See literally
Song Yan
A familiar and quietly distant word, accidentally remembered, was like a glimpse of surprise. See the word, such as the face. How long have we not been writing, and how long have we not seen each other with sincerity?
When I was a child, my father used to tell me: "Words are a stepping stone, and how well they are written determines the initial impression of others on you." "So, at that time, my father asked me to post two pages a day, and every Saturday night, my father would personally review and approve it. However, when I was a child, where did I know what a stepping stone, and I only cared about three or five groups of people burying my head and playing crazy. Once, I didn't think about the word study until noon on Saturday. You know, my father's educational philosophy has always been the most simple "yellow thorn stick makes a good person." "Although I have suffered a lot of yellow thorn sticks in my life, in the end I have not been able to become the dragon and phoenix in my father's heart." If the xi character is not completed, then it is certain that the Nan bamboo shoots fried sitting on the pier meat are doomed. But two pages a day, 7 days a week, a full 14 pages. Page 14... In my memory, after lunch that day, I began to sit in the classroom to catch my homework, surrounded by people, everything in my eyes was empty, my heart was like a needle in the sea, and my pen was full of horses. Until I showed it to my father at night... I thought that as long as I completed my homework, I could hide the sky and cross the sea and pass the customs in disguise. Unexpectedly, my father only casually turned two pages and then became furious, waved his hand, smashed the Xi Zi ben's split head and face toward me, and then picked up a slender bamboo stick next to him and waved it at me. I held my head in both hands and screamed at the ground, and my father whipped up and fell, as strong as iron, and roared while fighting: "I let you be lazy, let you rush homework." ”
Afterwards, I asked my father, "How do you know I'm lazy?" My father raised his hand and knocked hard on the door of my head and said, "You see your words, one after another, seven and eight, four and eight forks, as if there is still a cigarette behind the ass, that is not a concentrated rush, is it still written with heart?" Finally, my father said in a serious tone: "When writing, you must be careful, and if you write too fast, you will not be able to use your heart." "I suddenly realized. From then on, I know that words are like people, and if they are not careful, they can sell their souls.
My father's stick seemed to be a god who raised my head three feet, although it could not completely break my playful childlike heart, but in the matter of learning words, I did not dare to slack off from then on. Father said: "Words determine a person's initial impression of you". In other words, the word is our second face. Obviously, my first face, which has long been in ruins and hopeless, can only use this second face to cross the world.
In the fifth grade of primary school, I participated in the school's excellent homework competition, stood on the high podium, and the school leaders enthusiastically presented me with an award, while smiling and saying: "When I saw your homework, I knew that you were a good student who studied hard and was positive." "That time, I won the first prize in my grade for my homework. In class, the teacher often said: "You see, Yan's homework, stroke by stroke, the words are clear, like a flower with buds in it." My mother, on the other hand, often put away the homework books I had used, and my mother said, "This is your childhood, I will collect it for you, and when you grow up, you will see it yourself." ”
Growing like a pen between fingers, climbing up hills, turning and cornering, but always in one go. In the blink of an eye, I graduated from junior high school and went out to study alone. The mother said, "Every time you go to school, send a letter to the family, and let me and your father know that you are safe." It was a foreign land thousands of miles away, and every time I left home to return to school, I had to go through seven or eight hours of boat and car labor, and my mother often chanted: "Riding a horse and sitting in a car for three points of worry." Just a green teenager, once he leaves home, he is like a kite with a broken line, a person's heart is higher than the sky, fluttering and shaking, and he just wants to go straight into the sky. Therefore, every time I write a letter, it almost becomes a routine that has to be done. Don't you just report a peace, I really waved the four words "safe arrival" with a big stroke, and then hurriedly stuffed it into the mailbox... In my memory, those four words were unusually scrawled, like those years, which belonged to my scrawled youth. But every time my mother would say, "Well, I did a good job this time, even if the letter is only a few four words, but as long as I know that you are safe." Many years later, I finally understood that those scrawled handwriting, in my mother's eyes, may be just like the mother's initial and deepest concern for the wanderer, they are like the wild grass after the rain, entangled in the mother's heart, growing wildly.
