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生命的考驗(yàn)讓我們更加珍惜與所愛的人共度的時(shí)光。千萬不要吝惜,說出你對他們的愛……
By Renee Simons
熙凡 選 徐菲菲 譯
Sweat beads gathered on my forehead at just the thought of the first day of high school. I thought for sure that I was going to be singled out and embarrassed in every class and then be laughed out of the school. In first hour, when I was called to the office, being singled out became the least of my problems. My twenty-year-old-brother, Brian, stood filling out papers for me to leave. He turned to face me and my heart sank. His face was pale and blotchy[1], like someone had carelessly thrown red paint on a white sheet of paper. His eyes were swollen and red. This being the first I had ever seen my brother cry, I knew that something bad had happened. He grabbed my hand and leaned down until his face was level with mine. “Amanda has been in a car accident, and she is in the hospital,” he said. Every inch of my body went numb as I absorbed what my brother was telling me. My sister? In a car accident? How could that happen? At age seventeen, Amanda was the safest driver I knew. Without a thought in my head, I pulled away from my brother and sprinted down the hallway. I had to get to my locker, my class and out of that school as fast as I could. Yet nothing was fast enough. Yelling over my shoulder that I would be out to the car in a minute, I opened the door to my classroom. My teacher didn’t ask what I was doing; she knew. People watched from class windows as I ran down the hall in a panic to my locker and then out of the school doors. Nothing mattered more than getting out of that school and to where my sister was. Brian and I drove to the trauma center at Mid-Michigan Regional Medical Center. We ran into the room, and then I saw her. She was lying on her back on a bed with her head and neck in braces. Her face was covered from the eyebrows up and you could see blood everywhere. She was hooked to several different machines to monitor her body reactions. Her entire body convulsed with the effects of the trauma. My mom and dad stood at her side crying. I walked like a zombie[2] to her bedside. Nothing could explain the feeling that coursed through me when she looked up at me with blood-filled eyes. In her eyes, where I expected to see fear, I saw strength. Then her eyes softened. She looked up at me and said, “I love you, Renee.” I couldn’t handle the emotion that filled me at the realization that I rarely told my sister I loved her. I tried to answer her, but she wasn’t listening anymore. The doctors were taking her away to the x-ray room. As they wheeled her broken body down the hallway with her blood seeping into the bandages, I wanted to scream out to her that I loved her, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t move, speak or even cry until she was around the corner and I could see her no more. Then the tears came. I knelt on the floor and cried in the corner. I cried tears of hopelessness and frustration. Though everyone kept telling me she would