The Lightest Day of 120 kg - Short story by Truong Van Tuan

- Hello, sir!

When she placed her full weight on her 40-year-old uncle's mid-range scooter, the bike sagged noticeably. Fortunately, her uncle was considerate; each time she put her leg on the bike, he knew to brace himself so she wouldn't feel self-conscious about the wobbling.

Ngày nhẹ tênh của 120 kg - Truyện ngắn dự thi của Trương Văn Tuấn- Ảnh 1.

As soon as the car started moving, the little boy started acting spoiled:

- They said the bus will be back tomorrow. No more hitchhiking. So sad!

Become independent!

This young man's reply was Huân. Huân knew Bảo, or rather, had seen him on the way home, three or four years ago when the boy was still in middle school. Huân always calculated: if he saw a chubby boy on an electric bike slowly rolling along the road to work, he was sure he was on time. If, even in a hurry, he didn't see the boy at this point, it was already past 7 a.m., and at the end of the month he would hear the sarcastic remark: "Those young guys at our office are so attached to their wives and kids every morning, aren't they!"

And so, the image of the chubby kid riding an electric bicycle became familiar to Huan.

Then the boy went to high school, further from home, having to cross the large bridge connecting the village on one side and the ward on the other. Every day after school, he would stop by the stir-fried noodle shop at the intersection to wait for his grandmother to finish washing dishes so they could go home together – she rode her motorbike with a neighbor who worked there. The owner of the shop was Huân's college friend. Huân often stopped by to buy a large box of noodles to take home for dinner, so he got to know the boy better.

His parents sold pork at the market, ever since he was a little kid. His favorite dish was braised pig's tail; if they didn't save a piece to make soup, he would be sad and resentful, thinking, "Mom and Dad don't love me anymore." Because he ate so much fat, he kept getting fatter.

- "I'm afraid you'll explode like a balloon!" - Bao once angrily repeated the exact words of a primary school student - That girl is so rude!

Then, his parents' business failed due to hundreds of millions of dong in debt. The creditor was also a pork distributor, forcing his parents to sell diseased pigs to settle their debts. His parents reluctantly took the diseased pigs for a while, but after selling them, they couldn't even eat rice with fish or chicken, let alone pork. They felt it was unethical to sell them that way, so they left to work far away – promising to return when they had enough money to pay off their debts… When the meat stall was empty, people whispered, half believing, half doubting, about the courage and righteousness of the debtor.

"It's so hard to be a good person!" Bảo complained while sitting at a tea table with two old men.

Bao trusted his parents but also felt insecure around his friends. Every day at school was a heavy burden; he shuffled along, unable to lift his head. He lacked a sense of belonging. The bench in the classroom couldn't support the weight of his body or the weight in his heart. He had friends, but they were academically gifted, talented in all sorts of things, and constantly receiving awards, while he was an average student, only slightly heavier than them. The more cheerful and carefree his friends were, the more isolated he felt.

Time is like a flowing river, isn't it? It propels those with light hearts forward with great force, while those burdened by heavy hearts drift slowly and silently, lagging behind each day.

Even at the new school, the feeling of not belonging was ever-present, along with the unease of knowing her parents were still hiding from creditors and rarely came home.

Bored, it often plays a risky game: when crossing a bridge, instead of walking, it chooses to go downhill, combining braking with dragging its feet on the pedestrian walkway – leaving a distinct trail from the middle of the bridge to the bottom of the slope as if someone had just dragged a heavy object across it.

Sometimes Huân saw it doing it from behind, other times he only saw the traces left behind as he passed the bridge.

No more stupid tricks, son...

When they met at the noodle shop in the afternoon, Huân would often remind her of that.

After years of watching him from behind and months of exchanging greetings at the noodle shop, Huân finally had the chance to meet Bảo privately at the bottom of the bridge. Yes! Bảo once again tried to use his feet as brakes to slow down, but without success.

His motorbike had a broken handlebar, a cracked frame, and the battery had even flown out. Luckily, he only suffered a bruised butt, scraped knees, and scraped palms. That morning, Huân stayed with him for an hour, helped park his bike, took him to a private clinic to get his wounds bandaged, and then drove him to school even though it wasn't on the way.

His grandmother decided to buy a new car – the old one was too worn out. But the model Bảo liked wouldn't arrive at the dealership until next week.

- Don't rush! I'll give you a ride to the noodle shop, then you can hitch a ride to school with a friend - I told him I have a classmate who lives near the shop.

Huân's words made Bảo's eyes light up:

"It's delicious!" he exclaimed, as if he'd finally bit into a braised pig's tail after days of suppressing his craving.

Whenever he sat behind Huân on his motorbike, he would tell many stories.

The story of her "lack of belonging," of always sitting at the back of the line during outdoor activities because she was too fat. Sitting at the back meant she couldn't see or hear clearly. Up above, everything was wonderful: singing, dancing, praise, awards, laughter, and cheerful conversation—all so strange and not meant for her. At her old school, the schoolyard was still dirt, and she would secretly dig a small hole where she sat with a stick. The longer the activity, the deeper the hole. After digging, she would put her hand in it, close her eyes, and feel the temperature and the sounds in the earth—then fill the hole in when the activity was over.

"My heart is connected to the heart of the earth!" he declared, like a poet or a philosopher.

At this school, the entire courtyard is paved with tiles, so it's impossible to dig.

- We can't connect with each other. Damn it, that's so frustrating!

He slapped himself in the mouth after saying something inappropriate in front of adults.

She talked a lot about a girl named Tuong Vi in the third grade. She said it was mainly because she was chubby and sat at the back, while the girl herself sat at the back because her seat position corresponded to the class list – that's how elementary school classes in this three-level school are arranged.

