Mr. R's story

Wen/Guo classmate

In the early morning of May 1971, as the sun shone into the kitchen, I was awakened by the sound of an omelette in the kitchen falling on a hot pan. I rubbed my sleepy eyes and came to the kitchen, where a strange man was concentrating on breakfast, smoking a cigarette in his mouth, and a piece of jazz music on the radio, and his cooking was fast-paced, just like the melody of this jazz music. I was 10 years old.

The sun was shining on his face, and I couldn't see much expression, I just remember him with short hair, small eyes, very open features, oval face. Frightened, I ran into my mother's room and told my mother everything I saw, and my mother said that he was the cook that my father had paid to take care of our lives, and I thought it was strange, refusing to eat the food he made, deliberately provoking, and whenever someone said, "There is a cook in our house, but at that time I felt that our family did not need this person at all."

Mom and Dad divorced a few years ago, Dad had a new love, and I lived with Mom. At that time, I was six years old, I kept my hair, and I went to school every day, and my mother sent me to the station. My mother, beautiful, generous, big eyes, painted with delicate light makeup, May weather, often wearing dresses of different colors, "blowing, " hair fluttering, I think there is no one in the world better than her, she is the person who loves me the most. I remember the happiest time, was after school ⻋stand" to Mom, under the sunset, our shadows are good " good " good " ...

Later, I learned from my mother that the chef's name was Mr. R. Dad paid Mr. R all the expenses in one lump sum, including his salary and the daily expenses of our mother and daughter. The decision was made by dad because mom had breast cancer, and the doctor said it was running out of time. But at that time, the little me did not know about this matter, and Mr. R and my mother were tight-lipped.

At school, my best friend, Miss K, told me about my new cook, and by the way, I shared with her Mr. R's hamburger, and she ate it in one gulp, saying that she wanted Mr. R...

Day after day, time passes. Mr. R would go to the market every day to buy vegetables, and his mother would give him the coupons she had accumulated in these days, saying that it would save money

Save some. In a few hours, he would buy a basket full of dong and come back. Mr. R, often wearing a dark shirt,

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Looks of high quality without a trace of folds. Smoke fixed brand cigarettes and listen to jazz. In my little mind, how could he be a home cook? This has bothered me for a long, long time.

What surprised me even more was that Mr. R, who brought his old books to our house on this day, said that he was going to build a small library in the house. He said he never looked at recipes. I like to read famous works such as literature, drama, and novels. He said I could borrow books from his library. I knew he was currying favor with me, so I said to him, I hate reading!

After that, gradually, Mr. R's cooking skills conquered my stomach, and I fell in love with the dishes he made, he could make any delicious food I could think of, and the material was like magic in his hands.

The first book I borrowed from his library was "The Three Musketeers," and he said that the book was a bit old, the story was very " , and it was necessary to be patient to finish it. Next, my reading was out of control, "Aesop's Fables", "Uncle Tom's House", "Treasure Island", "A Tale of Two Cities", "The Old Man and the Sea", "Charlotte's Web", "The Red and the Black", "The Count of Monte Cristo", etc...

I never knew Mr. R's promise to Dad, nor did I know that Mom was dying, and time was running out. Mr. R's job would have expired in six months and he would have left, but we still lived together until six years later.

In 1977, six years later, it was a sunny afternoon after school. Classmate J invited me to the prom, and I sat at school and went home and looked out the window in a daze. In the past few years of illness and suffering, my mother looked like a withered tree, my mother lay on the bed without saying a word, and it was more difficult to move. Mr. R brought the meal to his mother's room, read to her, and accompanied her to dinner.

I communicated less and less with my mom and wouldn't tell her more about school than to bathe her. Me and mom's

Relationships are becoming increasingly stiff, often accompanied by quarrels and incomprehensions. When you love someone deeply and he wants to leave you,

That feeling of love-hate intertwining is so painful, even if they haven't left yet.

Mr. R never told me where he lived, and at the end of the day's work he left. Mystery is what I have always had an impression of him. But he has his own life, always doing the day's work step by step, in the dark of night, living his own life, enjoying the time of solitude. I wanted to know more about him, hobbies, friends, and he was very angry. He wanted to keep more personal space, but I felt that I couldn't live without him, and he came into my life.

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At home on this day, my mother was dying, and I lay with her, like when I was a child, and his face was haggard and described as withered. Mom and Mr. R came together to design and make my prom dress, because it would save a lot of money, and the dress in the window was too expensive for us to afford. Finally, mr. R, who is clever, finished his skirt and was pretty. On this day, our family, including Mr. R, left this precious group photo. At the dance, J and I drank and chatted, dancing with less skilled dance steps, the lights were confused, the music flowed slowly, and time seemed to freeze, making people withdraw from real life.

This night, Mr. R had not left, cleaning up the kitchen, his mother invited him to dance with him, the jazz on the radio, the dim lights, the sick mother, and even unable to support her body to finish the dance.

