When I was in elementary school, the roads were wide and cars were scarce. I remember one evening, my parents and I were pushing a bicycle, walking on the top of the hill outside Jiading Road Primary School on Ruichang Road.
Now, if you want to be honest, you will feel compelled to live true to these weathered memories, meticulously accounting for every shortcoming and possibility. But if you are more eager to create a good story, then you can disguise these memories as fiction, swear by them with conviction, infused with emotions.
For example, is it really the beginning of summer? Or do I think so just because it's approaching summer as I narrate these years? I seem to remember a sunset, with pinks and purples reflecting the rows of windows. Maybe we're just going for a leisurely walk, no bikes. My aunt's house is not far; We had likely just finished dinner at my grandparents' and were headed there. Maybe just for a visit, or maybe I was staying the night, close to school the next day.
Determining the exact year proves challenging. I want to say third grade, but Ms. Liu, who is in this memory, only taught me after fourth grade. It may have been fourth grade, but my cousin was in first grade at our school when I was