Half Story

Everyone must have seen a girl like her. When you are a student, you can easily meet such a girl, or you may be a girl like that. Delicate, diligent, always on the face of a layer of polite indifference, from the bottom of the ground but you can not see how many clues from her, good grades, and not good to the point of the top son. Silence is a neglected, but occasional sound makes the air quiet. They are usually thin, usually wearing glasses, usually with a slender face, white and long limbs, usually a little neat and handsome handwriting.

When I was a child, I was in a key middle school that was notoriously tough, and I was surrounded by a lot of girls like that. Now think of it, that era of our parents heart is really wide, our class students the youngest 11 years old (is Lao Tze), the biggest is only 13, except do not have to cook everything outside of their own. School campus Classical But old, everywhere a proud and stale old temperament, must be everywhere inconvenient life. The pickled dirty, the difficult, the fear, almost every detail can be taken to make a horror film.

The school and the implementation of the full closed semi-militarization system management, which means that even if you want to go home in Saturday, you have to get the class teacher (see Mood) Pro grant of the leave bar.

Therefore, like me early with the class teacher knot Liangzi slag, often hard endure, straight bite after molars creak.

Also can see, every weekend holiday, the campus is filled with serfs, crying father shouted Niang, ecstasy mixed with solemn and stirring strangeness breath. Private cars were rare in those days, but at the gate of our school there were bound to be long lines every weekend. Parents usually have a kind of compensation mentality similar to the honor, while the children are like heroes returning alive.

In the dormitory of empty, I am one of the people who often stay behind. Saturday night lazily back a pot of half open blisters noodles, with the girl head to the bed to eat.

The water is getting cold, the face is still hard, eating 咵. Sauce package on the surface of a layer of greasy white thick oil, eat the throat straight itch, drink a lot of water. But the toilet is far, bathroom, to go through a long, empty corridor, and a fan half open empty window. The porch lamp was cold and dark, and it happened to mirror my vague face on a window.

Many years later, I woke up in the night, still thought that I was speeding through a corridor, running fast and ruthless, a heart hit chest teng.

Not altogether unhappy. Saturday even the warden rested, lights out a little late. A faint incandescent lamp, the words in the book are difficult to distinguish like crawling ants, but even so, but also to squeeze in the same bed, rob a book, head all crashed together-at that time, read everything like reading banned books, read all too late to swallow. At night, talking in a voice, in case of laughter, like a bird in his throat, must be hurriedly cover into the quilt.

In solitude, I read the most important bad books of my life, and she became Couba. As tall as we are, we cut short hair, and we love to wear an empty man's white shirt. But she's thinner than me and looks better. The shirt was carefully washed by her soft and clean, slightly translucent under the light, so wide and wide the hood on her body, make her look like a small white sail, at any time from the light slide away. And every evening that she had crossed was a sea of wind.

This is how we gradually formed a kind of revolutionary comrades of friendship, not intimacy, but the firm dependencies, like the last two fruit in the winter branches, and like mirrors in the same way the opposite.

However, learning slag and Couba, the road is different, always have to swing. To test High school, she admitted, I did not. My mother gave me a little sponsorship fee and got me in. We are not in the hearts of enthusiastic people, divided in different classes after the gradual alienation.

And then to the sophomore class, she naturally entered the only key class, I smoothly into the arts bottom class.

Well, I'm still the upper-middle student in the bottom class.

Strange fate here, Test University, I admitted, she did not.

I always like stories and hate reality. Is that the story always has an ending, but the reality is only a long, confusing, ambiguous, ambiguous narrative.

When I first went to school, my old acquaintances occasionally exchanged gossip. I heard that she read a year later admitted to a very good university, far away to the north. And then it didn't even sound that loud.

Like birds from the branches of us, too many people and things are nothing but the ears of the great wind. Youth like from the sky overlooking the rapid sweep of the landscape, down the days, nothing but a black heart of the eye a horizontal.

So after a lot of years, I blindly forced to do, running around, eyes look at the life of a mess, suddenly like anesthesia I wake up, know that the pain, the pants back to live for a few months.

I suspected it was the longest period of my stay at home after I was 11 years old.

I can talk to my mom for a long time and be calm with each other. My mother mentioned her when she was chatting and called her name exactly. Do you remember XX, the other people graduated from college honest back to work, where like you.

She quoted a name for the unit. Brilliant, but remote.

My consternation must be very exaggerated written in the face, so that my mother immediately opened the education and probation of my posture: "A bit, but the unit is good, than you mess around." The little girl is not easy, is also a boil. You do not know, that time when the parents meeting, know you two better, her mother still let me go to sit at home.

Alley so deep, more and more dark, just under the rain, sewage on the ground. In the door I would scare a big jump, a dirty child crawling ...

At this time I looked calm. After many years, I suddenly realized that one thing, when I stayed with her, I was because of enemies with the head teacher, and she is very likely because she did not want to go home.

My mother is extremely enthusiastic: take a vacation, quickly ask her to come home to sit.

I was very reluctant. I mend to see all my friends, and catching up with them is more than I fear. The person who has been in trouble with youth is most like a lover to break up, must take all the secrets to forget in the lake.