To my dear Mr. Meng

When my mother came back from the hospital, she was a completely different person.

I even dreamed that she was eaten by something horrible in the hospital, and that this "person" walking up and down in front of me was wearing her skin in vain.

"I bought cherries," she said.

At that time there was only one kind of cherry, much smaller than cherries, the color was between vermilion and orange, the skin was as thin as paper, and the flesh was flaxen yellow, softer than a girl's lips.There are always more sour than sweet, and of course there are also sweet ones, which are often very ripe, with a fermented drunken aroma. When you sip the pulp, your tongue is slightly numb from the juice similar to wine.

But now it’s rare to see, it’s too delicate, it will be torn apart when you touch it, and it’s inconvenient to transport.Delicate and fragile things tend to be short-lived.

The cherries were washed and put in a small basin. As soon as I reached out to pick them up, she suddenly shrank back.

"Do you want to add some sugar? It's a bit sour."

"No sugar." I said.

"You don't understand. Adding sugar is delicious, and I won't lie to you. I'll add some for you and bring it to you later."

She watched me eat it expectantly.

Fishy sweet.

All my life is under her precise control: if I don’t read extracurricular books, it will delay my study, and if I buy one occasionally, it must be hidden in the back of the bookcase and cannot be seen by her.You must eat a bowl and a half for meals. If you eat less, it will be bad for your health and you will be hungry; if you eat too much, you will eat too much, and sitting still will affect digestion.The snacks on the table remained unmoved. My mother asked why I didn’t eat them. When I said I didn’t want to eat them, she decided that I was secretly eating them at school and confiscated my last bit of pocket money.

I told her not to buy snacks, no one would eat them if they were broken, she said:

"There is no child at this age who is not greedy."

While packing snacks into my schoolbag, I said that I was hungry during class to fill my stomach.

I could only carry half a schoolbag and snacks to school, giving them away like a hot potato, and was forced to accept envious compliments from my classmates:

"He Yujun's family is really rich."

My dad is indeed a wealthy man, and he is still a romantic in his middle age. If it weren't for the combination of these two things, especially the former, he wouldn't be surrounded by wild bees and butterflies.

On the day my mother just had a miscarriage, I stayed up all night and one day in the hospital. My dad still didn’t answer the phone calls until I found out that I didn’t have enough money and was urged to pay the bill. He called the hospital and he rushed to the hospital. Come.

It was after ten o'clock in the evening when he arrived, and he looked in a kind of unrestrained distress: he was still in a suit and leather shoes, but his shirt was wrinkled, and the two buttons on his chest were buttoned wrongly; his leather shoes were still shiny and spotless, but his hair was messed up.

Which woman's bed did you get up from?

My mother's condition was not very good when she was rescued. I was too anxious at the time. The doctor said that something was wrong and didn't understand it. I just remembered that my mother was in a coma when she pushed it.My dad sat on the stool beside the bed, perhaps because of the light, his face looked miserable.

I deliberately stood very close to him, following his gaze, I saw the snow-white iron railing at the head of the next bed.

After waiting for more than an hour, my mother woke up slowly.

At that time, my dad had already paid the fee, re-buttoned his shirt, and his hair was visible. He was sitting on a chair, solemnly holding her hand, as if he was ready to swear an oath at any time.

My mother opened her eyes and saw that it was my father. Before she opened her mouth to speak, she sobbed and cried.

My dad sat on the edge of the bed, bent down to comfort her tenderly, and seemed to wipe away two tears in the end.

I just feel that the ward is terribly stuffy.

My dad seemed to have cut off all relationships with women outside. During the period when my mother was just discharged from the hospital, no matter how late it was, he would always come home; my mother was undoubtedly happy again, playing mahjong and pushing cards.Every night, she helped my dad heat up the footwashing water and put it on the side of the living room, where the porcelain pots and towels printed with peony flowers were neatly placed. Seeing everything in order, she put on a secret smile, satisfied Nodding, like inspecting some kind of rat that has three winter rations in store.

Her words were trivial and dense, rolling all over the floor, causing people to fall severely if she didn't pay attention.

Not long after, my dad started staying out at night again.This time he restrained himself a lot and didn't come back for two or three days a week.

I asked my mother, and she scolded me: It is good for children to study, and leave adults alone.

So we all whitewashed the peace with peace of mind, and invariably obtained a kind of vain happiness.

