初恋 第6期

开篇：润墨网以专业的文秘视角，为您筛选了一篇初恋 第6期范文，如需获取更多写作素材，在线客服老师一对一协助。欢迎您的阅读与分享！

I remember the way the light touched her hair. She turned her head, and our eyes met, a momentary awareness in that raucous fifth-grade classroom. I felt as though I’d been struck a blow under the heart. Thus began my first love affair.

Her name was Rachel, and I mooned my way through grade and high school, stricken at the mere sight of her, tongue-tied in her presence. I would catch sight of her, walking down an aisle of trees to or from school, and I’d become paralyzed. She always seemed so poised, so self-possessed.

“Going steady” implied a maturity we still lacked. Her Orthodox Jewish upbringing and my own Catholic scruples made even kissing a distant prospect. I managed to hold her once at a dance. Our embrace made her giggle, a sound so trusting that I hated myself for what I’d been thinking.

At any rate, my love for Rachel remained unrequited. We graduated from high school, she went on to college, and I joined the Army. When World War Ⅱ engulfed us, I was sent overseas.

For a time we corresponded, and her letters were the highlight of those grinding, endless years. Once she sent me a snapshot of herself in a bathing suit, which drove me to the wildest of fantasies. I mentioned the possibility of marriage in my next letter, and almost immediately her replies became less frequent, less personal.

The first thing I did when I returned to the States was to call on Rachel. Her mother answered the door. Rachel no longer lived there. She had married a medical student she’d met in college. “I thought she wrote you,” her mother said.

Her “Dear John” letter finally caught up with me while I was awaiting discharge. She gently explained the impossibility of a marriage between us. Looking back on it I must have recovered rather quickly, although for the first few months I believed I didn’t want to live. Like Rachel, I found someone else, whom I wanted to love with a deep and permanent commitment that has lasted to this day.

Then, recently, after an interval of more than 40 years, I heard from Rachel again. Her husband had died. She was passing through town and had learned of my whereabouts through a mutual friend. We agreed to meet.

I felt both curious and excited. In the last few years, I hadn’t thought about her, and her sudden call one morning had taken me aback. The actual sight of her was a shock. This white-haired matron at the restaurant table was the Rachel of my dreams and desires, the supple mermaid of that snapshot?

“Do you remember this?” She handed me a slip of worn paper. It was a poem I’d written her while still in school. I examined the crude meter and pallid rhymes. Watching my face, she snatched the poem from me and returned it to her purse, as though fearful I was going to destroy it.

I told her about the snapshot, how I’d carried it all through the war.

“It wouldn’t have worked out, you know,” she said.

“How can you be sure?” I countered. “Ah, colleen, it might have been grand indeed―my Irish conscience and your Jewish guilt!”

Our laughter startled people at a nearby table. During the time left to us, our glances were furtive, oblique. I think that what we saw in each other repudiated what we’d once been to ourselves.

Before I put her into a taxi, she turned to me. “I just wanted to see you once more. To tell you something.” Her eyes met mine, “I wanted to thank you for having loved me as you did.” We kissed, and she left.

From a store window my reflection stared back at me, an aging man with gray hair stirred by an evening breeze. I decided to walk home. Her kiss still burned on my lips, I felt faint, and sat on a park bench. All around me the grass and trees were shining in the surreal glow of sunset. Something was being lifted out of me. Something had been completed, and the scene before me was so beautiful that I wanted to shout and dance and sing for joy.

That soon passed, as everything must, and presently I was able to stand and start for home.

我仍然记得阳光触摸她的秀发时，那跳动的光影。在五年级喧闹的教室中，她转过头来，我们四目相对。就在那一瞬间，我感觉心脏如同遭到了重击，就这样，我的初恋开始了。

她的名字叫雷切尔，从五年级直到整个高中时代，我一直为她魂牵梦萦，仅仅是瞥见她，我的心脏就会狂跳不已；只要她在场，我的舌头就会打结；上学或放学时，望见她走在林荫道上，我就会全身麻痹。而她看起来总是那样从容不迫，镇定自若。

我们还没有到达可以确定情侣关系的年龄，她在保守的犹太教环境中长大，而我的天主教教规使得亲吻都成为一件遥不可及的事情。在一次舞会上，我拥住了她，我们的互相拥抱让她咯咯地笑个不停，那声音充满了信赖，让我因头脑中一直在想的事情而厌憎自己。

总而言之，我对雷切尔的爱恋是得不到回应的。高中毕业后，她继续去上大学，而我则从了军。当第二次世界大战爆发时，我被派往海外。

有一段时间，我们一直通信，在那些漫长得似乎没有尽头的年月里，她的信是我最重要的支撑。有一次，她给我寄来一张身着泳装的快照，这张照片让我做起了最狂野的白日梦。在接下来的一封回信中，我提到了结婚的可能性，几乎立刻，她的回信变得越来越少，言辞也越来越客套。

回国以后，我所做的第一件事情就是去拜访雷切尔，她的母亲开了门。雷切尔不再住在这里了，她嫁给了一个在大学中遇到的医学院学生。“我还以为她写信告诉你了呢。”她的母亲说。

在我等待退伍证书时，她的绝交信终于寄到了我手里，她委婉地解释了我们之间结婚的不可能性。现在回头看一看，我从打击中恢复过来的速度还算快的，尽管在最初的几个月里，我几乎不想活下去。像雷切尔一样，我遇到了别的女孩，我深深地爱着她，我们的婚姻一直持续到现在。

然后，就在最近，经过40年的音信隔绝之后，我再次接到雷切尔的电话，她的丈夫过世了，她正好经过我所居住的小镇，通过我们共同的朋友，她打听到了我的下落，我们一致同意见上一面。

我感觉既好奇又兴奋，在过去的几年里，我从没有想起过她，而她在一个清晨突然打来的电话，却把我带回到过去。实际上见到她时，我很震惊，那个坐在餐桌前的白发苍苍的老妪，就是我梦想与渴望的雷切尔，那张快照上温柔的美人鱼吗？

“你还记得这个吗？”她递给我一张破旧的纸片，这是我还在上学时为她写的一首诗。我研究着那首诗粗糙的格律和拙劣的韵脚，注意到我脸上的表情，她一把将诗从我手中夺过去，放回到她的钱包中，好像害怕我把它撕毁了。

我告诉她关于那张快照的事，在整个战争期间，我一直随身携带着它。

“你知道，那是没有结果的。”她说。

“你为什么这样确信，”我反问道，“哈，姑娘，有一点倒的确很重要――我的爱尔兰人道德心与你的犹太教徒的罪恶感。”

我们的笑声惊扰了邻桌的就餐者，在剩下来的时间里，我们偷偷摸摸地打量着对方，我想我们在彼此身上看到的东西否定了我们往昔的形象。

在我送她上出租车之前，她转过身来。“我只是想再见你一次，告诉你一些事情，”她的眼睛望着我，“谢谢你过去曾经爱过我。”我们互相亲吻，然后她离开了。

透过商店的一扇橱窗，我看到了正凝视着我自己的影像，一个上了年纪的老人，花白的头发在晚风中飘动。我决定步行回家，她的吻仍然烧灼着我的嘴唇，我感觉到有些晕眩，于是在公园的一个长椅上坐下来。青草与树木包围着我，它们在落日的余晖下闪动着梦幻般的光彩。有什么东西离开我腾空而去，有什么东西已经结束。眼前的景色如此美丽，因着那份喜悦之情，我想要叫喊，想要起舞，想要歌唱。

那种心情很快就过去了，万物想必也是一样，不久，我便站起身，准备回家了。

（责编：王莉娟）