather sandals. I suggested he not wear shorts because I worried people would see his bulging prominent blue veins on his legs. Still, I didn’t tell him the real reason, for I knew he would laugh at me or even be upset that I always cared about other people’s opinions. “Here’s America, not China. No one care about you.” He would say. He told me his veins had been jutted since he was fifty years old; he was sixty now. He was overweight and hunched; he couldn’t walk fast; his body wasn’t swift anymore. I wanted to wear my bikini, my husband said we won’t go swimming, there was no need to wear swimming suits. So, I changed into a white T-shirt, jean shorts, and flip-flops.

     The sands on the beach slid over our feet, and when we walked through the beach, we needed to bend our bodies in front a little to keep ourselves balanced. Several young men and women were playing Beach Volleyball, and all women were in sexy swimming suits. Kids ran here and there, giggling. Couples hugged and kissed each other.

     The place we planned to fish was on a long pier stretching into the sea. My husband said we needed to buy admissions—one person, one dollar. We put on our shoes and walked down the pier, which was less crowded. The breeze blew from the sea. Several large sea birds flew over the water, their wings long and wide; a boat ran into the sea with a big yellow balloon shaped like a smiling face. I could hear people’s laughter coming from the boat.

My husband bought the tickets, some shrimp bait, and a sharp knife from the office in the middle of the pier. We walked to the end. The pier looked like a capital letter “T.” Dozens of persons fished there: men, women, the old, and the young. We found a spot on the left side, facing the sea. My husband took out a shrimp, cut it into three pieces, put one on the hook, and threw it into the water. He leaned on the railing and held the rod, waiting for the fish to bite.

I took out my iPhone, trying to take as many photos as possible. Photos were all about me and the sea, the blue sky, the beach, the tall pink building, our fishing rod, and other fishermen and women. I didn’t take any photos of my husband. I shared all these photos on my social media to show off to my Chinese friends and other people who knew me, but I didn’t know them—who lived in my homeland and spread the news about my marriage to an American—they admired me, were jealous about my happy and leisurely life. I liked to hear compliments from them, enjoying them clicking the “like” button under the photos on my websites; I wanted them to leave messages like “Wow, so happy life!” “Wow, so cool views!” “Wow, you look so beautiful!”

My husband seemed more romantic on the pier than at home. He liked hugging and kissing me while holding the rod and waiting. Kissing me, his eyes opened, looking tilted his left side. I was facing the sea, and I didn’t know what had happened behind me that attracted him to observe. As I turned around, I saw some people laughing and talking. They waved to me, their eyes sliding from me to my husband. I felt uncomfortable.

“Let me fish,” I whispered to my husband.

“No, honey. Next time I will buy you a new rod, then both of us can fish.” He smiled at me. Wrinkles climbed on his mouth and eyes corners and forehead. Dark spots spread on his cheeks; his eyes showed no brightness; the eyeballs looked veiled by a thin layer of fog; his brandy nose turned red under sunshine.

I leaned back against the railing with my eyes scrutinizing randomly, and I saw a young man standing diagonally opposite us. I could only see his back and a little bit of profile. He was strong and tall. The sun ray bounced on the tiny metallic screw on his dark red glasses frame, spurting a thin, bright gleam. He wore a white vest. A lion head tattoo on his naked right arm shrank on his flexed muscle as he threw the hook into the sea; the water rippled around his hook.

I left my husband alone and walked back and forth in the wooden corridor. Many birds were flying and stealing the fishermen’s baits. I walked to another corner close to that young man. A couple fished there too. The wife put on a new bait on the hook and set it leaning against the railing, then she lit a cigarette and passed it to her husband, who had just caught a small fish and released it. He picked up the cigarette and hung it between his lips; she lit another one for herself. Worrying she would perceive that I watched her, I turned back my eyes quickly to the water.

A big black bird tried to catch the fish that was already hooked. It flew around the fishing line and was stuck to the hook, flopping and tweeting in the water. The wife went away immediately; her husband and I looked at the bird. I felt so sorry for the little creature. “Will it die?” I asked myself.

