$Microsoft(MSFT.US) Grandpa is eighty-three this year. He used to always say that when the stock goes up, he'd take me to see the sea. When I was little, I thought the sea was far away. Later, I realized the sea isn't far; what's far is that line lying flat in his phone. Grandpa doesn't know about moving averages or talk about main upward waves. He just puts on his reading glasses, takes them off, wipes them with the corner of his shirt, and holds the phone further away to look. If it's red, he smiles a little. If it's green, he turns off the screen and pretends to go to the kitchen for water. Grandma says he's old and shouldn't keep staring at these things. Grandpa says with his mouth he won't look, but after dinner, he still sneaks to sit by the balcony, turning the phone brightness way down. I ask him what he's looking at. He says nothing, just checking if there's any wind today. Last night, he called me over. On the phone screen was "Microsoft," that line lying flat, like someone who's slept for a long time. He said, "Look, baby, is it about to wake up?" I said maybe. He said if it could just turn red for a bit, that would be good. It doesn't need to go up a lot. Just a little red, and Grandpa's heart would light up a little. I didn't say anything. Because I saw the pillbox by his hand, the water in the cup already cold, the corners of the phone case worn white. His hands used to be steady, peeling shrimp for me, fixing my broken toy cars, changing the kitchen light for Grandma. Now, it takes him two or three tries to tap the screen. This morning he asked me, "Has the market opened yet?" I said not yet. He nodded, broke the steamed bun into small pieces, slowly soaking them in the porridge. He said, "Red is good. Red is like New Year's, like lanterns, and like the little red flower your teacher drew for you when you got a hundred on a test as a kid." Institutional uncles, institutional aunts. If you happen to pass by today, happen to see these words. Could you let it stand up just once? It doesn't need to be high, really not high at all. Even if it's just red for a little while, just so Grandpa can see it. He doesn't want to get rich. It's just that after getting old, there are fewer and fewer things that can make him happy. Good weather makes him happy. Me coming home for dinner makes him happy. The stock turning red makes him happy too. I want to see him push his reading glasses up, smiling and calling to Grandma, "See, I told you it would get up again." Institutional uncles and aunts, if you hear this, let it surge once. I don't ask for it to rise much. I just want Grandpa to pick up an extra piece of meat at dinner tonight.




















