To him, nothing had a warmer embrace than the cold darkness outside the car window. The country road bumped playfully under the creaking frame of the old Toyota, slowly toiling closer to the fuzzy Beijing cityscape. His longing gaze ventured far and wide, peering into the murky gloom; there was nothing more beautiful than uncertainty. Serenity in solitude, he had been searching for that his entire life. Soon, he would no longer be alone. His mother’s cries shocked him back to the present; beads of sweat trickled down her neck. His father’s left hand was clamped tightly to the wheel, knuckles a shocking white, his right arm was wrapped gently around her frail frame, comforting her with slow, melodious taps on the shoulder. Taylor saw the pulsating red thread, the faintest of shimmers, flashing in and out of sight, protruding from the bracelet on his mother's wrist, indicating a major turning point in her life. This was their second attempt at another baby; the first had passed on before she even had the chance to live. Hopefully, for his mother's sake, the ribbon’s flashing indicated the success of this delivery. “HEY KID!” his father's yell sent shivers rattling down his spine. “Can you not see your mothers in pain, hold her damn hand”. He pushes himself up from his seat and clasps his mother's hands gently, yet with enough conviction to give her security. His mother looks back at him, eyes shimmering with tears and affection, beaming through the pain: “My dear boy, my dear Taylor”. Taylor couldn’t help but smile. He didn’t have a name, not really, because he was not born with a red ribbon. His father certainly thought so, addressing him only as 'kid,' even though Taylor was quickly approaching 21 years of age.
With his fingers laced within his mother’s, time flew by, the car skidded into the parking lot, and the family rushed to the Delivery department. The hospital’s sterile hallways were bustling, emanating with the ringing sounds of panic and joy, the scent of life, and the stench of death. It was Taylor's most dreaded place, the reminder of his “uniqueness”, or more frankly, his disability. This was where it all started, the cascading dominoes of his life, where his parents came in hopeful and left dumbfounded and dubious. Today, he felt the heat especially unbearable, squeezing past nurses sweating through their blue scrubs, he instinctively slipped off his black suit jacket and rolled up his sleeves, slinging it around his left shoulder. Too late, he realized his mistake, his bare right wrist couldn’t look more pale under the sterile hospital lights. He could feel the piercing gazes and the turning heads of each passerby, as the whole room seemed to have one focal point. He hastily tried to pull down his sleeves, sweaty and trembling palms fumbling around his slippery white dress shirt in vain. The palpable silence was pierced with murmurings of contempt and resonating wonder. A crowd stopped the family dead in their tracks, stumbling and bumbling around for a better view. He could feel his face grow an unflattering shade of red, disappointment etched with resentment, a craving to blame, yet no one to blame but himself. These emotions welled up to a breaking point: “EXCUSE ME EVERYONE, SORRY TO BREAK UP THE SHOW BUT PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD MOVE ASIDE MY MOTHER IS IN LABOR!” He grabbed his mother's hand and led her through the silent crowd, his father following right behind, his face painted with a mix of shame and pride.
As they waited, Taylor and his father sat across the room from each other, no words or even a glance exchanged. He wondered if that distance was still breachable. His father's eyes were unwavering, fixed on the door of the birthing room, while Taylor stared longingly at his father. Maybe out of the corner of his eyes he can see my gaze, Taylor thought; Maybe, in the corner of his heart, there might be a little place beating for me that wasn’t so stone cold. How could he blame his father? No other father in the world has to endure the same embarrassment; no other father has been robbed of the most magical moment of their lives, the moment where the red thread shoots into the unknown. A nurse's head pops out of the door, a bright smile painted across her face. “Please come in, sir, time to meet the little girl.”
