To my dear Mr. Meng

I heard that some children are precocious and start to remember things when they are two or three years old. Mr. Meng is one of them.I'm a laggard, and I remember most of the things before I was ten years old.

I often say, luckily I knew him from birth, otherwise what would I do?

Mr. Meng said I have a sweet mouth.

But I didn't want to make him happy, I really sent it because of my feelings, but seeing that he seemed to be in a good mood about it, I had no choice but to make a mistake.After all, King You of Zhou did not hesitate to risk his life to play tricks on the princes, not to mention that I am just talking about it, so why not do it?

My grandfather used to work in the Labor Bureau, and then died of a heart attack. Within a few years, my family moved out of the compound.

At that time, it was just in time for the craze of "going to the sea". My dad was unwilling to only earn a few dollars from the iron rice bowl, so he jumped into the sea to fish for gold; leaving us orphans and widowed mothers at home, my mother was restless every day, and went to the sea with other people in the yard every day. Inquiring about the news from his family, the rest of the uninterested people were also flustered.The wages of civil servants were not high in those days, but the Meng family didn’t know if there were extra subsidies or what, so they had ample money, and they were unwavering, and they felt at ease as a cog in the state machinery.

When I was young, I never worried about food, rice, oil, salt, and my dad’s business was out of town. My mother later resigned and stayed at home. The major I studied was so cold and unreal. So until now, I don’t know anything about politics and business. Can.People around me, old and young, know about it, and they all say that I am lucky, a natural idler.It seems a bit envious.

I have little knowledge, but in my memory from ancient times to the present, idleness is really not a good thing to say, but when it comes to me, it turns into a beautiful word, which inevitably makes me very worried.

Around [-], my grandmother passed away, and we moved out of the compound and lived in a decent building.

Not long after my grandfather passed away, my grandmother followed him in the hospital, where she stayed ill for more than a year, and finally died on the way home.The old couple had quarreled and quarreled all their lives, resenting their spouse all their lives, and they often said: "Only after death can we be quiet!"

It's a prophecy.

There are many wonders in the world. Some people's marriages are like living fairy tales, while some people's marriages are an endless battle for most of their lives.

Death is a distant thing to me, like the horizon between the sea and the sky, invisible and invisible, whether it is blue or white, flat or round, I still don't know.So when my grandfather passed away, I didn't feel any personal sorrow, but I followed my mother's instructions and cried a few times.

At first I couldn't cry, but after howling for a while, I could only force my tears out; the astonished eyes from the people around me made me panic, and I suddenly felt ashamed, but at that time I didn't know how to describe this feeling, Tears rushed out of my eyes immediately, but I couldn't stop it.

Crying is addictive, my throat became hoarse from crying, I hiccupped uncontrollably, and some elders I didn't know praised me for it.My mother smiled politely while wiping my nose and tears, and I realized that crying well can also be praised.

After crying heartbrokenly, I still laugh and laugh at night.At that time, I thought adults were amazing. If I was criticized by the teacher for crying, I would be sad for a day and a half. I couldn’t laugh at all. How could they cry and laugh at the same time?

I really didn't understand it when I was a child.

I vaguely thought that it was wrong for children to cry and laugh like this.No wonder no matter whether children cry or laugh, they will be scolded by adults. No wonder adults' loud laughter and howling through the floor can never be heard.Adults always keep the corners of their mouths closed, as if their mouths were only used for eating and talking: while eating bland meals, the words are always the same: "What's wrong with you? Endure it!" , who hasn't made do with it!"

But I'm not, my mouth is for crying and laughing.I don't like these few words either. Whenever my mother rejects me or teaches me, these few words always fall down with the feather duster, so that I formed a conditioned reflex, and when I heard these few words, I would shrink my neck subconsciously, like The moment the feather duster landed on the meat, the heart seemed to grow claws, gripping the throat tightly.

I suddenly didn't want to be an adult at all.

Adults are like bodhisattvas at home, who know everything, do nothing, just live, and have nothing but life.

I secretly asked my mother, the little uncle of the Lin family played with mud with me, helped me stick cicadas on trees, took me to buy snacks, taught me to sing weird pop songs loudly, and never acted like an adult Cursing, why can't other adults be as good as Uncle Xiaolin?Is it because other adults just can't do it, so they say that people like him are not good?

My mother was washing the dishes, but she suddenly changed color: "How many times have I told you, you are not allowed to be with the surname Lin!"

I turned around and ran away in fright.

I never got an answer, and I was sulking all afternoon because of this, thinking that adults are so bad that they lie to children with terrible lies, only Uncle Xiaolin is good and never lies.

But then Uncle Kobayashi went crazy.

