Teenage Stuff

12岁的时候，我有过少年的友情，是和学校里的一个同龄女孩。她的家和我的家隔了城市中央的一条河流。夏天下着暴雨的午后，我记得她撑伞等在楼梯的下端，来接我去她家里吃冰激凌。潮湿的阴影里，她的面容像皎洁的一朵山茶。我们在大雨中光着脚踩水。在她宽敞的家里一边吃冰激凌一边看诗集。然后疲倦之后拥抱着睡在一起。她的浓密的长发散发出清香，在睡意朦胧的时候兜了我一头一脸。我用手去拨。窗外是滂沱的雨声。

那时候我是一个不常和父母在一起的女孩。喜欢写诗歌。晚上睡觉的时候会面无表情地流下眼泪。她的家庭不幸福，父母感情不和，时有争执。然后有一天，父亲突然失踪。我们有彼此隐秘而艰涩的疼痛。都还没有长大，是肿胀的纯洁的花苞。想在彼此的灵魂里寻找一条通往世界的途径。而这个进入的切口，只能是给予彼此的爱。虽然这种爱，因为某种绝望，显得盲目而决绝。充满纠缠。我记得我们每天写信。即使在同一个班级里，每天都在见面。时间在剧烈的感情里，总是不够用。我们在信里写，我爱你。就像对这个尚未展开旅途的世界说，我要出发。

这种感情，现在看来，其实已经如同一场初恋。

这段往事，使我对女性之间的友情，一直保持着某种信仰。在它里面，没有性，没有好奇，也没有激素的作用。只是因为彼此共同的愿望而靠近。我们就像两个敏感的贫乏的孩子，彼此拥抱取暖。这样纯洁静好的陪伴。

彼此之间，发生了许多的事情。有悲喜，有失落。很多记忆因为被埋葬，已经深不可测。

现在想起来，17岁之前的生活，也许是一生中最为残酷而凄艳的岁月。青春像一段黑暗的火车隧道，呼啸着奔驰。后来，我们很快就各自恋爱了。那时候总是以为恋爱能够彻底地拯救自己的孤独。是在付出很多代价，耗费掉很多时间之后，才能够知道，这个想法是错误的。

10多年以后，我早已离开那个在市区中心有一条河流的南方城市。从南到北，一路在不同的城市里迁徙，寻找能够停留的地方。我开始写书，出版小说。我的生活，日益的桀骜和颠簸。但是少年时，我曾对她说过，我以后会写书，因为我要让别人知道我的疼痛。我们的疼痛。所有人的疼痛。

她最终嫁给了一个淳朴沉默的男子。结婚生子，平淡的工作。过着安稳的生活。

有很长一段时间，彼此失去了音讯。

然后，有一年夏天，我回家。偶然联系到了她。于是就去见她。我还记得她最喜欢吃香蕉，在附近的水果店里买了一大串香蕉。还有一捧打着花苞的深红石竹。依然是暴雨的夏日午后。窗外是滂沱的雨声。她的长发已经不见，扎粗糙的髻。憨稚的1岁幼儿在她的怀里酣睡。在彼此经历过了那么多繁华至极的恋爱之后，她已做了母亲。而我，依然孤身一人。我们没什么话说，一径地微笑。沉默。她让我看房间里一大缸的热带鱼。空气中有寻常生活的奶粉和灰尘的气味。我看到墙壁上她16岁时候的照片。我也一直把自己的一张少年时候的黑白照片带在身边。照片这样陈旧，而少女时候的笑容，却明亮得耀眼，明眸皓齿，让人伤怀。我们还是有着一模一样的喜好。和过去一样。

告别的时候，她送我。我把她的孩子抱在怀里。那小小的男婴，粉白可爱。生命的延续让人惘然。我们凭借着曾经给予对方的温暖和激情，已经长大。那段少年时的感情，就如同彼此寄居的蛹。当灵魂长出翅膀，各奔东西，蛹就成了透明的空壳。

10多年以后，我们各自成为虽然心怀感伤但甘心承担的女子。没有什么怨悔。在大雨中，平静地挥手告别。

当然，成年以后，也会继续拥有友情及对待友情的方式。心有愉悦，偶尔彼此相约。相处洁净并且节制。在上海，我曾遇见数个美丽而个性独特的女子。她们做自由撰稿，做唱片，做网络……我们在台风的夜里行走于大街上，用手护着打火机给彼此点燃一根烟。偶尔去酒吧买醉，聊起男人和点滴的往事，已然云淡风轻的口吻。从不把彼此带入自己的生活和工作。我们成为朋友。隔着一段距离，小心而轻柔，触摸对方的手指，却已经不需要皮肤的温度。