At that time, I was in the second year of junior high school. I started school at the age of five, younger than many of my classmates, but my grades were acceptable.In the face of compliments from outsiders, my mother always showed an undisguised and arrogant smile, and her answers were sometimes sharp as if they were being tortured on people.

My hearing seems to be getting better, which bothers me very much, because I can always hear her and my dad through the door, swearing in a low voice after arguing:

"Why don't you die? Why don't you die?"

One night, I was awakened by some kind of mournful choking sound. When I woke up, I was drenched in sweat, and found that my mother was lying on the head of my bed, sobbing with her shoulders shrugged.Warm and moist tears fell on my shoulders, and some slid along the skin into the socket of my neck, like a young snake emerging from its shell.

I called out "Mom" in horror, she hugged me through the thin quilt, choked up and said: "Xiaojun, mother only has you, I have worked so hard to raise you, you must listen to me, and you must be filial to me in the future, you know?" ?”

I was speechless in horror.

She said it over and over persistently, with her fingers spread out, and she wrapped her arms tightly around my shoulders, repeating in her mouth:

"You know? Do you know? Listen to me!"

The bones and flesh hurt so badly, I groaned in pain and agreed.

In the dark, I felt that she wiped away the tears on her face, got up and walked out happily, then came back suddenly, touched my head, and asked me to go to bed early and have a good rest.

I opened my eyes until dawn.

I was physically and mentally exhausted by the gunpowder smoke at home, and Mr. Meng's grades suddenly plummeted.Everyone was very puzzled. The teacher could only attribute it to the fact that he frequently asked for leave and missed classes. I didn't realize it until this time, and I haven't seen him for a long time.

The weather turned cold in October, and Mr. Meng didn't come to class for another three days.I figured out a countermeasure in math class: I went to the public phone after class and called my mother and said that I was going to the library, and I could visit Meng's house after school.

Just as I was thinking this, a figure of Mr. Meng with a schoolbag on his back passed by the window, but the direction of the classroom was diametrically opposite.I stood up immediately, lied to the teacher's surprised eyes, said I was not feeling well, and ran out in a hurry after getting permission.

I fell a long way behind him and followed him across the school path to the fence near the back door.There is a small part of the fence here that has collapsed for many years, behind it is a small hill, and the hollow of the hill is a pond formed by the accumulated rain all year round.

Few students usually go here, only when the school organizes picnics, they will go out through the back door.I saw him climb over the wall made of broken bricks and climb up the hill. Maybe it was too quiet around him, so he turned his head suddenly.

"Badger?"

I almost fell over in fright.

But when he turned around, I forgot to ask him why he didn't come into the classroom to attend class, and blurted out: "What's wrong with your face?"

Mr. Meng waved his hand at me: "Hurry up and go back to class."

I ran to him in three steps at a time: "Where are you going? Did your dad hit you again?"

"I skipped school."

He smiled, only lifting the uninjured half of his mouth.After finishing speaking, I continued to walk out, and I followed him step by step:

"Does it hurt? Your dad is drinking again? Why did you take such a long leave? I'm going to visit you at your house..."

Mr. Meng walked faster and faster, I had no choice but to grab his arm: "Why does your father always drink?"

He shook his head: "I don't know."

There was silence at the edge of the pond, and the sound of the wind blowing the reeds and weeds was all over the ears.It hadn't rained recently, the grass was dry, and the boundaries of the pond had shrunk, revealing a circle of light-colored wet mud, and the dark water had become more oily and thicker, almost turning into a small swamp.

Mr. Meng was lying on the grass, his face was covered by Chinese papers, and his schoolbag was thrown far away.

"I want to sleep."

He said 10 minutes ago.

Of course, I don't know if it's really twenty-ten minutes—I don't have a watch, and time is a liar who never tells the truth if you don't look at it.I sat silently on the ground a few steps away from him, guarding him faithfully.

"Are you asleep?"

I asked him in a low voice.

He doesn't answer.

I moved to his side with hands and feet, bent my upper body, trying to sneak a peek at him to see if he was pretending to sleep.When my nose was about to touch his Chinese book, my hand next to his head was held.

"Don't look at me." Mr. Meng said in a muffled voice.

I immediately dismissed the idea of ​​having to look at him.

His voice was muffled, maybe he was crying.When I thought that Mr. Meng might be crying, I was at a loss.

The last time I saw him cry was when his mother was about to pass away.That scene is still clearly etched in my mind until now. Whenever I think of Mr. Meng crying on a chair in the hospital, I can't breathe, and despair firmly chokes my throat.