Time passed, this day after school, Mr. R came to pick me up, he took me on the way home from the faint, it turned out that the mother who accompanied me had not come for a long time, she left. Autumn was slightly cooler and we were on our way home.

On the day of the funeral, people talked about their mother's life, while some people didn't say a word, some people just made you cry, and many more people were comforting. That night, people left. Mr. Qiu Qi shed tears, and the first time I saw him shed tears. I asked him, your work is over, what are you going to do? The money Mr. R has saved with coupons over the years is not a lot of money, but he can't help but accumulate time, which is enough money for me to go to college. I bought my own ⻋, took only books and clothes, set off for college, left my hometown, left Mr. R, who was with me, it was a September morning, sunny. Seeing the old Mr. R in the rearview mirror, my tears swirled in my eyes.

In the late autumn of 1977, I walked into the university campus of my dreams. I was crazy about reading, studying, and taking classes. Whenever I think that these tuition fees were hard saved by my mother and Mr. R, I am motivated. Mr. R keeps sending me books\letters. Winter and spring came, roommates came and went, and at this time I felt lost and helpless, and I wanted to go home.

In the winter of 1980, I went to Mr. Akiki's house according to the address on the letter. I was pregnant before I was married and made a lot of mistakes when I had children. He made me a lot of good food, and this is home. I felt at ease and comfortable. Cozy cottage, it's snowing outside, and inside the house are pictures of Mr. Akiki and his father when he was a child. At night, he went out, went to the wine bar, I was drowsy, I heard him shouting, and the next morning, as usual, he made breakfast as usual, listened to music, and told me that he was fine last night, don't worry.

This night, after he left, I went into his room. He found out and he kicked me out I just wanted to understand

He, he said I was a cook, and the night I was not happy, I drove away. Wandering aimlessly in this emptiness

The streets.

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The next morning, I woke up in the "restaurant", went to the convenience store to buy food, and was just leaving to see another of my childhood friends

I smoked a cigarette, bought a bottle of wine in my bag, and headed back. We hurriedly said hello,

At this time, I was hit on the ground by a teenager who played skateboarding, and I fainted on the spot, and this classmate drove me to the hospital. You know, in his early years, he was sentenced by a judge not to drive a car for life, because he was imprisoned for drunk driving and hit and killed people. Looking at me dying, he resolutely drove me to the hospital. Neither the child nor I was in danger, miracle. Mr. R came to see me pick me up and take me home, and he was my guardian like a father. Mr. R talked for me about the piano, drew, chatted, made beautiful things, and read books.

The child was born, a girl.

Spring was in full bloom and the sun was shining, and I bathed her and cooked, my eyes scattered across her face. I am a mother, and Mr. R, s is everything in my child's life except the mother.

In 1986, the child was 6 years old. We played together, accompanied each other, and took her to my childhood friend's wedding, and he got married. He told me that he had bought wine that day and was going to go home and commit suicide, only to save your mother and daughter and to save myself. Mr. R and I danced a dance, and at the wedding, in the sun, the green lawn was the stage, and the grass fragrance was the smell of spring.

He came back late this night and continued to make us breakfast in the morning. I took him to the doctor, and the doctor could only do his best. On this day, Mr. R did not get up early to make breakfast, he fell ill. I make breakfast, pick and cut, just like Mr. R. I learned every one of his skills.

As the sun sets, Mr. R tells his daughter a story. Feel safe, happy, and home for the first time. At night, I read to him, and in the quiet of the night, he didn't want to drink water or eat, I didn't want to be alone, he said. I held his broad hand. Looking at each other, he closed his eyes.

Early in the morning, the child chirps. I woke up in my chair and Mr. R didn't say yes. He looked so calm. I felt incredible, and I kept repeating his name, tears welling up my eyes.

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Mr. R is gone, like a ladybug passing through the flowers, and I am bigger. It was a cloudy day, and people of all colors came to his funeral with a relaxed expression. Mr. R, who used to go to the bar, also came and said that he had been playing the piano there for 30 years and that he was a talent. Love music, love cooking, know love.

People get weird in the face of death

Some people talk about everything except those who leave

Some people only talk about people who leave,

Some people try to comfort you

Others will only make you cry

Still others don't say anything because they don't need to

Mr. R said that books are meant to be read from beginning to end, but the converse is better understood, and I think there is a reason for anything

Mom died

My childhood partner saved me and my child

Mr. R left me a letter

Honey, you said you wanted to know me, but you always knew. I'm just an ordinary person and will have flaws. special

Don't resent your father's insults and whippings when you can't meet his father's expectations of you. You think I took care of it

You, the child and your mother, and you have nothing in return, but you have given me the most important thing in my life.

You gave me a home and love,

This morning I sat in front of the computer and wrote down my story.