Chapter 2014: Postscript: a long goodbye

In the late autumn of 2003, when I was in the first grade of high school, it was the first time I heard the name of ××.
Just call him ××, it is tiring to name him. The male protagonist in the secret love story should not have a name.
A name that cannot be said aloud is enough to be called ××.
Before the first mid-term exam in high school, the girl at my back table suddenly fell in love with a sportsman, and couldn't help taking us to the stadium to watch him run laps. The sports specialty student discovered that there were girls who were observing it, and immediately ran out of the milk in the 100-meter sprint.
The back table suddenly turned cold, looking disappointed.
After returning to work, she announced that she did not like this sports specialty.
I asked her why, and she said, "Did you not see? When he sprinted, he ran into the wind and his face was shaking so ugly! He! Face! Shaking!"
For the back table, "like" is nothing more than a sustenance. Adolescent girls fantasize about hovering in the air with wings, always looking for a real body as a place to stay. It's a pity that the host of sports specialties is not perfect, and I am sorry for her expectations.
After school, I sat in the window seat of the bus and bumped back to the city center from the school in the suburbs. I looked at the gloomy street scene outside, and my mind was still in an endless loop, "He is shaking, his face is shaking, his face is shaking...", while smiling, I am a little eager to try.
I really want to find someone to like.
But just think about it. This thought was immediately suppressed by the weight on his shoulders. The schoolbag is full of exercise books. There are so many contestants among the new classmates, and every one of them looks so good. My grades in junior high school are not bad. If the first exam in the new class is ranked down, wouldn’t it be lost? Dead...
The girl's thoughts turned into a sigh, and her face was as shameless as the street scene.
After the mid-term exam, I worked in the head teacher’s office to help organize the school year score section statistics table. This table will be distributed to everyone at the parent meeting after school. I was about to take a printed original manuscript to make a copy, when I was suddenly stopped by the class teacher. She pointed to the blank space at the head of the title and said: "You write here, Class ×, ××, Math 150, Physics 98, Chemistry..."
I draw one stroke at a time, because it is a dictation, so the name of ×× is wrong. The head teacher felt something wrong instinctively, and he held the piece of paper and waved it at the other teacher, asking how to write ××'s name.
The teacher firmly disagrees with our class teacher using ×× as a typical example. That teacher teaches Chinese, and ××'s Chinese grades...... Haha. The grades are beautiful in every subject, only Chinese is ashamed. If I were their Chinese teacher, I would not be happy to set such a model.
After reading the excitement, I re-printed a form and copied many copies, but the one with the name ×× was originally intended to be grouped and thrown away, but somehow I folded it and kept it.
The first place this time is actually another girl, but the one who has attracted much attention is ×× from the next class. In our high school where science is good, mathematics, physics and chemistry are always more concerned, and this XX has almost no deduction in these three subjects.
As soon as I got back to the class, I heard the girl at the back table chanting the name of ××. I heard that it was like when I heard that ×× was in junior high school, and how he usually does, he...
From that day on, XX completely replaced the sports specialties and became the host of many girls' fantasy.
I turned my head and asked the back table, what should I do if this ×× looks like a gorilla?
The back table snorted disdainfully: "No, I went to watch at the door of their class."
At that time, I was a naturally pretending girl, smiled faintly, and turned back to work on the question.
The curiosity and admiration of the girls for this ×× more vividly brought out my independence, calm and self-reliance... In short, I am so special.
I have had several opportunities to see the true face of XX Lushan.
For example, the girl at the back table stood up and said, "XX their class is playing outside, let's go and watch."
For example, my student tyrant at the same table held a notebook with extremely ugly handwriting and said: "This is a XX's competition notebook. I asked for leave to go home. Can you help me send it to the next class?"
My answer is: "Don't go."
Strangely speaking, I would follow the onlookers with peace of mind, but when I got to ××, I felt awkward.
Maybe it's a bit jealous. I am jealous of smart people. Since I was a child, Mathematical Olympiad has been my nightmare. Until I was admitted to a key high school, I never felt relieved about my IQ. I always felt that it was only because of hard work that I had the opportunity to sit on an equal footing with the good minds. Once I relax, I will fall to the bottom. , Why is God so unfair.
The feeling of inferiority in the heart spreads here.
I wish he looked like a gorilla.
The days passed like this. I sat in the classroom next to XX class for a whole year. Almost all the classmates in their class were familiar with each other, but I had not seen him.
Also because he almost fell out with the girl at the back table.
In the early summer afternoon, I went to the canteen to buy ice cream with the back table. As we walked through the playground, a row of boys came across. Seven or eight people came across. They weren't in twos or twos, but really lined up in a neat horizontal row.
I never stare at others, talk and laugh with the back table, and pass by them.
The back table was absent-minded, and waited until the row of boys had walked for a long time before saying, "The one in white is XX."
I didn't want to look back, but I knew how to pretend to be moderate, so I turned around and glanced naturally. The boys have gone far and become a row of "Yakult". There are at least four boys wearing white clothes, and the others are wearing white derivative colors.
