RACHEL CORSINI (fiction writing) writes:
The French Concession is a unique sort of place. Some people are still living as they did a hundred years ago: washing their hair outside, cooking in the outdoor courtyards and dividing up the communal space among four families. Others are living with modern conveniences and have the benefit of shopping in a chic secluded area at 210 Taikang Lou.
All along the small lanes were tiny clothing stores, handbag shops, accessory places, and a teddy bear store. It looked innocent enough and, truthfully, I love teddy bears. So I went inside to have a look around. Everything seemed pretty generic, mostly the same things I could get in the States. I peered around a corner and noticed a hallway leading toward another room. Of course I ventured down that way. Before my eyes was a teddy bear museum. Teddy bears from years past sat behind a plastic cover, staring out at me forlornly. Okay, now this was weird. From out of nowhere a woman came up behind me.
“You like? I make teddy bears, do you want to see? I show you. Upstairs is teddy bear café.” Right, it kept getting stranger. So I followed her up a narrow circular staircase and enter a teddy bear haven. Teddy bears sat on shelves and were littered about the room as though they were guests at the café. Then she led me over to where she made her very own teddy bears. Being who I am I just had to buy one ... so I did.
Let’s fast forward to the day before yesterday. I fell asleep with my handmade white teddy bear which I lovingly named Sleepy-time. I woke up and Sleepy-time was wedged under my arm. So I left him tucked up underneath the covers, just so he stayed warm while I was gone. Hannah and I went to meet the group and then we returned. Sleepy-time was nowhere to be found. I was in distress. Complete and utter distress! Where could he be? I checked everywhere, but once again we were leaving. So with a pout on my face I left the motel to party at Paramount.
Paramount was a Chinese hip-hop club complete with scratching DJs and flashing lights, as well as people dancing in neon-covered body suits and a couple doing pas de deux (a French form of ballet meaning "step of two") on the smaller dance floor. The Paramount used to be an old theater which was renovated into a modern day dance club. The grand staircase was still intact and the stage was as well. It was pretty awesome. I drank Chivas and green tea all night, which I’m told is a popular Chinese cocktail.
We returned again and this time I slept restlessly, wondering if Sleepy-time was all right, wherever he might be. Today Hannah and I decided to pack up everything just to check if he was misplaced somewhere. Nope, he was still gone. It’s upsetting. I enjoyed cuddling him every single night without him breathing on me, snoring, smelling bad, or farting. He was comforting without the groans and weird noises that others can sometimes make, mostly men. I miss my dear Sleepy-time. Rest in peace.
Fuzhou Lou is basically the art supplier for the entirety of Shanghai. There are many stores that have paints, calligraphy brushes, ink, and seals. Everything that a Chinese artist would need is on this road. I was there looking for something special to add to my final project for this class. I finally settled on calligraphy brushes and a cheap bottle of ink. God only knows what I’m gonna do with it.
When I returned to my hotel room, who should be waiting for me with his cute little face … Sleepy-time! He’s alive! Sleepy-time’s alive! He had a bit of an adventure I’m afraid. See, he was washed. That’s right; Sleepy-time had a bath, a bath which took off most of his fluffy white fur. He’s still irresistibly adorable though; even though he’s less cuddly, I still love him. I couldn’t help but squeal, “Sleepy-time!” I picked him up right away of course, seeing as he could have been frazzled from his couple of days spent away from me as well as being thrust into a washing machine. He has returned, a little less fluffy, smelling like Chinese food and strange detergent.
But he’s safe.
Rachel Corsini is a junior fiction writing major.
