If It Comes Back

Charles saw them both at the same time: the small white bird floating from among the park trees and the girl wheeling down the walk. The bird glided downward and rested in the grass; the girl directed the chair smoothly along the sunlit, shadowy walk. Her collapsible metal chair might have been motorized: it carried her along so smoothly. She stopped to watch the ducks on the pond and when she shoved the wheels again, Charles sprang to his feet. “May I push you?” he called, running across the grass to her. The white bird flew to the top of a tree.

It was mostly he who talked and he seemed afraid to stop for fear she’d ask him to leave her by herself. Nothing in her face had supported the idea of helplessness conveyed by the wheelchair, and he knew that his assistance was not viewed as a favor. He asked the cause of her handicap; not because it was so important for him to know, but because it was something to keep the conversation going.

“It was an automobile accident when I was twelve,” Amy explained. “I was readingto my younger brother in the back seat and suddenly my mother screamed and tried frantically to miss the truck that had pulled out in front of us. When I woke up in the hospital, my mother was screaming again outside the door. This time she was trying to escape the fact that I would never walk again.”

“Pretty rough on both of you. What about your brother?”

“He came out of it a little better than I did; at least he was dismissed from the hospital before I was. It took us all a long time to accept and adjust.”

They went for lunch, and he would have felt awkward except that she knew completely how to take care of herself. It was he who seemed clumsy and bumped into a table; she who moved competently through the aisle.

“Do you live with someone?” he asked the next day for he’d made a point of asking to meet her again.

“Just myself,” she answered. He felt a qualm in his stomach, and it was more in memory of his own loneliness than anticipation of hers.

He came to like to feel the white handles in his grasp, to walk between the two white-rimmed metal wheels. And he grew almost more familiar with the slight wave at the back of her hair than with her eyes or her mouth. The chair was a moveable wonder; he loved the feeling of power and strength it gave him for so little exertion. Once, he said to the wave at the back of her hair, “I hope I’m the only chair-pusher in your life,” but she had only smiled a little and her eyes had admitted nothing. When he looked up, he noticed a white bird flying from one tree toanother, tracing their route with them.

She cooked dinner for him once in June. He expected her to be proud of her ability to do everything from her seat in the wheelchair ? and was faintly disappointed to see that she would not feel pride at what was, for her, simply a matter of course. He watched his own hand pick up the salt shaker and place it on one of the higher, unused cabinet shelves, then awaited her plea for assistance. He didn’t know why he’d done it, but the look in her eyes a moment later gave him a shock in his easy joy. He felt as though he were playing poker and he had just accidentally revealed his hand to the opponent. To make her forget what he’d done, he told her about the little white bird in the park.

“I’ve seen it, too,” she said. “I read a poem once about a little white bird that came to rest on a window sill and the lady who lived in the house began to put out food for it. Soon the lady fell in love, but it was a mismatched love. Everyday the little bird came to the window and the lady put out food. When the love affair was over, the little white bird never returned, but the woman went on puttin out the crumbs every day for years and the wind just blew them away.”

In July he took her boating frequently. She prepared a picnic lunch each time, and he manned the sails. The most awkward event of this, she felt, was the loading and unloading of herself. For Charles, however, these “freight handlings”, as she came to call it, seemed to be the highlight of the outings. He appeared to take great delight in wheeling her to the end of the pier, picking her up out of the chair, balancing himself to set her into the boat, then collapsing the chair and setting it on its side on board. On the first few outings, she had felt distinctly ill at ease at having been placed helplessly in a spot from which she could not move herself. It occurred to her, too, that she was unable to swim, should the boat turn over. Charles, who adapted himself marvelously to the captain’srole, was completely oblivious to her discomfort; she noted with a returning sense of helplessness how much he enjoyed being in control. When he called for her one day in early August with a brand new captain’s hat cocked at his soft brown hair, all her emotions revolted at the idea of another day trapped on the wooden seat over the water? and she refused to go.