"Excuse me, are you playing with me?" I glanced at the back table amused.
The back table suddenly became strangely silent. I hurried to eat the ice cream before class, so I didn't notice her strangeness. When she walked into the classroom, she suddenly asked softly: "What do you think of ××?"
I was taken aback.
Think about the backs of that row of boys, they all look so sad.
"A little bit shorter?" I said with a smile.
The back table suddenly went crazy: "You are sick! Isn't he taller than you? Is it interesting to pick something wrong on purpose?!"
Many classmates are watching us. My temper came up, and I sneered and said, "Is taller than me an advantage?"
We went back to you all and gambled for a lesson.
Originally, he was not a friend, just superficially affectionate, so once he rips his face, he can't find a place to talk softly.
At that time, my personality was not as selfish as I am now. I admired harmony as the most important thing, so I pulled down my face and wrote a note to her. I was joking to the effect. I thought you were just joking about chanting XX every day. I didn’t expect you to care so much. I’m sorry.
The girl at the back table replied: "I shouldn't be so impulsive. But don't you say that about him, he is a very good person."
I suddenly became curious.
"Where is it?" After class, I turned around and asked, lying on her desk.
The back table was reserved for a while before he spoke softly: "I ran to the same English cram school with him and sat next to him. Every time his eraser fell on the ground, I helped him pick it up, he would say 'Thank you'."
I:"……."
Seeing that the eyebrows on the back table were about to be erected again, I hurriedly made up, "It's great that I have such a good grade and being so polite."
Complimenting XX is equivalent to complimenting her. Looking at the brows on the back table, I swallowed back the cheap phrase "Will he shake his face when doing math problems?"
×× talks very little, ×× hates Chinese classes, ×× likes to sleep the most, ×× is actually a person with a very cold sense of humor...
To sum up, if Rukawa Feng's hobby is not basketball but mathematics, physics and chemistry, then he will become a good-looking version of ××.
I always remember that afternoon, the weather was very good, I leaned on the window sill, tilted my head and looked at the blue sky outside, a cloud drifted by, another cloud drifted by... She was talking about something I never The people I have met are all scraps, all nonsense, all speculation, all wishful thinking.
All the best years.
×× still maintains an impressive record. Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon in the science class, but he can always appear in the top three, most of the time when the first exam.
In my second year of high school, I went to study literature.
I finally realized what it was like to be the boss.
It also reduces the jealousy of ××.
My mother told me the story of playing games with them in the park when I was three or four years old. The floor tiles in the square are arranged in a circle from the inside to the outside according to the color. Our family of three played a chasing game along the outermost circle. She and my dad were chasing after me. Seeing that they were about to be caught up, I suddenly jumped. In the inner circle, he said to them with confidence: "I have passed the level and upgraded."
Later, when everyone was having a snowball fight, I suddenly lifted a rock to hit someone and claimed that "I ate a star, so I changed the cannon."
Later, my mother banned me from playing red and white machines.
In short, I developed the habit of playing rogues since I was a child. Life in the science class is difficult, so I jumped in, studied literature, and became the king on my own.
Unfortunately, the worship of science still exists in the liberal arts class, so I still haven't stopped hearing the name of ××, but this time the enthusiastic fans of ×× changed to my front table.
I don’t understand why, why is I the first in the liberal arts class, but everyone still thinks ×× is the best? Can anyone explain it to me?
Time passed in such a faint way. Everyone's high school life is very similar: school and school, exam ranking, chorus performance, basketball league, there are friends and opponents, happiness and sorrow. But spread out, each has its own moving.
Our school is located in the suburbs and belongs to closed housing management. I often peeked at the romance novels of the girl next to the bed, and then secretly put them back in tears, and continued to express coldly disdain for such illogical stories.
However, the girl's mind, who was oppressed by the heavy science class atmosphere in her first year of high school, was loosened by these stories, shaking the dust on her wings, and flying to the sky.
Once celebrating the birthday of a classmate, everyone put together a long line of tables in the cafeteria. When they were lighting candles, a group of boys passed by. The girls at the front table suddenly whispered, "Wow, XX."
I reflexively looked sideways at them, and a boy turned his face to look at us.
...Gorilla.
×× really looks like a gorilla! The sky has eyes!
I smiled and sang a birthday song with everyone, joking around, suddenly feeling a little lost.
Okay, not a little bit, but very disappointed.
But why is this?
Their girlish fantasies all fell on a specific person, only mine fell on a name and a bunch of legends.
Even if I don't want to admit it, I'm really sad.
For my unreasonable melancholy, my parents said: "Tsk tsk, the child has grown up."
Don't think they are more enlightened. They just like to see girls cherish spring, and they prefer to see girls cherish spring. If I succeed, they can discount my legs.
When I heard others chanting XX again, I no longer had the strange feeling of jealousy and curiosity in my heart. I only felt it was a pity, and I was ashamed of my stupid and careful thinking before.
it's a pity.