I remember that at that time, the teacher often praised my composition for writing well, and often used my composition as a model for reading in class. I don't know, the reader has no intention, the listener has a heart. So much so that throughout my teenage years, I was able to taste the world's food because I helped my male classmates write love letters. Usually in the school entrance to the various fly restaurants, after pushing the cup with the boys for three or five cups of cheap beer, I began to burst with passion, the fountain of thought, immediately lifted the pen, instantly written. After writing, he will also pat his chest and say to the boys with full ambition: "Rest assured, sister at this level, absolutely earth-shattering crying ghost god." The boys got the letter and happily took it back and copied it to the girl they liked. In this way, an essay for wine money, a writing with sincerity, in the end is to take what they need.
As an adult, I triumphantly joked about the girls who had agreed to me because of my love letters. I thought the girls would be furious, but who knew that they would say everything. They said: "What does it matter, please help, it is nothing more than fear that you are not good enough to write, but when you copy it, who can say that it is not a careful word, and the pen is sincere?" ”
Yes, whose youth has never had such a sincere treatment, cautious as ever?
In my freshman year of high school, I received one of the most precious letters of my life. It was my table during my junior year. In the third year of junior high school, he was the main player of the class football team, and every time he saw him running on the court and charging into the front, I would invite the best girl to the court to cheer. And him? The boy in the back row pranked and knocked over my stool, and he turned and waved a punch. The teacher organized the classmates to ride bicycles to go out for a picnic, and he knew that I did not have a car, so he would always tell me at the first time: "I will take you." "When I graduated, I gave him a postcard with a copy of a small poem, and that was the only souvenir I gave him in this life.
I still remember that it was a weekend night, and after eating, I closed the door early and turned on the lamp. Then gently pick out the postcards selected from the post office from the bag, find a few pieces of white paper, and practice on the white paper with a pen in blue ink... Although the poem was copied, today, twenty years later, I can still recite the poem word for word: "That autumn, I will never forget." The drizzle rubbed light eyes into my hair..." On that day, I don't know how many times I practiced on the white paper, until the night was quiet and everything was silent, and I concentrated my breath and copied the poem on the white postcard one by one. At that time, I only felt that the moon was like frost, the wind was like water, and even if I held my breath as a teenager, I could only hear the beating heart in my chest. "Flutter, flutter It was as if all the throbbing had finally turned into dots on the page, words and words, brilliant as stars, but finally scattered in the end of the world.
Two months later, I received a reply from him at the school thousands of miles away from home. That day, I went to the mailroom to see if there was any family letter, but I could see his handwriting at a glance. The pen letters in blue ink are like delicate and small flowers. Those flowers, so unmistakably combined into my name. Suddenly, I only felt my heart beating wildly, holding up the letter, as if holding up the heaviest expectation and surprise of my life. When I had to wash my face and hands, and everything was safe, I went into the bed alone, put down the mosquito net, felt at ease, and read the letter word for word.
The pen letters in blue ink, densely embellished with pages, stroke by stroke, all have his temperature, and every stroke has his power. They are so neatly aligned, nestled next to each other, horizontal and vertical, hand in hand. So many years later, I have a deep attachment to the pen letters in blue ink. It was the breeze in the pen, the bright moon on the paper, and they had once quietly illuminated the youth years that belonged to me.
Three years in high school, thousands of miles away, we intermittently, back and forth for three years of letters. Each letter has three or five pages, and after every time it is written, it always feels unfinished, but there is nothing but layer by layer of campus anecdotes and trivialities of life. After graduating from high school, we went our separate ways again, and then finally, we drifted away and there were no books...
Until twenty years later, when the students of the first middle school gathered together on WeChat, at that time, we no longer had to write letters, and even stopped writing with a pen, and a large group of people were on WeChat with swords and swords, calling for all kinds of jokes. However, even through the cold mobile phone screen, I still can't look at his name directly. The name that was so familiar and so distant, that had been written countless times with a pen, but never mentioned again... Suddenly, I saw his avatar flash, followed by a WeChat message. A few two lines, like twenty years of wandering and wind and dust, so light and dexterous, without thinking and blurting out. Only to see that it was written on it: "Do you know that I used to like you so deeply back then." Somehow, I was just so nervous that I fell to the heart of my throat, and suddenly I let go, as if this entanglement had been entangled for twenty years, but with one turn, it had already dissipated.
For no reason, I remembered the words my father said back then: "When writing, you must be careful, and if you write too fast, you will not be able to use your heart." Picking up the phone, I replied with a smiling expression, then looked up and let out a long sigh of relief. Perhaps, in the future, I will never see those blue pen words of that year, just as in the future, I will never see him again, and myself at that time!
(Author Affilications:Chongqing Electric Power Industry Association)
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