I knew Kiya never existed. In the dark, when I started to drive back, breezing through empty streets, I thought I almost caught hold of her. Like a lightening bolt, her images flashed in front of my eyes. Flash! Then another flash!

In one flash frame, she appeared so real that I believed she just jumped onto my windshield, in her tight blue jean shorts. Her legs were slim and firm, with a toning line all the way down to her calves, ankles, and her red toenails. In another frame, her faces lit up, magnifying her long eyelashes and wide warm eyes. I stopped my car at the red light. The car radio was playing softly in the far, faraway background, "Oh, oh, oh, Ms. Rosanna..." from the movie The Graduate. Then, her giggling sifted through, with a few broken Beijing dialects, jarringly blended into the oldie's music.

The drive back home seemed extremely messy these nights. The wind would whistle into my car window. It would chill into my shirt, down to the chest, and make it numb. Sometimes, the wind would just roar, like a barricade of gunfires in Saving Private Ryan. Any second, I feared my heart could break apart like a brittle metal piece; and my body, torn apart. So, I had to shut my car window. I had to roll it all the way up.

In the stormy wind, now that I can recall, I also saw a hand, quite grizzly, reaching out behind a gray hump. The hand fell on her flesh, Kiya's flesh. The hand started to touch her, her white, curvaceous, naked body in a gentle rhythm. One stroke. Then another stroke. One stroke fell on her pink cheeks. Another one on her rounded shoulders. One onto her breasts. Yet another one onto her crotch. Stroke by stoke. Back and Forth. Stroke! Stroke! Stroke! The flesh responded with wild jerky wriggling. And I recalled a big mouth appeared. Wide open, and laughing, "Aha, you are so gullible."

Exiting the local highway, I pulled my car to a full stop at the end of the ramp. Where should I turn? To my left, is the blinking neon lights, reckoning, "Home, home! Jakie, coming home!" To my right, is the gray and darkness hummed with noises from the tapping strokes. Left? Or right? For a long time, I waited motionlessly. I rolled my car window down again. Cool midnight air poured in. The night certainly had quieted down, --now filled with her bodily scent, a very nice smell.

Without more waiting at the right-turn lane, I managed to make an awkward left turn. I turned into red lights. I saw brightness coming. Brightness came in thousands of colors, from all directions, to embrace all my senses. I felt warmth. Then I saw my familiar Safeway. And I saw my McDonald. Then my Blockbuster. And I saw the place--my home.

Lying on the couch, at a shabby corner near a stool's leg, I found a piece of paper. I picked it up in yellow, soothing lamplight. It reads:

"Waldo:
It has been too late. I think you should go back home to rest a while. And watch a bit TV.

Tears started to roll down my face.

Kiya is home. She is in every corner of my house. She is in the air of my house. The sheer joy of finding Kiya made me start to chant revolutionary songs. And I started to shout, yell out, "A bitch! A slut!"

Falling into sleep, by the couch pillow, I drooled. I started nagging in dreamer's language, neither logical nor clear. Yet I started to chant again, to Kiya. I chanted my wildest dream to Kiya at home, Kiya at my arm's reach.