I don't really want you to be like a gorilla.
Every Friday everyone will go home with a week’s change of clothes. I am waiting for the bus at the platform with a large luggage bag, and my iron buddy L is standing beside me.
His role is not important, just use letters instead.
L was chatting with me, looked behind me somehow, and immediately put on a dog-legged face: "Ah, it's an honor to be able to ride the car with No. 1 in liberal arts and sciences!"
At the beginning, I just reflexively gave a humble smile of "Where and where, everyone is so familiar, don't tell me, you guys are always so polite", suddenly I felt that something was wrong. First in liberal arts and first in science?
I looked back blankly.
This is ××? Doesn't it look bad, so where did the gorilla go?
Only then did I realize that I had admitted the wrong person before.
XX's clothes are very refreshing, she is indeed not tall, but she is not short, and she looks very cold.
I have written so many characters in novels, so far I cannot describe the appearance of ×× clearly.
Probably that's it, you don't need to know too well, anyway you don't need to like him.
Or you can think of it this way. The person I like and the person you like both have the same face, a face that only we think is particularly good but is always ashamed to trace it out to gain the approval of others.
XX dragged the suitcase and walked over and stood about five meters away from us, looking up at the stop sign.
I turned my head generously to look at his back.
That should be the last time I looked at this person generously in high school.
Later, I sat in the last row by the window, while continuing to chat with L, while watching the warm sunset outside, the sun was particularly good. L asked if I took the wrong medicine today? I laughed so happy, I didn't answer.
I remember that when I walked home from the station that day, even the floor tiles and garbage stations became better than usual. The station is uphill, and my home is downhill. I need to cross a secluded path and go down a long flight of steps.
Standing on the top of the steps, looking down at the scattered houses below, and the sunset in the distance into the urban jungle, suddenly his chest was filled with a strange emotion.
More than just happy.
Like discovering the mystery of life, the joy of life, the whole world spread out under my feet.
I dropped my travel bag, opened my arms, kicked and stomped down the steps, and rushed down a gentle slope. The wind was in his ears, his heart was beating in his chest, and his schoolbag was slapping his buttocks, not knowing whether he was discouraging or encouraging.
My girl heart and I flew together.
Then climbed up the hill again like a mentally retarded to get the travel bag that was thrown on the ground.
Did you find it? We, DramaQueen (Masked Queen) have a hard life.
I never think secret love is bitter.
The love for a person is hidden in the eyes, through it, the world becomes better.
After each exam, I will compare the scores of the three liberal arts and science subjects with XX on the same paper; I will climb up to the floor where the XX class is located to go to the bathroom; I will adjust the collar when I meet by chance. He straightened his back and walked with radiance at every step; I would listen to all the gossip about him with my ears upright, even if someone just mentioned the name of ××, I am happy.
Of course, as a senior pretender girl, I can’t show the slightest interest in ××. I can only rack my brain and smile lightly to lead the conversation to science first, then to their class, and finally everyone talks. XX pretends to reply to text messages or read magazines, expressing disinterest.
Even this pretense is happy.
When summer comes, it gets dark late, and many boys flock to the playground to play ball during the rest time before evening self-study. I no longer hurry to read books, but go for a walk on the basketball court alone. Sixteen basketball hoops, I slowly walked around, every time I walked to see if their class was playing. Once I found the real goal, I would never stand by and watch the battle.
It seems that the whole world will discover my secret at a glance.
I said that after meeting at the station, I never looked at him openly.
With a calm face pretending to be looking elsewhere, his eyes fixed on the far wasteland, the basketball hoop nearby was out of focus, and only a group of people could be seen vaguely.
He is in this group.
Only once have I seen him shoot a three-pointer, hollow into the basket, and scream. When everyone cheered, I turned my face to one side and smiled.
I remembered that the girl at the back of high school said that he was a very good person.
In the summer vacation of high school, I went abroad to play, and wrote a postcard at the front desk of the hotel to write to him. Write one sentence and draw one sentence, write one and tear one, and finally I took a thick stack of torn postcards to the trash can in the lobby and threw them away. Our tour guide saw it and laughed at me: "Miss, do you show off your wealth?"
That was the first time I wanted to actually do something to approach him.
I liked him before. Now I hope he can like me too.
Once this thought came up, I became unhappy.
Finally, I wrote one, and I brought it back intact. Naturally, I dare not really send a postcard to him---headless, with a foreign postmark. Everyone will know who it is as soon as they inquire. I am afraid that others will understand it before he understands it.
But what else can I do? I often ran away from my high school late self-study for a whole period, wandering around in the flag-raising square, sitting on the window sill of the dark administrative district corridor, thinking about 10,000 ways he might know him.
Our two classes are the same Chinese teacher, so I write my composition very carefully. After each exam, my excellent composition will be copied and circulated by the teaching and research group. I can at least get a familiar face first, let ×× know how much I am, um, brilliant.