I can only watch his mother die bit by bit. There is no other way than to open my eyes to see her painful posture more clearly.

I had no choice but to ask him softly: "Why did your father beat you again?"

"He was drunk that day and threw things at home. He broke my mother's photo frame." Mr. Meng said, "I scolded him."

I know that frame.But a glass photo frame the size of a book stands on the chest of drawers in Mr. Meng's bedroom.Apart from that, there was no trace of his mother left in that home.

I shook his hand and said, "Good scolding."

He seemed to have a muffled laugh, I couldn't hear it clearly, but the laughter made my throat feel hot, as if I had poured a bowl of spicy sugar water.

There was a math test that afternoon, and I didn't take it. I didn't even go back to the classroom to pick up my schoolbag. I lied to Mr. Meng and was able to send him home.

Aunt Ding came to open the door. The room was dark and gloomy, with the smell of alcohol floating in the air.A dull voice sounded: "Why are you still here? My house can't accommodate you."

The muscles in my back jerked suddenly, as if I had been whipped.

Aunt Ding said, "You're here too."

The voice asked, "Who's here?"

"Old He's child."

The sound of footsteps was lower than the heartbeat, and a tall figure came out of the dining room: "Did the teacher ask you to send Meng Qiansheng back?"

I can't say that I played truant, so I can only nod hesitantly.

Uncle Meng seemed very happy: "The teacher can't control him anymore?"

Only then did I understand, and I argued, "No! Uncle Meng, the teacher didn't say..."

"I know all about it." He interrupted me, his eyes lit up like two little will-o'-the-wisps, "How can I not know what virtue my own son has?"

Auntie Ding's tall, almost manly figure was still standing behind the door, obviously not intending to let me in.Mr. Meng has already stepped into the door, turned his head and smiled at me: "Okay, thank you. You should go back early."

Not only did I not let go of him, but I clenched his hand even tighter.Uncle Meng and Aunt Ding stared at us from left to right, like impermanence, as soon as I let go of Mr. Meng, they immediately picked him up and dragged him to the dark and cold hell.I was terrified, and I grabbed Mr. Meng with my cold and wet hands, like five lumps of ice that were constantly melting.

"You, you haven't had dinner yet." I struggled to say.

Aunt Ding showed a sharp-toothed smile: "I'm making dumplings today!"

"Go home quickly, it's getting dark," said Uncle Meng.

I said, "You have to come to class tomorrow. There will be an exam tomorrow. The school leaders will come to check. The teacher said that anyone who doesn't go will be held accountable."

Mr. Meng was puzzled for a moment, and then smiled: "Okay. See you tomorrow."

"See you tomorrow."

I hoped that he would say something to me again, but there was nothing, I could only watch in despair, the heavy door slammed shut, and I slapped me with a black slap in the face.

I was reluctant to leave and stood at the door in a daze.I don't know how long it took until I heard someone coming down from upstairs, and then I walked away step by step.

Of course, there were no exams or inspections on the second day. On the contrary, I was absent from the exam for no reason. The class teacher found out and immediately reported it to my parents.My mother didn't expect that I would let her lose face, and I would be beaten when I came home from school.

The disadvantage of being beaten when you grow up is that you can't hide casually, and parents won't worry about the child being too young to be beaten, so they can vent their anger without fear.So after being beaten, I lay at home for two full days. Fortunately, it was the weekend, and I didn't need to ask for leave. The most important thing was that I didn't have to try my best to hide it from Mr. Meng.

At school on Monday, my whole body was barely in pain anymore, but I was still uncomfortable going up and down the stairs.Our classroom was on the fourth floor at the time. Mr. Meng saw me grinning and went downstairs, and asked what was wrong. I said that I had fallen at home, and he smiled, bent down and said that he would carry me on his back, and asked me to lie on his back.

In consideration of my face, of course I didn't have the nerve to agree. I refused very manly, and I just supported his hand and went downstairs.

That hand was very hot, it was on top of mine, and it was clenched tightly due to the force, and when it rubbed against the back, my palm almost ached, as if the skin was about to be worn off, and I was reluctant to let go, I wished It's good to really grind the skin, mix blood and flesh together, and blend into one.

At that time, of course I didn't know what it meant to be a confidante in anger, but I was confused and "became a concubine after being brutally beaten", which could be regarded as being affectionate to some extent.