每天讀一點(diǎn)英文:那些美好而憂傷的記憶 23 忘記并寬容

Forgotten and Forgiven

As I sat perched in the second-floor window of our brick schoolhouse that afternoon, my heart began to sink further with each passing car. This was a day I'd looked forward to for weeks: Miss Pace's fourth-grade, end-of-the-year party. Miss Pace had kept a running countdown on the blackboard all that week, and our class of nine-year-olds had bordered on insurrection by the time the much-anticipated "party Friday" had arrived.

I had happily volunteered my mother when Miss Pace requested cookie volunteers. Mom's chocolate chips reigned supreme on our block, and I knew they'd be a hit with my classmates. But two o'clock passed, and there was no sign of her. Most of the other mothers had already come and gone, dropping off their offerings of punch andcrackers, chips, cupcakes and brownies. My mother was missing in action.

"Don't worry, Robbie, she'll be along soon," Miss Pace said as I gazed forlornly down at the street. I looked at the wall clock just in time to see its black minute hand shift to half-past.

Around me, the noisy party raged on, but I wouldn't budge from my window watch post. Miss Pace did her best to coax me away, but I stayed put, holding out hope that the familiar family car would round the corner, carrying my rightfully embarrassed mother with a tin of her famous cookies tucked under her arm.

The three o'clock bell soon jolted me from my thoughts and I dejectedly grabbed my book bag from my desk and shuffled out the door for home.

On the four-block walk to our house, I plotted my revenge. I would slam the front door upon entering, refuse to return her hug when she rushed over to me, and vow never to speak to her again.

The house was empty when I arrived and I looked for a note on the refrigerator that might explain my mother's absence, but found none. My chin quivered with a mixture of heartbreak and rage. For the first time in my life, my mother had let me down.

I was lying face-down on my bed upstairs when I heard her come through the front door.

"Robbie," she called out a bit urgently. "Where are you?"

I could then hear her darting frantically from room to room, wondering where I could be. I remained silent. In a moment, she mounted the steps—the sounds of her footsteps quickening as she ascended the staircase.

When she entered my room and sat beside me on my bed, I didn't move but instead stared blankly into my pillow refusing to acknowledge her presence.

"I'm so sorry, honey," she said. "I just forgot. I got busy and forgot—plain and simple."

I still didn't move. "Don't forgive her," I told myself. "She humiliated you. She forgot you. Make her pay."

Then my mother did something completely unexpected. She began to laugh. I could feel her shudder as the laughter shook her. It began quietly at first and then increased in its velocity and volume.

I was incredulous. How could she laugh at a time like this? I rolled over and faced her, ready to let her see the rage and disappointment in my eyes.

But my mother wasn't laughing at all. She was crying. "I'm so sorry," she sobbed softly. "I let you down. I let my little boy down."

She sank down on the bed and began to weep like a little girl. I was dumbstruck. I had never seen my mother cry. To my understanding, mothers weren't supposed to. I wondered if this was how I looked to her when I cried.

I desperately tried to recall her own soothing words from times past when I'd skinned knees or stubbed toes, times when she knew just the right thing to say. But in that moment of tearful plight, words of profundity abandoned me like a worn-out shoe.

"It's okay, Mom," I stammered as I reached out and gently stroked her hair. "We didn't even need those cookies. There was plenty of stuff to eat. Don't cry. It's all right. Really.'

My words, as inadequate as they sounded to me, prompted my mother to sit up. She wiped her eyes, and a slight smile began to crease her tear-stained cheeks. I smiled back awkwardly, and she pulled me to her.

We didn't say another word. We just held each other in a long, silent embrace. When we came to the point where I would usually pull away, I decided that, this time, I could hold on, perhaps, just a little bit longer.

忘記并寬容

那天下午，我坐在學(xué)校磚樓二樓的窗沿上，看著一輛輛經(jīng)過的汽車，心不斷地往下沉。裴老師帶的四年級(jí)班的年終派對將在那天舉行，我已經(jīng)盼了好幾個(gè)星期了。那個(gè)星期，裴老師還在黑板上弄了個(gè)倒計(jì)時(shí)牌。當(dāng)這個(gè)令人望穿秋水的“派對星期五”到來的時(shí)候，我們一班九歲大的孩子們興奮得像炸開了鍋一樣。