Then think about it, he hates Chinese classes so much, he doesn't think I'm a hypocritical sour scholar by the way?
It's so hard to be a young girl.
Until one day, my mother picked up a postcard from the ground next to the desk and asked me, who is ××?
As I expected, my mother still loves to hear and hear stories about girls who are pregnant with spring and cannot beg.
Of course she asked me a classic question: "What do you like him?"
In the first semester of high school, the selection of recommended students and independent enrollment in various universities began. He is a contest student and participates in the recommended selection; I am an ordinary girl, hoping to strive for extra points for independent enrollment.
The broadcast asked everyone to teach the director's office to fill in the information. I went too late and unexpectedly saw him... and his mother. ×× sat on the sofa with an indifferent expression. His mother took the form to ask questions, I absently sat on the other end of the coffee table, took the form and filled it out, writing a few pens and then glanced at him nervously-I was looking forward to an inadvertent eye meeting, I Will smile and nod to him, saying: "Are you ××? Hello, my name is..."
I am not a stage fright person.
But he didn't look at it from beginning to end. He just listened to his mother's instructions sentence by sentence, filling in the form step by step.
We all passed the first round of preliminary review of materials and participated in the written examination held at the Provincial Admissions Office. I didn't do well in the exam. When I walked out of the exam room, people were still blinded. When I saw my mother in the crowd from a distance, my whole body was agitated.
My mother, standing side by side with ××'s mother, at first glance, they had a very happy conversation.
My father’s parent meeting was organized by my father. My mother never had much communication with other parents, and even couldn’t remember the name of my head teacher. Now she is chatting with ××'s mother with a big smile on her face!
This lesbian, what's the matter with you? Do you want to play with your biological daughter? Have you heard of "tiger poison does not eat seeds"? !
I walked over stiffly, and my mother pulled me innocently and introduced: "This is XX's mother."
Nonsense, of course I know!
××'s mother is a neat and enthusiastic person. After a few words of greeting, I saw ×× approaching blankly, ignoring the other two people present, pulling his mother's arm and saying two words:
"Let's go."
...Let's go.
His mother smiled and nodded at us, took XX's schoolbag, and the mother and son walked away affectionately.
My mother smiled at me meaningfully and said something that I will never forget.
"Your future mother-in-law relationship will be difficult."
"What the do you want?" My face was cramped.
"Standing boring outside, I heard her mention'our house ××', I walked over and chatted with her casually," my mother smiled like a spring breeze, "the one you like is that ××? How do you like a robot? ?"
I vaguely heard the cracking sound of our mother-daughter relationship.
Actually I know my mother's intentions. She feels that ×× is not worthy of liking. However, what she cannot answer to me is, what exactly is "like"? Is the reason for the occurrence of emotions sure to be found? Like is a broken faucet. Reason tells you that it is not worth it, but how to tighten it is futile, and feelings are overwhelming.
That night, I took my mother's arm and walked home slowly. Above the head is the gray sky, giving birth to a first snow.
Feeling my depression, my mother suddenly squeezed my hand and said: "His mother has known you for a long time, knows which class you are studying in, and knows that you write very well in composition."
"Really?"
"Yeah." Mom said with a smile, "Really. Besides, she said XX told her."
Even if I knew that the basic information probably came from the intelligence network of XX's mother and had nothing to do with XX, I instantly became happy: "Anything else, except for the composition?"
"No more."
"Ah..." I was very disappointed.
"Hey, yes, his mother said you look good."
"Really?!"
"...I made it."
The mother-daughter relationship made a cracking sound for the second time.
My mother never stopped making fun of me with XX. Even when we went to the supermarket to buy schoolbags together, we had different opinions. She would definitely point to the one she was fancy and say, "This looks like the style of XX back." It seemed that I would listen to it. Like her.
Yes, I did listen to her.
I have always wanted to know if she dares to be so unscrupulous, is it because she is convinced that ×× can't talk to me.
The better XX is, the more I am willing to simply appreciate him; the more ordinary XX's image is, the more I want to approach him, as if I must personally use actual examples to cruelly disillusioned him.
So this winter, when my mother accompanied me to Beijing for an interview for independent admissions, I mustered up the courage to say hello to ×× for the first time.
In the hall of the science teaching building, I was holding a pile of forms in my hand, and I was standing by the pillar waiting for my mother, when I suddenly saw XX walking out of the classroom next to him blankly.
When he passed me, I suddenly summoned my courage, cheered up and smiled and said, "Hey, ××."
Then he walked away, didn't look at me, didn't stop.
I stood there for a while, then raised my right hand, pulled my left arm, and said, "Let's go."
For this story, my mother said: "Hahahahahahaha."
But I still remember that at the gate of the Science Building, I saw his parents walking away with him. The candidates and parents who were attending the interview came and went at the door. Everyone looked anxious and excited, with their ears listening to other people's backgrounds and catching news. I raised my eyes and saw a long-tailed magpie with a faint blue body falling on the branch, tilting its head to look at us.
