Van Lady 
Though our large apartment complex was located somewhat close to the city centre, where our offices were, it was still about a twenty-five minute walk in each day. Occasionally I would leave for work a bit late, and would have to either wait for the bus or pay the extra money to jump in a private taxi. One such day at the beginning of April it was drizzling slightly, and I had forgotten my umbrella at home. I was standing at the side entrance to the apartment complex, beginning to doubt my chances of catching any empty cab.
It was a bleak, gray day and my mood suited the weather; damp and depressed. As I was just beginning to walk to the corner to try my luck there, I realized that someone was signaling to me. I heard a woman's voice, "Ah, nihao, nihao!" and I looked over to see a smiling face peer out from the recently rolled-down window of a golden mianbaoche. When she saw that she had caught my attention she began to motion for me to come over to the van, and before I had really begun to move she had jumped out lithely and was skirting the hood quickly to open the passenger-side door. Her long brown ponytail swayed as she walked, reaching just past her waist.
I smiled at her in relief as I sank into the front seat and helped her close the door. She was back in the driver's seat in a flash and asking me where I was headed. I answered with one word, "Nandajie." This was plenty of information to get us moving, but I saw that it would not be enough information to keep her satisfied for the duration of the 10 minute drive. As she eased into traffic, I could see she kept throwing curious, sideways glances in my direction. Each one was ended with a quick but full smile. Her eyes were large and bright black, and her teeth long and straight. Her first questions were standard ones; questions I had been asked before by almost every other driver I had come into contact with.
"Can you speak Chinese?"
"Only a little."
"Oh, your Chinese sounds good."
"Yi ban ban." This was met with a giggle as it usually was, and I felt pleased.
"Which country do you come from?"
"America."
"How long have you been in China?"
"More than a year."
"In Changzhou?"
"I used to live in Nanjing. Where are you from?"
"I'm a Changzhou person!" she answered enthusiastically and followed up her statement with dangran, of course!
Then she was off onto another topic, "Do you live in New Golden City?"
"Yes, I rent an apartment there."
"Do you live alone?" She asked with a slightly mischievous turn to the corners of her lips.
"No, I live with my boyfriend," I answered simply.
"Where is your boyfriend from?" She continued as we neared my stop.
"He's from Scotland, but I met him in China; in Nanjing." I answered, hoping to have anticipated a few more of her inquires.
She smiled again, and asked, "What does he look like, your boyfriend?"
So I began to describe him, in my simple and broken Chinese. "He is tall, taller than me. He has brown eyes and brown hair, and his hair is very curly."
"Eh!" She exclaimed. "I know him!" "His hair is like fangbianmian, right?" She looked at me eagerly as we pulled up to the curb and stopped.
I began to laugh at her amazingly accurate description of his hair. His long, corkscrew curls did look incredibly similar to the instant noodles Chinese people have named convenient noodles. Her face colored a bit; her high cheeks catching a soft blush like fire, and her eyes dropped, thinking that perhaps she had offended me.
"Yes, his hair is like fangbianmian. I think I will call him that now, thanks for the great idea!" I assured her I wasn't at all annoyed as my laugh faded away and I paid for the ride. She too began to giggle, and looked me in the eye again as she handed me some change, "Manzou," she said sweetly as I climbed out of her small van. I turned around to shut the door and said goodbye, and she took her right hand off the steering wheel and waved at me through the rain splattered window, a huge grin still splashed easily across her face.
