Girls of Summer 夏日女孩

Girls of Summer　夏日女孩

◎ Kristie Helms


We lived on the banks of the Tennessee River, and we owned the summers when we were girls. We ran wild through humid summer days that never ended but only melted one into the other. We floated down rivers of weekdays with no school, no rules, no parents, and no constructs other than our fantasies. We were good girls, my sister and I. We had nothing to rebel against. This was just life as we knew it, and we knew the summers to be long and to be ours.
The road that ran past our house was a one lane rural route. Every morning, after our parents had gone to work, I’d wait for the mail lady to pull up to our box. Some days I would put enough change for a few stamps into a mason jar lid and l eave it in the mailbox. I hated bothering mail lady with this transaction, which made her job take longer. But I liked that she knew that someone in our house sent letters into the outside world.
I liked walking to the mailbox in my bare feet and leaving footprints on the dewy grass. I imagined that feeling the wetness on the bottom of my feet made me a poet. I had never read poetry, outside of some Emily Dickinson. But I imagined that at people who knew of such things would walk to their mailboxes through the morning dew in their bare feet.
We planned our weddings with the help of barbie dolls and the tiny purple wild flowers growing in our side yard. We became scientists and tested concoctions of milk, orange juice, and mouthwash. We ate handfuls of bittersweet chocolate chips and licked peanut butter off spoons. When we ran out of sweets to eat, we snitched sugary Flintstones vitamins out of the medicine cabinet. We became masters of the Kraft macaroni and cheese lunch, and we dutifully called our mother at work three times a day to give her updates on our adventures. But don’t call too often or speak too loudly or whine too much, we told ourselves, or else they’ll get annoyed and she’ll get fired and the summers will end.
We shaped our days the way we chose, far from the prying eyes of adults. We found our dad’s Playboys and charged the neighborhood boys money to look at them. We made crank calls around the county, telling people they had won a new car. “What kind?” they’d ask. “Red.” we’d always say. We put on our mom’s old prom dresses, complete with gloves and hats, and sang backup to the C.W. McCall song convoy, which we’d found on our dad’s turntable.
We went on hikes into the woods behind our house, crawling under barbed wire fences and through tangled undergrowth. Heat and humidity found their way through he leaves to our flushed faces. We waded in streams that we were always surprised to come across. We walked past cars and auto parts that had been abandoned in the woods, far from any road. We’d reach the tree line and come out unexpectedly into a cow pasture. We’d perch on the gate or stretch out on the large flat limes tone outcrop that marked the end of the Woods Behind Our House.
One day a thunderstorm blew up along the Tennessee River. It was one of those storms that make the day go dark and the humidity disappear. First it was still and quiet. There was electricity in the air and then the sharp crispness of a summer day being blown wide open as the winds rushed in. We threw open all the doors and windows. We found the classical radio station from two towns away and turned up the bass and cranked up the speakers. We let the wind blow in and churn our summer day around. We let the music we were only vaguely familiar with roar through the house. And we twirled. We twirled in the living room in the wind and in the music. We twirled and we imagined that we were poets and dancers and scientists and spring brides.
We twirled and imagined that if we could let everything—the thunder, the storm, the wind, the world—into that house in the banks of the Tennessee River, we could live in our summer dreams forever. When we were girls.