Soon an old hunched man came over with the wife. He pulled the bird up. A hook stuck in its peak, and it was bleeding. The old man tried to take the hook out but failed. He gave the bird to the husband and asked him to hold up its beak, then he went to his toolbox and got a pair of fliers. He cut off the fishing line with the fliers and let the poor bird go, leaving the hook stuck inside its peak! I looked at the bird flying away till it disappeared into the blue sea. I thought the bird would die because of the iron hook. It would be too painful to eat and then die from hungry at last… I turned around and found the lion tattoo young man standing in front of me. He looked at the bird too. Maybe he had the same thoughts as me, I guessed.

His face looked smooth, full of the sign of youth and strength, and his nose displayed long and straight. I couldn’t see through his eyes because of his sunglasses, but I knew they must be bright and blue. I didn’t know why my heart beat vigorously! I felt shy, and I lowered my head. When I lifted my head again, he had already walked back to his spot. I could only see his back, a masculine back with a white vest and jeans.

My husband waved one hand to me, hinting that I would go to him. I went to him. He said nothing. I told him I was tired and wanted a rest. I sat on the bench with my legs crossed, checking photos I had shared on my websites. Some friends had already left messages under my photos. One said I was a dying happy little wife! If there was a person who stood facing me, they could tell the ironic smile came to my face. I saw my husband’s legs and the protruding veins. I suddenly felt they were disgusting. I lost interest in sharing my photos on websites.

On my right side, next to me, a girl wearing a sexy swimming suit lay on the bench, and a young and handsome man took photos for her. After done it, he pulled her up, and they kissed! His hands touched her back and ass.

I found a bird pecking a piece of shrimp on the floor. I got up to get some shrimps out from our fishing buckets and arranged them on the flat spot on the railing. I called the bird with the sounds “ge…ge…ge…”, which I used to get our chickens together for grains when I was young, living in a poor village. All the birds seemed to understand my language that they flew to me. One of them was so brave to peck the bait from my hand! I was inspired, taking more baits from our barrel to feed the birds. I felt happy. Looking in the sun’s direction, I saw the young lion tattoo man; he looked at me. I didn’t turn my eyes away but looked at him straightly. It was too far to see his expressions. I knew surely there must be a smile, at least, on his pursed, sexy lips.

I grew excited! I continued grabbing more baits to feed the birds. While moving around, I pictured how the young man would think about me. Would he think me beautiful? Would he think me lovely?

“Hey, what are you doing? We come for fishing, not for feeding!” My husband said, almost shouting. He looked at me with an upset face that I was familiar with and used to.

“I am sorry.” I walked to him and hugged him. When I looked around, the lion tattoo man moved to another spot, farther than before.

“OK.” My husband kissed me on my right hand. “I wish I’d bought more shrimps, then you can feed all the birds.”

I heard someone speaking my hometown language; I searched and found a young couple, who looked in their twenties, around my age; the girl wore a red dress. My husband said hello to them in Chinese. They showed friendly to my husband, who, suddenly, hugged me tightly and kissed me in front of them. I could tell the surprised and taunt smile on the couple’s faces!

I knew what they would regard about me! A young, tall, and pretty girl to live in America married an old man, though they couldn’t tell my husband was sick. They must think there was no love between us. They maybe thought the old man was cheated on by the girl. If they asked me, I would tell them, no, that the old man wasn’t cheated; he was very clever. Before marrying me, he had kept a long-distance relationship with me for six years, from my 20 to 26, my best six years!

The red and round sunset glowed, squeezing its last warmth as if a drowning person tried to grasp a straw. The sun floated on the sea, forming a romantic and dreaming aura. I leaned against the railing, staring at the lion tattoo man. He walked towards me, smiled at me, and passed by me.

Suddenly, I lost interest in fishing or enjoying the sunset. I felt disappointed and sad. I feared that Chinese couple. I told my husband that I’d go home, and he agreed. I helped him throw all left baits to the birds and covered the empty barrels. Then we left. He said goodbye loudly to that couple, and they waved goodbye to him.

When we walked through the crossing of the pier, I glanced back. The setting sun was nearly touching the blue sea. The lion tattoo man faced the setting sun. His long, golden figure looked as if being inserted into the golden and blue scenery background drawn by the sunset ray and the vast sea water, blurred and unreal. That Chinese couple looked in our direction.

My husband walked ahead with his fishing rod at hand; I carried the buckets, following him, nothing in the buckets but our shoes.