be all right, something in their voices spoke loudly of the doubt that everyone was secretly harboring[3] in the back of their minds. All I wanted was for the doctor to say, “She’s going to be fine.” He didn’t. Every moment that passed allowed the doubt to grow stronger and bigger. Finally, he walked tentatively down the hall and stood quietly in front of us. He started to tell us about her head. I knew that head wounds were very dangerous and that they could result in many different injuries. It was then that the long-awaited words came—the only words, from the only person that I could accept them from the doctor. Amanda was going to be okay. My heart leaped as I realized I still had a sister. She would never look the same and would require hours of plastic surgery, but she was alive, and that’s all that mattered to me. A year later, I still have a sister, and even though we quarrel and nag at each other, every time that I see her face and I spot the large scar that stretches from her hairline across her forehead, down her eyelid and back up to her hair, I remember to tell her that I love her.[4] I remember when I almost didn’t have the chance to tell her again how much I really do love her, and I thank her I still can. |
一想到中學(xué)生涯的第一天,我的額頭便直冒汗珠。我以為大家肯定會針對我,節(jié)節(jié)課都為難我,然后再哄笑著把我趕出學(xué)校。然而在第一個(gè)鐘頭,就在我被叫去辦公室的時(shí)候,是否會被大家針對已成了我最不關(guān)心的問題。 那時(shí),我20歲的哥哥,布萊恩,正站在那兒填寫給我請假的表格。他轉(zhuǎn)身面對我時(shí),我的心一沉。他臉色蒼白,布滿污痕,好似有人不小心在白紙上灑了紅漆。他雙眼紅腫。這是我第一次看見他哭,我知道一定是出事了。他抓著我的手,俯下身來,平視我。 “阿曼達(dá)出了車禍,現(xiàn)在她在醫(yī)院,”他說道。當(dāng)我明白過來他的意思的時(shí)候,我感到自己身體的每一寸都失去了知覺。我姐姐?出了車禍?怎么可能會發(fā)生呢?我17歲的姐姐阿曼達(dá)是我所知道的最穩(wěn)妥的司機(jī)。 腦子里一片空白,我掙開他,奔向走廊。我得盡快回到教室,拿上儲物柜里的東西,離開學(xué)校。但一切都不夠快。我一邊喊著我一分鐘以后就會出門上車,一邊開門走進(jìn)教室。老師并沒有多問什么,因?yàn)樗懒恕?/p> 大家從教室窗戶望出來,看到我正驚慌地從走廊跑向儲物柜,然后沖出了校門。對我來說,此時(shí)最重要的便是離開學(xué)校,見到姐姐。布萊恩載我來到了中密歇根地區(qū)醫(yī)療中心的外傷治療中心。我們沖進(jìn)屋子,隨后我見到了她。 她仰躺在床上,頭和脖子都套有托架。臉從眉毛往上都被包住,血到處都是。幾種不同的儀器連接在她身上,正監(jiān)測著她身體的反應(yīng)。她的整個(gè)身體因創(chuàng)傷的緣故而痙攣抽搐。爸媽在她身旁哭泣。我呆呆地走向她床邊。 當(dāng)她抬起頭,用充血的眼睛看我時(shí),我心里泛起一陣莫名的情緒。因?yàn)槲覐乃难劬锟吹降牟皇强謶郑橇α俊kS后她的目光柔和下來。她抬頭看著我,說道:“我愛你,蕾妮。”我這才意識到,我?guī)缀醪辉鴮λf過我愛她,我再難抑制自己的情緒。我試圖想要應(yīng)答,可她卻沒再聽了。 醫(yī)生要將她送到放射科。看著滿是傷痕的她被推向走廊,血滲出繃帶,我想大叫著告訴她:我愛她。然而我沒能叫出來。我動不了,說不出話,甚至也哭不出來。直到她轉(zhuǎn)過墻角而我再也看不見她時(shí),我的眼淚才留下來。我跪在地上,在墻角痛哭流涕。我的眼淚充滿著絕望與懊喪。 盡管每個(gè)人都不斷地告訴我,她會好起來,但他們那不確定的語氣卻泄露了他們心中隱含的擔(dān)憂。其實(shí)我只是希望醫(yī)生能說一句,“她會好起來的。”但他沒說。時(shí)間一分一秒地過去,人們的擔(dān)憂也與時(shí)劇增。最后,醫(yī)生終于猶豫地沿著走廊走來,在我們面前靜靜地站定。他告訴我們我姐姐頭部的情況。 我明白頭部受傷十分危險(xiǎn),還可能會帶來多種不同的傷害。就在此時(shí),我終于聽到了期待許久的話——那只有從醫(yī)生口中說出我才會相信的話:阿曼達(dá)會好起來的。 當(dāng)我意識到自己不會失去姐姐時(shí),我的心雀躍起來。盡管她的面容會發(fā)生變化,而且還需要數(shù)小時(shí)的整容手術(shù),但她還活著,這對我來說才是最重要的。一年后,我的姐姐仍陪伴在我身邊。我們也爭吵不休、互相數(shù)落,但每當(dāng)我看到她臉上沿著發(fā)際線、前額、眼瞼一直到頭發(fā)的那個(gè)巨大傷疤時(shí),我都不忘告訴她,我愛她。因?yàn)槲矣浀茫以钜稽c(diǎn)就沒機(jī)會再告訴她,我真的有多愛她;感謝姐姐,我還有機(jī)會。 (來源:英語學(xué)習(xí)雜志 編輯:丹妮) |
Vocabulary: 1. blotchy: 有污漬的。 2. zombie: 〈口〉行尸走肉。 3. harbor: 懷有(某種感情或思想)。 4. nag at: 指責(zé)不休;spot: 發(fā)現(xiàn);stretch: 伸展,延展;hairline: 發(fā)際線。 |
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