What does this magpie think of us? I always wanted to know.
×× got the qualifications for recommended students. I am extremely grateful to the stern and rigid head teacher in their class. Because he rigidly stipulated that this group of competition students must also come to class every day as usual, I was able to see ×× in the last semester of high school.
I know which T-shirt he likes to wear, and I also discovered the regularity of his matching clothes, his small movements, the posture of walking, the shape of the back of his head... I guess I am more familiar with his dad's back than Zhu Ziqing.
During that time, my favorite game to play was toss a coin. My best friend in the liberal arts class is a very lively and very shy girl, who can tell jokes loudly, and can also be too scared to let go of a fart when he sees a boy he likes. The food in the cafeteria is so unpalatable, we took it without mistake, just to play this coin toss game when we entered the door.
People she likes often hang out on the first floor, and people I like often hang out on the second floor. We need to use the front and back of the coin to decide which floor to eat today.
My friend said: "This is not a game, this is a divination." We follow God's arrangement, and good luck should be saved a little bit, not too willful, so that we can achieve what we want on key things.
We thoughtfully never asked each other's "that person" surname or first name, and have been shamelessly calling "your honey" and "my honey". I am still very grateful for this game, letting the unspeakable ×× in my heart appear in the safe field, and I talk about it as much as I want, as if he really becomes who I am as long as I am willing.
That's the end of high school life.
In the summer after the college entrance examination, I accidentally received a call from a stranger. The other party claimed to be a colleague of XX mother. Her daughter was a liberal arts student and was very disobedient. I hope I could go chat with her daughter and "shock" her by example.
If my mother had taken this matter to me, I would have gone crazy long ago, but when the other party said that it was XX's mother enthusiastically recommended and highly appreciated it, I would be exasperated, and immediately nodded wildly on the phone and brought the phone line. It also flickered.
I remember sitting by the flowerbed with the little girl who broke her mother's heart, and she suddenly asked me: "Do you guys who are good at studying also secretly fall in love?"
I couldn't laugh or cry, and nodded and said, "Of course, many people around me have been in love."
She continued to ask, "What about you?" I shook my head.
The little girl thought for a while, and suddenly became excited: "At least there are people you like?"
I nodded.
"Then does he know?"
So, when my sister-in-law gave me the task of organizing the first hometown welcome party in the university, I suddenly felt that I should do something. For other classes, I just notify a leader, who will then communicate to the classmates in my class; but in the class of ××, I will unpredictably get the contact information of the dozen or so freshmen in their class from the leader. I asked for all of them and notified them one by one, just to get XX's phone number openly, personally send a grand-sounding and blameless text message, and forcibly give him his name and phone number.
When love and self-esteem meet, we are always unpredictable and try to achieve both.
Almost all the classmates who received the text message would reply to me: "Thank you, do you need my help to inform others?"
Only him, the reply is: Oh.
Oh.
When I got this word, I was standing outside the west gate of the school, with the blazing evening summer light above my head, which made people feel guilty. For a moment, I seemed to hear my mother's urgency again: "What do you like him?"
On the day of the meal, I dressed up a little. An ordinary girl like me is always embarrassed to dress up. She has a heart to be beautiful, but she has ordinary aptitude, and she is worried that she will go too far and be laughed at and overpowered by everyone. So every time after careful modification, it still looks the same in the eyes of others.
I dared not sit on the same round table with him, eating a meal absent-mindedly. The total number of people admitted to the same university in the two terms of our high school totals 60, and the self-introduction is about to break up. I have been looking at XX from a distance, seeing him happily talking with a fellow brother, exchanging phone calls, and asking for tips on course selection...
All this happened when I stood up and introduced myself artificially.
A long time later, I chatted with him about the predicament when I first entered school. I took a basketball course with my left arm in a cast. It was a death. He raised his eyebrows—"Have you broken a bone?"
I nodded without explaining too much.
I was so conspicuous. I was put in a plaster for the graduation commendation and the welcome dinner. Everyone gathered around me and asked: "What's the matter with you?" "Does it matter?" "Oh, be careful"... We are the closest At the time, there was only ten centimeters between the two shoulders, but he had never seen me.
Later, we still met, in a very plain way.
He sent the first text message, asking me how much I had taken on the English placement test at the beginning of school. I answered: "Level 3, how about you?"
He said: "Me too." After a pause, he sent another one: "I can rest assured that you have passed the third level. Then no one in our high school has passed the fourth level."
I know this is just a headless text message that the Xueba came to seek a sense of security, boasting others and boasting himself. Maybe he has inquired many people, maybe he is just polite.
But I almost cracked the screen of my phone in class-so he knew I was pretty good, how did he know? Did you know it early? What does he think of me? Didn't he never pay attention to things other than learning?
I responded to his message carefully, with enthusiasm, but not madness; to respond to his words, while leaving enough tails for him to continue to reply to me, to prevent the conversation from ending...