On their first day sitting next to each other in the yard, Tuong Vi noticed stretch marks on Bao's stomach and whispered to her friend:

- His stomach is about to burst; if it explodes, we're all doomed.

Bao was furious and had to get revenge. Every day, Vi went to school with her hair braided into two pigtails, dangling from her shoulders, each braid tied with colorful elastic bands, very stylish and skillful. Bao reached out and pulled off a few strands, ignoring her grimaces and protests. Bao used the hair ties to shoot at his friends' backs, into the air and wait to catch them, or weave them around his fingers to make star shapes. After playing around, sometimes the elastic band would break, sometimes it would remain intact, which Bao would throw back or wear on his chubby, pig-leg-like wrist as a trophy.

For the past few months, Bao has been delighted by this, taking off his rubber band to show it off every time he visits the noodle shop.

Of course, Bảo's shirt also had crayon marks on it, left by Tường Vi as revenge.

Once, Bảo glanced over and saw a stray strand of hair fluttering in the early morning sun on Vi's head. He immediately snatched it away. The girl clutched her head, her eyes wide with surprise as she stared at her older brother.

- Do you know what she said? "Let's do a DNA test or something, I'm not your mother."

Wow… That’s amazing?!

- Yes, kids these days spend all their time online, so they're very unruly! - Bao said, as if he were already very old.

"Beware of the girl's grumpy parents!" the noodle shop owner once warned.

The boy laughed gleefully:

- Every afternoon, he just glances at me and then gets in the car and goes home. Sometimes, when his mother picks him up, he even waves goodbye to me.

Bao was repeating the same refrain: "Next week I have to go to school by myself," when Huan suddenly stopped the car:

Go down and help them!

From Huân's perspective, Bảo saw an electric bicycle falling over – probably skidding while going around the roundabout – with several bags of personal belongings scattered nearby. A woman was busily helping her child up to check for injuries.

- Oh, I'm too shy! - Bao whined.

"Quick!" Huân snapped softly.

Bao awkwardly stepped down, ran into the middle of the road, his chest and belly fat bulging. He carefully turned off the engine first, as Huan had instructed, propped it up, pushed it to the side of the road, then ran back to pick up each bag of groceries and help carry them inside.

***

This morning, Bao went to school on his new electric bike. He was happy, but also regretted wasting his grandmother's savings.

Just as she finished pulling the two rubber bands off Vi, the homeroom teacher walked over and held out her phone:

- The school just received this photo this morning, is that you?

Bao looked at the photo: it was a moment from last weekend, he was helping someone whose bike had fallen to the side of the road…

- Yes… - He looked bewildered and nodded.

Then she left as quickly as the wind.

Five minutes later, his name was announced over the school's loudspeaker: ...Tran Gia Bao, class 10X1. Never before had the school's sound system been so loud!

It walked slowly through the crowd, which was staring, shouting, and whistling. It ascended the platform with an unknown amount of strength. The principal approached, shook its hand, and solemnly presented it with the "Good Deed, Good Person" certificate that the teachers had hastily printed.

His name was called out again, and the whole school applauded once more.

That feels amazing!

It tastes just like the pig tail soup my mom used to make!

Like when I sat down at the table to have tea with those two old uncles!

It felt like I was sitting in the back of Uncle Huân's car, listening to him tell stories about this and that!

It had been a long time since it had felt recognized, since it had felt like it belonged to a group.

Towards the end of the session, his thoughts suddenly shifted: Could Uncle Huan have sent the photos? Helping someone and then taking credit for it—isn't that too cowardly?

Before she could even get to the noodle shop, she met Uncle Huan at the school gate. She ran up to him and showed him her certificate of merit:

- Did you send the information to the school?

Huân frowned for a moment before finally understanding.

- Not!

So many people witnessed it at that time: the school teachers, parents, people who cared about beautiful everyday events...

From behind Bao, little Tuong Vi suddenly ran up and quickly climbed onto Huan's motorbike, her voice cheerful:

- Bao received his certificate of merit this morning, Dad!

The boy's face went blank, and he stammered:

- Huh?… Aren't you… a "lonely elderly person"?

- I just made that up myself!

Bao tilted his head back, wanting to cry out "Oh my God!", but no sound came out.

Bao assumed: Uncle Huan must be lonely to have the time to help people.

It turned out that every morning, Huân would braid his daughter's hair himself. His wife would get ready and leave the house first, as it was more convenient for her to drop Vi off at work. Huân would usually check the electricity and water, lock the front and back doors, and then leave the house. He loved his wife and spoiled his daughter. Every afternoon, Huân would stop by a noodle shop or somewhere else to buy food so his wife wouldn't have to cook, and his daughter was happy too. The little girl would often tell her father when she got home, but he knew his daughter wasn't one to be easily fooled.

The noodle shop wasn't far, but Bao was walking too slowly. Oh my God! I pulled that guy's hair! I badmouthed him! I stole his things!...

Seeing the huge plate of noodles celebrating receiving the certificate of merit on the table, Bao felt less worried. Vi also moved over, patted the bench, and invited Bao to sit down. Meanwhile, Huan and the noodle shop owner were arguing like two children: are fake medicine and counterfeit medicine the same thing or two different things?

This morning, Vi proactively offered her braids to Bao so he could choose the hair tie, instead of him grabbing them. But the boy held them in his hand instead of playing with them; he listened attentively to everything. The feeling of being acknowledged, of belonging somewhere, was wonderful.

Ngày nhẹ tênh của 120 kg - Truyện ngắn dự thi của Trương Văn Tuấn- Ảnh 2.