They would, instead, she said, go for a walk in which she would move herself by the strength of her own arms and he would walk beside her. He finally agreed, buthis displeasure grew with each step; this was a role he didn’t want to play.

“Why don’t you just rest your arms and let me push you?”
“No.”
“Your arms’ll get sore; I’ve been helping you do it for three months now.”
“I wheeled myself for twelve years before you came along? I doubt that my arms have forgotten how.”
“But I don’t like having to walk beside you while you push yourself!”
“Do you think I’ve liked having to sit helpless in your boat every weekend for the past two months?”

For a moment he was stunned into silence by this new learning. Finally he said quietly, “I never realized that,Amy. You’re in a wheelchair all the time — I never thought you’d mind sitting in the boat. It’s the same thing.”

“It is not the same thing. In this chair, I can move by myself; I can go anywhere I need to go. That boat traps me so I can’t do anything ? I couldn’t even save myself if something happened and I fell out.”

“But I’m there. Don’t you think I could save you or help you move or whatever it is you want?”

“Yes, but Charles ? the point is I’ve spent twelve years learning to manage by myself. I even live in a city that’s miles from my family so I’ll have to be independent and do things for myself. Being placed in the boat takes all that I’ve wonaway from me. Can’t you see why I object to it? I can’t let myself be at anyone’s mercy — not even yours.”

They continued down the path in silence as his feelings boiled within him and finally ran over the edge of his control: “Amy, I need to have you dependent upon me. I need your dependence upon me.” And, as if to punctuate his desire, he took the familiar white bars in hand and pushed her rapidly along so that her own hands came off the wheels and rested in her lap. The wave at the back of her hair did not show the anger in her eyes, and it was just as well for it was an anger he would not have understood.

She would not answer her telephone the next morning but in his mails that afternoon came an envelope that he knew had come from Amy. The handwriting was not beautiful, but it was without question hers. Inside was only a card on which she had written:

    If you want something badly enough,
    You must let it go free.
    If it comes back to you,
    It’s yours.
    If it doesn’t,
    You really never had it anyway.
　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　——Anonymous

He ran out of his apartment, refusing to believe that Amy might no longer be in her home. As he was running towards her apartment, he kept hearing a roar in his ears: “You must let it go free; you must let it go free.”

But he thought: I can’t risk it, she is mine, can’t just let go, can’t give her a chance not to belong to me, can’t let her think she doesn’t need me, she must need me. Oh God, I have to have her.

But her apartment was empty. Somehow in the hours overnight, she had packed by herself and moved by herself. The rooms were now impersonal; their cold stillness could not respond when he fell to the floor and sobbed.

By the middle of August he had heard nothing from Amy. He lay often on his bed with her letter on his chest and counted the minute cracks in his ceiling; he went often to the park but scrupulously avoided looking for the white bird. Sometimes he would sit for hours there in the wind under a tree and not even notice that he was outside, that life went on around him.

September came and had almost gone before he finally received an envelope of familiar stationery. The handwriting was not beautiful but it was without question hers. The postmark was that of a city many miles distant. With a shock of feeling returning to his heart, he tore open the envelope and at first thought it was empty. Then he noticed on his desk a single white feather that had fallen from it. In his mind, the white bird rose in flight and its wings let fly one feather. Were it not for the feather lost in departure, no one would have known that the white bird had ever been. Thus he knew Amy would not be back, and it was many hours be fore he let the feather drop out of his hand.

爱我，就请保持自我；不要成为我的影子。爱情是人格的补充，不是复制。我希望你是个除了我之外还有热爱和爱好的人，为我们的生活和爱情奋斗的同时心里有我就够了；不要你天天围着我转，我为能够做你世界的最大部分感到高兴，但不是全部。