My left hand had just removed the plaster, it was still soft, and I couldn’t use my strength, but I still took notes with my right hand, grabbed the phone with my left hand, and chatted with him one after another. dialogue.
I am not a very patient girl, but I can run to the remote English department teaching building to help him inquire about the modification process when he has conflicts in class selection and send text messages for help; I can hang up my phone, When he sent a text message saying "I don't like to make phone calls", he worked hard to edit a long text message to write a "class change strategy"; when he said he had a cold, he could buy a bunch of medicine and send it to the male dormitory building mail room; In an era when Baidu and Google (Google) were still underdeveloped, standing in the information booth on the side of the road to help him check the transfer steps from school to Beijing Railway Station-Oh, of course it was sent by SMS.
Thank him, my left hand recovered very quickly.
However, we did not meet. The only connection between me and him was the envelope icon on the phone desktop. I didn't take the initiative to ask him, never sent a message at night, I couldn't find a word, and I never asked him to thank me.
So he really didn't thank me, and he didn't even say a polite "please have dinner".
Soon after, Xu Jinglei's movie "When Dreams Shine into Reality" was released in our school's lecture hall. I stared at the seven words on the poster, dumbfounding.
I finally plucked up the courage and sent him a text message: "Do you watch a movie? I invite you."
He replied to me: "..."
I "cocked" in my heart, and quickly recovered my broken self-esteem: "Forget it, just say it if you don't want to see it. I just saw the poster and just ask."
He replied: "I didn't say not to watch..."
Until now, I hate people who replace ellipsis with a series of periods, including myself occasionally.
The movie opens at half past six. I walked out of the study room at six o'clock and found that it was raining outside. I immediately texted him and asked him: "Are you in the dormitory? It's raining, remember to bring an umbrella."
"What about you? Do you have an umbrella?"
After pouring half a river in, the cactus finally bloomed. I couldn't stop giggling, and replied: "It's okay, I just ran over."
Come and pick me up!
He said, "Oh."
In the dark environment, this movie is not only difficult to understand, it embarrassed me as a treat. After the screening, the main creator came on stage to communicate with college students. I looked at XX and said, "Don't listen, let's go."
He is as amnesty.
On the way back to the dormitory, I suddenly asked: "You have no friends, do you?"
×× shook his head very honestly, and his fair and well-behaved appearance made me feel good about him again.
After a few seconds, he suddenly turned his head and looked at me: "Now you are my friend... Are you?"
"why?"
"Otherwise, why are you treating me so well?" He was a little embarrassed. "No one has been so good to me."
Fortunately, the shadow of the tree at night concealed my expression, otherwise he would think that my distorted face was evil.
Why do I treat you well, are you short-sighted?
Finally walked to the open space. I looked at him in the moonlight and smiled tragically, "I am a person who is born with passion."
Half a month later, I bought shampoo in Watsons, and received a text message from him complaining: I gave you the QQ account, why do you never use it?
When I was a teenager, I didn't catch up with the QQ boom. As a senior pretending girl, we would disdain everything we didn't catch up with. But XX still applied for QQ for me forcefully and ordered me to use it. I have to say that I feel a little sweet in my heart.
I wanted to tease him, so I asked: "Why do I have to use QQ? Do you want to chat with me?"
Five minutes later, I received an answer.
"I want to answer English with you."
This is the last straw that crushes the camel. I was shaking with anger, but my reason told myself that ×× was not wrong. All the enthusiasm and kindness that came out of my pockets were my spontaneous volition. Why should I blame others?
But I don't have to feel wronged about my habit of always cooperating with him. I dialed his phone directly, but he was rejected by him as expected, then I called, and was rejected again. I did not contact him again after two phone calls. A day later, he asked me about buying train tickets again as if nothing had happened, but I did not reply.
At night, he sent a text message without thinking: "I am a terrible and selfish person. Now you know, stay away from me."
It turns out that ×× is not stupid.
In the two months without contact, I joined a new club, learned to catch the trend of perm, buy clothes, and met all kinds of new classmates. The college life started lively, and gradually I no longer think of ×× every day, and finally I can evaluate him objectively and calmly.
The rumors are true that he is indeed very low in EQ, and he is indeed unpopular.
So, what do I like him? Could it be that it was "awesome at first, completely complete, just for the world to see less"? However, I still read past text messages one by one at night. Every boring reply from him, including the full stop of the row that I hate, was squeezed into Nokia's small inbox, and I couldn't bear to delete it when it was full.
Towards the end of the early winter morning, I suddenly saw his back at the end of a small road.
Countless early mornings in high school, I calculated the time to come out of the cafeteria, and I could always see him walking to the teaching building with his schoolbag from the back. There is a more arrogant ego in his heart, as if he will rush out in the next second, shouting at the boy in front: "××! Hello! Get to know!"
Fortunately, she did not rush out. Unfortunately, she did not rush out.