當(dāng)我們還是小女孩的時(shí)候，夏天是屬于我們的。那時(shí)，我家住在田納西河畔。在那些永無(wú)盡頭、一天天彼此交融的濕潤(rùn)夏日里，我們?nèi)鲆暗嘏苤?。我們?cè)陂L(zhǎng)長(zhǎng)的日子中放任自己，沒(méi)有學(xué)校的管束，沒(méi)有規(guī)則的羈絆，沒(méi)有雙親的訓(xùn)誡，沒(méi)有既定的觀念，只有屬于我們自己的幻想。我和姐姐，我們都是好女孩。沒(méi)有什么需要我們?nèi)?duì)抗和反叛的。這就是我們的生活，我們知道夏日正長(zhǎng)，而且是屬于我們的。
我家門前的那條路是一條單車道的鄉(xiāng)間小路。每天早上，父母上班以后，我會(huì)等著女郵差把車停在我們的信箱前。有時(shí)候，我會(huì)在大口玻璃瓶的瓶蓋里放上夠買幾張郵票的零錢，再把它放在信箱里面。我討厭為這樣的交易去麻煩女郵差，這會(huì)延長(zhǎng)她的工作時(shí)間。但我喜歡讓她知道我們家里也有人寄信到外面的世界。
我喜歡赤足走向我家的信箱，在沾著露水的草地上留下腳印。我想象著，足底那濕漉漉的感覺(jué)使我成了一個(gè)詩(shī)人。除了艾米莉·狄金森的一些作品外，我從來(lái)沒(méi)讀過(guò)詩(shī)。但我想，懂得這類東西的人一定會(huì)赤足踏著晨露走向他們的信箱。
我們用芭比娃娃和旁邊院子里的紫色小野花來(lái)籌辦我們的婚禮游戲。我們是科學(xué)家，嘗試牛奶、橙汁和漱口水的混合物。我們吃光一把又一把甜中帶苦的巧克力片，把勺子上的花生醬舔得干干凈凈。糖果吃完了，我們就從藥箱里偷拿有甜味的弗林斯通復(fù)合維生素。我們成了用卡夫通心面和干酪烹制午餐的專家，并盡職盡責(zé)地每天給正在上班的媽媽打三個(gè)電話匯報(bào)我們的最新情況。但是，我們告誡自己：不要打太多電話，不要說(shuō)得太大聲，也不要在電話里過(guò)多發(fā)牢騷，否則他們就會(huì)生氣了，媽媽就會(huì)被解雇，美好的夏日也就完結(jié)了。
遠(yuǎn)離大人們窺視的目光，我們按自己選擇的方式安排著生活。我們找出了爸爸的《花花公子》雜志，讓鄰家的男孩們付費(fèi)觀看。我們給全縣各地的人打神秘電話，對(duì)他們說(shuō)他們贏得了一輛新車。“什么樣的？”他們會(huì)問(wèn)。而我們總是回答：“紅的。”我們穿上媽媽班級(jí)舞會(huì)時(shí)穿的舊禮服，配上手套和帽子，伴著在爸爸的唱機(jī)上找到的麥考爾的《護(hù)衛(wèi)隊(duì)》歌唱。
我們到屋后的樹(shù)林里遠(yuǎn)足，從帶刺的鐵絲籬墻下爬過(guò)，穿過(guò)纏繞糾結(jié)的灌木叢。熱氣和濕氣透過(guò)樹(shù)葉的罅隙撲上我們緋紅的臉頰。每次我們總是會(huì)意外地遇到溪流，于是我們就在其中涉水而行。我們走過(guò)被丟棄在遠(yuǎn)離大路的林中的轎車和汽車部件。我們會(huì)一直走到樹(shù)林邊上，結(jié)果意外走進(jìn)一個(gè)奶牛場(chǎng)。我們會(huì)倚坐在門上休息，或者攤開(kāi)四肢躺在露出地面的又大又平的石灰?guī)r上。這些巖石標(biāo)志著“屋后樹(shù)林”的盡頭。
有一天，田納西河沿岸出現(xiàn)了暴風(fēng)雨。這樣的暴風(fēng)雨讓天變得陰沉，也趕走了濕氣。剛開(kāi)始，一切寧?kù)o又安詳?？諝庵袔е娏?，乍起的風(fēng)吹出夏日的清爽。我們敞開(kāi)所有的門窗，把收音機(jī)調(diào)到兩個(gè)鎮(zhèn)子之外的古典音樂(lè)臺(tái)，加重低音并把音量開(kāi)得大大的。我們讓風(fēng)吹進(jìn)客廳，讓它肆意攪動(dòng)著我們的夏日。我們讓似曾相識(shí)的音樂(lè)在屋子里轟鳴，我們則在一邊隨著音樂(lè)飛快地旋轉(zhuǎn)。在風(fēng)中、在音樂(lè)里、在客廳里，我們飛旋。飛旋著，想象自己是詩(shī)人、是舞者、是科學(xué)家、是春天里的新娘。
我們飛旋著，想象要是能讓一切——雷聲、暴雨、狂風(fēng)以至整個(gè)世界——旋入田納西河畔的那座房子，我們就能永遠(yuǎn)活在我們的夏日之夢(mèng)里。那時(shí)，我們還是小女孩。