The canteen across the intersection

Beijing is synonymous with the prosperous metropolis. Every day, thousands of people shuttle through the streets and high-rise buildings, and are transported by container-style subways to places where they work hard for life - raising a family and being financially independent may be the reasons that allow people to work non-stop.

I quite like this fast-paced life. Although the exhaustion of lying in bed every night can immediately drag me to sleep, I still look forward to tomorrow. According to my mother, I am just too young and like living in a big city. If you grow old and still yearn for a quiet place, go out for a walk and enjoy the leisure at the end of your life.

As usual, after the last bell rang, the stuffy heat in the afternoon classroom was finally broken by a hint of long-awaited joy - school was about to end.

I am always the last one to leave the classroom because there are overwhelming white test papers waiting for me to sort them out. I took out the heavy folder from the iron cabinet, and the old lock cylinder made a creaking sound. After I checked my homework list, I slowly walked out of the classroom. The afternoon sun shines right on the glass on the fourth floor, and it is so dazzling that everything around it seems to be rimmed with gold. I walked to the intersection outside the school and looked at the cars changing directions. My thoughts returned to elementary school without realizing it.

At that time, my grandmother moved to Beijing from her hometown. She was trying to help her parents. She said she wanted to see more of her children, so she opened a canteen opposite the school. Every day after school, children carrying schoolbags filed out of the school gate and rushed to the store with a red sign. The red scarves on their chests were fluttering, making these children look extremely cute.

Grandma always wore that old-fashioned top with floral prints, rolled up her trousers, and held a yellowed fan, hoping to blow out a bit of cool summer breeze.

The store had a lot of stuff—at least in my early ten-year-old mind. Popsicles, potato chips, and soda are the most popular characters in the store. The group of children who were just level with the counter stood on tiptoes to get snacks, holding banknotes in their immature little hands. I was one of them. Our happiest time at that time was chewing sweet popsicles, walking on the streets under the plane trees, and talking about the most carefree jokes and happy things.

I still vaguely remember that math test. The white paper was full of red crosses. I was overwhelmed by the results, but my tears kept pouring out like a bursting dam. . I walked to my grandma’s canteen and bought a bag of potato chips. I thought eating some snacks would make me feel better, but the potato chips mixed with tears were the most unpleasant thing I have ever eaten in my life - not just tears, but also sadness and confusion inside.

"Oh, why is my girl crying?" Grandma walked out of the counter, bent down and whispered, "Oh no, it's just an exam. I won't cry anymore..."

I only remember that my grandma’s arms were warm, warm, and smelled of soap.

After entering junior high school, I spent less and less time visiting the canteen. Looking at the jumping children gave me an indescribable feeling. Human growth is as fast as the fine sand in the hand, all of which flows out of the palm inadvertently. Before I even had time to experience the freedom and leisure of elementary school, I entered junior high school.

Every holiday, I would help my grandma organize the shelves and carry boxes of soda. The glass bottles collided back and forth in the box, making a crisp sound, like a unique summer music.

Day after day, year after year. The shabby red sign went through several springs, summers, autumns, and winters, and was eventually replaced by another sign—Grandma is Home.

When I came back to my senses, the store was still there quietly. The red brand, the soda in summer, a few happy children, and the grandma with white hair, everything is so real. My eyes slowly filled with mist, I looked across the intersection, stretched out my hand to say hello, and walked towards the subway station with my schoolbag on my back.

This side of the crossroad is my childhood, and that side is my grandma’s love.