Recalling this way, his name had been blurted out unintentionally, his voice was crisp and bright, as if we had known each other for many years, and this was just an ordinary morning when we met an acquaintance.
He turned around, smiled a little shyly, and said, "I thought you would never talk to me again."
I said: "How come?"
We didn't talk about the past discord. We talked about our final exams, how to write elective essays, and which cafeteria had delicious pancakes...Finally, I was no longer alone. Maybe it's because I let go of my desire to express myself and close relationships, so everything becomes simple.
We studied in the library together, and occasionally I would deliberately ask him about the questions I could do; after the self-study, he practiced riding a bicycle with him, and he tried to take me in the back seat, but almost didn’t fall to my death; after jumping out of the car He said I was embarrassed, I said I was too heavy; I was sitting by the lake when I was tired from cycling, the moonlight was gentle, I inquired about the high school accidentally, little by little confirmed the truth of the rumors, little by little pieced together. The look of me in his heart.
The back desk of high school had chatted with him in the make-up class, but he no longer remembered this person.
It turns out that he has never scored a three-pointer. If so, I am afraid it was the one I saw.
"I really hate language, but I have read your composition. Once I exchanged and changed the composition, I still commented on your one."
All of a sudden, I remembered the composition with three large-character comments "I didn't understand" on the roll, and I couldn't laugh or cry.
I finally met a real ××, not what I imagined in my heart. He is an ordinary boy who likes to play but can't play well; he wants to go to the United States after graduation, just like all boys studying science; he relies on his mother but finds her annoying; he has a boring personality, few friends, and likes watching animation I don’t know how to get along with people, and I don’t understand everything if I go around a little bit.
I no longer hold my phone to toss and turn, considering every reply; when I am too lazy to send text messages, I will call directly, and he will finally answer, although he is still a little nervous and stammering; I will still recommend him when I see interesting things. But when he said "I don't understand", I no longer panic and embarrass me, smile and pass away, and sometimes call him stupid.
I was not a naturally passionate person, but I finally became his friend.
On a bland evening, after the evening of self-study, we rode to the lake and sat for a while. I suddenly said: "Sing a song."
He said: "I never sing. The elementary school music teacher forced me to fail me and I would not sing either."
I said: "Okay."
But after a while of silence, he suddenly began to sing. The voice is clear and not out of tune, but it is not so nice.
It is Jay Chou's "Qilixiang". He took my hand and sang it.
We seemed to be waiting for what each other said, but in the end we were silent together.
I remember when he first entered school a year ago, the only thing he promised me was to join me in the sign language club. The reason I urged him was because I heard that the teacher in the first class would teach everyone to type "I love you" in sign language.
The classroom with two hundred people was so crowded that he couldn't hold on, frowning and saying, "It's so boring, I'm leaving."
I didn't have time to stop, and he didn't say hello to me. As soon as he disappeared at the door, the president standing in front said with a grin: "I know everyone looks forward to this most. Come, let's learn the most important sentence."
I love you.
Later, he texted me and asked me: "What did I learn later, was it fun? Did I miss anything?"
I said, "No."
One hundred percent of my enthusiasm burned in the past, and I really regretted that it was not the first time.
At that moment, I finally understood what I wanted. I and the high school girl who pretended to walk by the basketball hoop back then are still connected by blood, sharing the same memory, and I have worked hard for her ignorant love. It's a pity that there is such a long time difference between desire and gain, it has unknowingly changed me, and I don't want to pay for her fantasy anymore.
Maybe this is what she wants, but I can't take her to the moonlight through the fleeting years, and say, I'll give you everything.
After all, it was a little late, and I was not her anymore.
I still took out my hand gently.
At the age of eighteen or nineteen, life is so lively. I still took out my hand gently.
And we, gradually faded.
During my junior year, I wanted to go abroad for exchanges, so he asked me out for dinner during the summer vacation before leaving, saying that he would get away with it for me.
My first reaction was that his mobile phone was stolen. What a joke, how could XX do such a humane thing.
But I'm still happy, and I still dress up. The weather in August was terribly hot. We went to watch Jay Chou’s "Slam Dunk" and sat outside in the shade of the trees half an hour before the movie opened, saying that he did a good GRE test and that I should pay attention to safety when I am alone... Suddenly asked him: "Do you remember the last time you watched a movie together?"
We have watched three movies together, and the middle one was also summer, which was Jay Chou's "Secrets That Cannot Be Said". He didn't know why he bought movie tickets for me to watch, and he didn't ask me if I had time. As for me, I got off the train on the return journey from Tibet and rushed back to the Haidian Theater Cinema from Beijing Railway Station in an hour, and went back to school to change clothes on the way.
×× was surprised: "You are too late, why don't you tell me?"
I smiled and said, "Who makes me naturally passionate."
After the movie, we had lunch together, and he scoured the dishes for more than 400 yuan. I said, "Can you let me take a look at the menu?" He realized that he was rude, and said embarrassingly: "My parents and I came over and ate these. I just ordered the dishes that day."