His father flew out of his seat. Taylor lagged behind, steeling himself and strolling into the brightly lit room. His mother’s sweat and tears seeped through the medical gown and the matching blue sheets. She was panting unevenly, and her chest rose dangerously high with each huff, yet her eyes sparkled, and an unwavering smile beamed across her face. Taylor and his father rushed toward the bed and embraced his mother, gently cuddling the little baby girl in between them. The baby's cries rang like music, and Taylor felt his heart melt into warm puddles inside his chest. As soon as they pulled away, his father gently grabbed the little girl's wrist and shed tears of joy at the shimmering red bracelet tied in a delicate butterfly knot. Taylor followed his father's gaze, his eyes were alit, emitting a gentle, basking aura, that was the look of love. That was the look he had been longing for his whole life, his little sister didn’t even have to earn it. He felt the smile leave his face, and tears welling up uncontrollably. He knew exactly how he should feel, yet he couldn’t will himself to truly feel it. “Am I Selfish?” He thought, “Is it a vice to worry about my place instead of celebrating what my parents had wanted for 20 grueling years?” He drifted into the dark corner of the room as the doctor announced, “It's time for the ceremony, mother and father, please step forward and grab the baby's right wrist.” His mother and father sat side by side on the bed, eyes radiating warmth and conviction. The doctors and nurses cleared aside, leaving them in their own little bubble, in that moment, that was their whole world. Taylor sulked in the corner, happiness losing a fierce battle with jealousy. His mother and father closed their eyes, silently muttering to the baby, their hopes, dreams, and wishes for her. As they spoke, the red bracelet slowly unraveled, elongating and thickening into a red silk thread. It dances through the air, rippling softly in the wind coming from the open window. Taylor’s parents open their eyes, in awe at the sight. In a trance, they peck the baby lightly on each cheek and speak the final words: “知命 乐天” (To know your fate is to be happy). One end of the thread tied itself gently around the little girl's wrist, and the other end shot towards the stars shimmering in the night sky, and with a puff, disappeared, invisible to any eye. Taylor’s parents looked down at the red bracelet once more, now etched with a few golden letters: “Delilah”. It will guide her forever now; it was her tether, her shepherd, and her obelisk. Delilah will forever feel the tug of her red thread. She didn’t have anything to worry about; her path was paved, all she had to do was step one foot in front of the other. The serene silence was broken by cheers and claps, yet the celebration came too soon. Taylor’s mother slumped over and fell unconscious.
That same morning, Taylor was just in another pre-interview thread scanning. It was all in vain, the little flicker of hope left in him, that childish dream that any job, any job in the world would accept him, has long been snuffed out. He showed up to appease his own conscious and the adamant wish of his father. This morning was particularly brutal; the scanning officer laughed right in his face and requested a selfie. Taylor slammed the door behind him on the way out. He drifted mindlessly to the only place where he found solace, the Spa. Everyone had to take their bracelets off in the Spa; that was the whole point. It was designed as a getaway, a few hours of disconnection from your obligations and the path set out for you by your red thread. Here, Taylor didn’t have to worry about being bothered or standing out like a sore thumb; it was his paradise. If there weren’t a weekly limit, he would never leave. He found himself in his usual room, in the tranquility of the hot springs. He sank into the water and submerged himself in his thoughts. He’d seen friends come and go, vanishing down the lines of their red threads, drawn toward soulmates, dream jobs, and futures he could barely glimpse as they disappeared. He was barely a chapter in their book, and he had barely started writing his own. “I knew you’d be here,” his mother strolled in, her footsteps light as a feather, her pregnant stomach bulging out from her bathing suit. She groaned as she lifted herself into the spring. Taylor was too entranced to help. He fell into his mother's embrace, and a single tear dripped down from his right eye, making a soft plop when it hit the water below. For a moment, she let him be, caressing the side of his arm and dropping the occasional kiss on the top of his head. Then she began to speak: “You know, son, no one is as happy as you think they are. I never wanted to be just in finance; I always dreamed of being an actress.” Taylor chuckled: “You do have the look Ma.” “I’m serious!” she said, “Ever since I was a little girl, I loved movies and shows, gosh, even little commercials. But that stupid bracelet or thread, or whatever that thing is, and my money-minded parents decided that I had to put numbers into a computer.” “Oh Ma.” Taylor replied, “You don’t get it, I don’t care what I do, I just want to do something, a janitor, punching numbers into a computer, whatever.” His mother sighed: “No, you're the one that doesn’t understand, you have something that no one else on this planet has, a choice, not a good one, but a choice nonetheless. ” “WHAT CHOICE!” He yelled, hitting the water in front of him, startling his mother. “Sorry, ma, I just, I just, there's nothing I can do, I can’t change the world by myself, it's like a well-oiled machine, and I’m like this one teensy little loose screw.” Taylor pushes himself from the tub and runs out of the room, his mother screaming desperately behind him. “Taylor, PLEASE, COME BACK, LISTEN, JUST LISTEN!”
Taylor recalls the conversation he had with his mother that same day, as he sat next to her, hands locked with hers. Tears rolled uncontrollably down his face as he felt her life and warmth seep from her fingers. His father sat on the other side of the bed, shellshocked and speechless, trembling. Taylor's sister slept soundly in the corner of the room, snuggled in layers of blankets, oblivious. The same room that was just filled with so much joy and life now stank with impending death. All color seemed to drain away from Taylor's eyes; he was quickly running out of tears as well. As the heart monitor plateaued, his mother pushed out her final words. “追命乐天” (to seek out your fate is to be happy). Taylor could do nothing but run, run far away from that dreaded, damned hospital, that place where his life started and came to an end. Did he believe his mother? Did he believe that he could be happy? No, not anymore, the little flame within him died with his mother. The bridge drew closer, he could hear someone's footsteps closing in behind him, a distant, muffled call of his name. The bridge drew closer still. He could see the rippling waves of the water now, a black woolen blanket, soft and warm, cascading below him. He was ready to fall into a deep, deep, sleep.