爱我，就请手不要握得太紧。你是爱我的，为了我做好多事情；虽然你说是不求回报的，但是不平等的爱情是不存在的，而我失去的是自由。我没有了独自冥想的时间，除了在实验室，都有你在身边；我是可怜的人，自由的时间要靠商量和欺骗获得，还要带着负罪感。因为你恋恋不舍的表情对我来说是一种责骂，因为我不想做一个不负责任和自私的人，即便是讨来了时间，也是鬼鬼祟祟，满心愧疚。关在笼子里的麻雀，即便用尽你所有的爱情，也终将死去，因为它失去了自由。爱我，就适应我，不要改变我；因为改变了我，就说明你爱上的不是我，而是你一手改造的爱情。

爱我，就请像养猫一样对待我。白天会在街上流浪，和狗打假，和其他猫一样推倒垃圾桶，但是每天晚上总回到你身边，因为你是我的家之所在。天气好的时候，我会独自跑到屋顶上晒太阳；阴雨连绵，你伏案工作或者床上看书，我会躺在你怀里打盹。我会一个人去抓老鼠，享受游戏的乐趣，然后把战利品带给你；我也会陪你散步，聊天，在你脸上蹭来蹭去。也许某天我们会打架，但是不意味着第二天我会消失，相反那我们的一种相处和交流的方式。我想要猫的爱情，有分有合，有张有弛；你见过猫带项圈吗。

爱我，就请考虑到我的感受；因为你爱的是一个人，不是一只宠物或者一盆花。在你为如何爱我而奔走劳累的时候，想一想是不是把我爱护得太紧了。我更希望你给我鼓励，而不是代替我的努力；我更希望给你我的战利品，而不是面对你的满头大汗说谢谢。请在我的爱人面前考虑我的自尊心。

爱你，你的事情总是我的牵挂，虽然我不说，但是我都看在眼里，记在心上。我不帮忙，是因为我觉得你能够做好，而且比我帮忙要做得更好。
爱你，但是我只在你需要的时候出手，因为你在你的爱人面前也是有自尊心的，虽然你常常表现出来但是却没有自觉。
爱你，我也常常想起你，只是没有你那么经常，但是那并不意味我没有你爱我那么爱你，只是我的方式不一样罢了。

请把我的话看清楚，想明白，请不要用”我是不是占用你时间太多了?”一句话来概括，因为那不是我的本意。爱情是相互的，赶得早不如赶得巧，请在我需要的时候给我流浪的时间；你需要的时候，我也会按你的想法陪着你。

呜哈哈，喜欢。或许只有少部份的人像Lara Croft能欣赏这辆结合了威吓和优雅于一身的Brabus Unimog U500 Black Edition。根据原来的Unimog U500，Brabus Black Edition重新设计了它的外观包含新的前保险杆，一体化的侧身和闪亮的不锈钢保护杆。内装部份全车包覆Alcantar皮革和一个来自于MB S-Class结合了DVD、卫星导航、CD的豪华系统。在ClassicDriver声称Black Edition适合的应用范围很广，包括日常的都市使用(或许有人想拿来破坏城市)和到恶劣山区旅行(或许有人想拿来推倒山)。的确Brabus Black Edition给予了新的意义”Climb into an SUV”。 

Brabus Unimog U 500 Black Edition 预估售价将超过$275,000US(-_-没钱啊) 

8WD by Joseph Liang

PS:200601120359某些人就这么不负责地睡觉去了，扔下句话，把问题丢给我，也不管我能不能睡着；其实我每次都睡不着……

1. 我说你是大孝子，是因为你今天晚上又第n次提醒我不要和爸妈吵架，好像我总和他们吵架一样；其实我从来不和他们争吵的，顶多是沉默而以阿。你的反复提醒让我感觉自己是个蛮横不讲理，胡搅蛮缠的人，但是我不是；我只有和你才蛮横不讲理，胡搅蛮缠。
2.你提醒我太多了，提醒这提醒那，开始觉得很受宠爱；但是太多了，让我感觉自己是个白痴一样的东西，今晚上竟然问我知道那里买票吗……
3.我每次都是说“活该”，或者诸如此类的话；但是你在接受的时候心情不同，结果会有很多不同。明天开始，我换个说法和你说话，都细言轻语的……但是十有八九你追问我受什么刺激了……