成年的友情，只能是给对方一些时间。我们都如此清醒，看到了时光的界限。

少年时那般潮水汹涌的友情，已经不见。经历过诸多人性的苍凉和命运的多舛，已不再需要倾心的付出去探知未来的结局。我们知道，最终我们是会长大的。疼痛会过去的。

而那些爱过的人，也就消失了。

When I was 12, I had a teenage friendship with a girl my own age at school. Her home is separated from mine by a river in the middle of the city. On a stormy summer afternoon, I remember her waiting at the bottom of the stairs with an umbrella to take me to her house for ice cream. In the damp shadows, her face was like a white camellia. We Tread Water Barefoot in the heavy rain. Eating ice cream and reading poetry in her spacious home. And then we'd get tired and cuddle up and sleep together. Her long, thick hair smelled sweet and covered my face when I was sleepy. I'm gonna use my hands. It was raining cats and dogs ode the window. Back then I was a girl who didn't spend much time with her parents. Loves to write poetry. At night, he'd go to bed and cry with a straight face. Her family was unhappy, her parents were estranged, there were arguments. And then one day, dad just disappeared. We have each other's secret, difficult pain. Have not yet grown up, is the swelling of pure bud. Looking for a path to the world in each other's so And the only way in is to give each other love. Although this kind of love, because of some kind of despair, seems blind and determined. Full of entanglements. I remember we wrote letters every day. Even in the same class, every day. There's never enough time in an intense relationship. We wrote, "I love you.". It's like saying to a world that hasn't traveled yet, I'm going. The feeling, it now seemed, had been like a first love. This history has kept me in a certain faith in the friendship between women. In it, there's no sex, no curiosity, no hormones. Just because we want the same things. We were like two sensitive, needy children, hugging each other for warmth. Such pure and quiet company. A lot of things happened to each other. There are joys and sorrows, and there are disappointments. A lot of memories are buried, they're unfathomable. In retrospect, life before the age of 17 may have been the cruelest and bleakest of my life. Youth is like a dark train tunnel, roaring and galloping. We soon fell in love with each other. At that time always thought that the love can completely rescue own loneliness. It takes a lot of effort, a lot of time, to know that this idea is wrong. More than 10 years later, I had left the southern city with a river in the center of the city. From north to south, they move from city to city, looking for a place to stay. I started writing books. I published novels. My life is getting increasingly unruly and bumpy. But as a teenager, I told her that I would write books because I wanted people to know about my pain. Our pain. Everyone's pain. She ended up marrying a simple, silent man. Get Married, have kids, have a normal job. And live a safe life. For a long time, we lost track of each other. And then, one summer, I came home. Got in touch with her. So I went to see her. I remember that bananas were her favorite food, and she bought a bunch of them at a nearby fruit store. And a bunch of crimson pink with flower b Still a stormy summer afternoon. It was raining cats and dogs ode the window. Her long hair was gone, tied up in a rough bun. The naive one-year-old child was sleeping in her arms. She had become a mother after so many flourishing relationships. And I'm still alone. We had nothing to say and just smiled. Silence. She showed me a vat of tropical fish in her room. The air smelled of milk powder and dust from everyday life. I saw her picture on the wall when she was 16. I also always keep a black and white photo of myself as a teenager with me. The picture is so old, and the girl when the smile, but bright bright bright, bright eyes white teeth, let a person sad. We still have the same tastes. Just like old times. She gave me a good-bye. I held her baby in my arms. That little baby boy, pink and cute. The continuity of life is disorienting. We have grown up with the warmth and passion we have given each other. It was like living in a chrysalis when we were teenagers. When the soul grows wings, go their separate ways, the pupa becomes a transparent empty shell. After more than 10 years, we each became a sentimental but committed woman. No regrets. In the rain, wave goodbye calmly. Of co, friendships and ways of treating them will continue into adulthood. It's a pleasure to see each other once in a while. Live together cleanly and sparingly. In Shanghai, I have met several beautiful and unique women. They do freelance writing, they do records, they do the Internet... we walk down the street on a typhoon night and light each other a cigarette with our lighters in our hands. Occasionally go to the bar to buy dr talk about the man and the past, already the tone of light and breezy. We never bring each other into our lives or our work. We became friends. From a distance, carefully and gently, touch each other's fingers, but no longer need the temperature of the skin. Adult friendships can only be about giving each other time. We're all so awake, we see the limits of time. The tempestuous friendship of my boyhood was gone. Experienced a lot of human desolation and the fate of the ill-fated, no longer need to pay heart out to explore the future outcome. We know that eventually we will grow up. The pain will pass. And those who have loved, have vanished.

标题: 少年事
作者: 安妮宝贝
字数: 1677
简介: 12岁的时候，我有过少年的友情，是和学校里的一个同龄女孩。她的家和我的家隔了城市中央的一条河流。夏天下着暴雨的午后，我记得她撑伞等在楼梯的下