在裴老師征召志愿者提供小甜餅的時(shí)候，我很開心地推薦了我母親。媽媽做的巧克力片在我們那個(gè)街區(qū)是最最好吃的。我知道它們肯定會(huì)在同學(xué)們中大受歡迎?？墒莾牲c(diǎn)都過了，她還沒有出現(xiàn)。其他同學(xué)的母親大都已來過了，帶來了她們做的飲料、餅干、薯?xiàng)l、蛋糕還有核仁巧克力餅。我的母親卻還不見蹤影。

“別著急，羅比，她很快就會(huì)來的。”當(dāng)我孤苦無望地盯著下面的大街時(shí)，裴老師對我說。我看了看墻上的鐘，它黑色的分針剛好跳到兩點(diǎn)半。


在我的周圍，喧鬧的派對正進(jìn)行得如火如荼，而我卻不愿從窗口這個(gè)觀察站挪動(dòng)半步。裴老師用盡辦法對我好言相勸，我還是一動(dòng)不動(dòng)，不死心地期待著家里那輛熟悉的汽車轉(zhuǎn)過街角，載著我那應(yīng)該感到難為情的母親，懷里抱著一罐她那出名的小甜餅。

三點(diǎn)的鐘聲把我從思緒中驚醒，我沮喪地從課桌上抓過書包，拖著步子出了門往家走。

離家步行只有四個(gè)街區(qū)，在路上我就計(jì)劃好了怎么報(bào)復(fù)。我要一進(jìn)門就砰地狠狠把門關(guān)上，她迎向我的時(shí)候不要和她擁抱，并發(fā)誓再也不跟她說話了。

當(dāng)我回到家，屋子里空無一人。我到冰箱上找有沒有她留下的便條，她也許會(huì)解釋沒去的原因，可那兒什么也沒有。失望和憤怒一頭襲來，我氣得下巴直抖。生平第一次，母親讓我失望了。

我上樓去，在自己的床上趴著。這時(shí)樓下傳來她進(jìn)門的聲音。

“羅比，”她略顯焦急地喚我，“你在哪呢？”

我能聽到她著魔似地逐個(gè)房間找我。我仍舊一聲不吭。很快，她上樓了。腳步聲顯得越來越快。

她進(jìn)到我的房間，挨著我在床上坐著。我茫然地盯著枕頭一動(dòng)不動(dòng)，當(dāng)她不存在一樣。

“對不起，寶貝，”她說，“我忘掉了，我一忙就忘掉了，就是這樣。”

我還是沒動(dòng)。“別原諒她，”我告訴自己，“她讓你丟臉了，她把你給忘了。要給她點(diǎn)懲罰。”

接下來母親做了一件我怎么也想不到的事。她開始笑，我感覺得到她笑得渾身顫動(dòng)。開始還悄無聲息，接著越來越急促，越來越大聲。

我簡直不敢相信，這個(gè)時(shí)候她還笑得出來？我翻過身，面朝著她，讓她看到我眼睛里的憤怒和失望。

但母親根本沒有笑，她是在哭。“對不起，”她輕輕地抽泣著，“我讓你失望了，我讓我的小家伙失望了。”

她癱倒在床上，開始像個(gè)小女孩一樣地哭泣。我目瞪口呆。我從沒看見母親哭過。在我眼里，母親是不會(huì)哭的。我想，我哭的時(shí)候在她眼里是不是也是這個(gè)樣子。

我拼命回想過去當(dāng)我蹭破膝蓋、碰傷腳趾時(shí)她對我說的安慰話，那種時(shí)候她總是知道該說什么。可是在這個(gè)淚眼婆娑的時(shí)刻，我實(shí)在太沒用，找不到一句情深意濃的話語。

“好了，媽媽，”我伸過手去輕輕撫摸她的頭發(fā)，結(jié)結(jié)巴巴地說，“我們其實(shí)根本不需要那些小甜餅，那里有好多吃的東西。別哭了，沒事，真的。”

我的話盡管自己聽來也覺得蒼白無力，卻讓母親坐了起來。她擦了擦雙眼，一絲微笑在她滿是淚痕的臉上綻開。我也不好意思地笑了笑，然后她就把我拉到懷里。

我們再?zèng)]有說話，只是默默地?fù)肀Я撕芫煤芫谩ＭǔＮ覀儞肀б粫?huì)兒就會(huì)松開，但這次，我決定，也許，我會(huì)多堅(jiān)持那么一會(huì)兒。