My heart is full of sour tenderness.
After the meal, he didn't know how to go home, so I threw him into the car again, dumbfounded, watching him sitting in the back row and beckoning to me. Under the blue sky and white clouds, my back flowed into the busy traffic, and I stood in place for a long, long time.
Who on earth is it for whom? I thought with a smile, but tears came out.
"Goodbye." I said silently in my heart.
This story, the process is dull and boring, at any rate has a kind ending.
However, after half a year without contact, I suddenly received a station letter from him on the school intranet. The content was only one line: I have a girlfriend.
The proud part of the heart is madly complaining-why do you tell me specifically? Does my old lady care?
But it was just a flash of thought. The news didn't make me stunned, not at all. I quickly replied to him: "Congratulations, I wish you happiness."
A few minutes later, a strange girl also sent me a station letter: "He is mine, I will take care of him for you, don't worry."
The awkward malice came upon my face, and I was stunned.
Almost at the same time, XX replied to a letter: "Just now she said that there was a girlfriend that she sent using my account. She insisted on doing this, and I couldn't stop it."
I stared at the screen blankly, filled with absurdity and anger. I quickly closed the page, picked up the bowl and returned to the dinner table to continue eating, exaggeratingly complimenting the American girl Bo, who lives with me, that the potatoes were fried well-Bo suddenly asked, "What are you crying for?"
Am i crying?
The funny thing is that for the first time I told someone a story about XX completely, and it was actually in English.
I kept saying to Bo: "You must misunderstand, but I am not sad because he has a girlfriend, I am not jealous, it is really not the reason."
Bo hugged me, patted me softly and said, "Iknow, Iknow, Itshouldn’tbelikethis."
Itshouldn’tbelikethis.
It shouldn't be so. I have been nice to him, and he has shown my sincerity. Regarding this ambiguous affair that can be written into the "100 Great Failure Cases", we have said goodbye to each other and have no contact.
I care about the ending so much. The final farewell should be calm. It shouldn't be at the entrance of the sweaty train station. The passengers who were thrown into the bag before saying "goodbye" made their noses bruised and swollen. When they looked up again, the people were gone.
The sense of form is so important that it makes us strive to live a dignified life in a wretched and lost life. I need this sense of dignity, not for ××.
But for her.
For the girl who threw her luggage on the ground, opened her hands, and flew down the steps like a bird.
Fortunately, God has treated me well, and the ending I wanted was finally harvested a year later.
In the winter of my senior year, when the interview was over, I walked back to school tremblingly in a nice but not warm windbreaker. I stood in front of the store and bought a cup of burnt grass and held it in my hand to keep warm. At this time, I heard the sound of the bicycle falling to the ground, turned my head and saw XX, who fell to the ground with his girlfriend.
It was a steep slope, and it was difficult to start uphill by bike, not to mention that it was still a big winter with a person.
I remembered that he had also taken me on a bicycle. After a fall, we were kind to each other and almost bowed.
At this time, I heard him yell at his girlfriend: "Say you won't be allowed to jump up at this time, you want to be like this, you fell to death!"
I couldn't help but think, if such a scene happened to me, how would I react? I'm afraid it's just a cold face, apologizing to him, then picking up the bag and turning around and leaving? You dare to yell at me?
However, his girlfriend tilted her head and said with a sweet smile: "I want you to take me uphill."
He was still irritated, but no longer insisted, and said awkwardly, "Oh, come up."
I laughed not far away, sincerely feeling that everything is fine.
This is the lover. No hypocrisy, no pretend, no boring pride in the way, everything is so natural and cute.
What happened back then is nothing too difficult. He met his true lover and wanted to confess everything about himself, including the name of the cat and dog who had been inexplicably ambiguous, and then reluctantly watched his beloved girl show her teeth to these cat and dog... how legitimate and sweet it was one thing.
There are 10,000 ways to tell the story. I choose to accept them as the ending.
I stood still and laughed out a whole set of long shots.
This is just a secret love, lacking to tell, but I wrote down every word with great solemnity, trying to make it sound special.
Because I can feel that the sixteen-year-old myself is sitting at the table, looking at every word that is freshly baked, and from time to time stretched out my index finger to poke the screen and said: It’s not well written here, rewrite it; you lied here, Rewrite; here... don't write here, as long as we know it ourselves.
I tried not to listen to her. It's hard not to filter your memory. Why should some things be so true? Maybe others will mistake me for me and still remember XX. Who can stand this?
However, the sixteen-year-old me said: "You must be honest."
You have to be honest with me.
So I discarded the mask of an adult, and struggled with my vanity, to tell the story of how her girly heart crashed.
I heard her say thank me.
Thank you for working alone for so many years, and finally ushered in a 26-year-old me.
A comrade-in-arms who was ten years late.
We hold hands and say goodbye to this adolescence together.
Since then, the good things are left to her, and I am mature enough to digest the rest of my life.
August Chang'an
June 2014