On the day he left, all the neighbors came to the street to see it. It was more lively than the temple fair. Everyone was so excited that blushes of happiness appeared on their cheekbones.Mr. Meng and I huddled in a group of unfamiliar adults. The oil fume on their bodies mixed with the smoke and tea, and they laughed strangely, which made my palms sweat.

Uncle Lin was sent into the car with blood all over his body, and he let out a blood-curdling scream.His mother let out the same high-pitched wail. The veins on her neck were swimming like little snakes. She couldn't hold on and fell to the ground.I've never seen a person tied up like that.I even felt that Uncle Xiaolin's bones had been broken by them long ago. His eyeballs were protruding, and he didn't let go of any arm stretched out in front of him, and shouted loudly:

"They! They're going to kill me!"

"Doctor! Doctor! Someone is going to kill me!"

A man folded his arms behind his back. It was an unimaginable posture for ordinary people. Against the cloudy sky with yellow clouds overwhelming the ground, it was like a fake painting with rich colors.

That was my last memory of the small street outside the compound.

The new home is far away, and I can no longer play with the children in the yard. Even though I am still in the same school, they no longer call me after class. When you laugh, giggle along with you.

In fact, what they said was not funny at all, I just felt sore on my cheeks.

Fortunately, there is Mr. Meng in the same class as me, and he and I can still talk about many things in the class.Later, I gradually became estranged from other children, and got better and better with Mr. Meng. I almost became his little tail, and I had to squeeze in the same urinal with him even to go to the toilet.

I was sorting things out at home a few months ago, and by chance I found a composition book in elementary school, and saw a composition written in fourth grade called "My Best Friend", which was written by Mr. Meng.

There is a sentence in it that I remember deeply, and I found it when I went home, and copied it here:

"I stuck to him like a shadow, always playing hide-and-seek with him, when he walked to a very bright place, I squatted at his feet, hoping that he would never find me, and hoped that he would find me immediately I."

Unexpectedly, I was so talented at such a young age. Unfortunately, our Chinese teacher was devoted to the daughter of the bureau chief in the class, and did not cultivate me vigorously. Therefore, my memory of this composition is only a typo of "sticky". He was fined to copy fifty times.

My dad was so jealous that he was earning money outside, and he only came home once a year or so, and sometimes it was not the Chinese New Year.On weekends, I would have nothing to do and clamored to live in Mr. Meng's house. My mother had no choice but to knock on the door of Meng's house.

It was often Mr. Meng's mother who opened the door.

Her name is Rang Zhiyu. This surname is rare, and I have been curious about it for a long time.

Auntie Jean is a dancer in the art troupe. She is very beautiful and tall.She often wears a black turtleneck slim-fit sweater in winter, wrapped in a long and thick overcoat. The originally exquisite and delicate body is wrapped in the wool of the same color as the brown bear skin, turning into a straight and rough square. Fortunately, there is also a beautiful The head is enough to stand out from the crowd.The long dark hair is sometimes pulled up, like the night in the cold forest that has been practiced hundreds of times; the hair rope is also black, and a half circle of crimson red is exposed under the bun, which made me curious for many years. What does the rope look like.

I always imagined that she was actually a huge black swan, and when I closed my eyes, her cold hand turned into a vermilion beak, gently pecking my head.So I often stare at her slender back, as if as long as I don't blink, I can see with my own eyes that she turns into a swan and flies away, or two feathers fly out from under her clothes.

Occasionally, when she finds out about my surveillance, she won't yell my name at the top of her voice like other adults, she just lowers her head and laughs, and she doesn't know whether to laugh at me or herself.That smile is very beautiful, it reminds me of all the beautiful things in this world.

When she grew up, she read the phrase "Spring Comes Peach Blossom Water" by chance, and her smile suddenly came to her eyes.

Mr. Meng is especially like his mother in this respect.

But when outsiders saw Mr. Meng, they were invariably surprised that the child was just like his mother, and he didn't see his father at all, so that when he went out with his father, outsiders dared not greet him casually.Mr. Meng and his mother are not only similar in appearance, but also in spirit.

I really remember one winter when I was just in elementary school. One Saturday, I stayed at Meng’s house. I woke up thirsty early in the morning. I got up from Mr. Meng’s bed to drink water, passed the living room, and happened to see out of the window.Not long after dawn, there was a faint blue light on the top of the head, like a fish maw that was just taken out of the water and flattened, just looking at it, it was about to hang out of the water; the new snow on the ground was fluffy, like a layer of knots The dry and hard stubble is pricked so that the hand is fluffy; the end of the sky is covered with thick crab shell green, as if a heavy rain has washed over the green hills and poured all the green water into the sky, thousands of miles are desolate, and the upper and lower are clear.

Mr. Meng was like the sky that morning.

He only looks a bit like his father, but he is no more resolute and heroic than Uncle Meng, which weakens his momentum a little.Only occasionally when he got angry and turned cold, his eyes were exactly the same as his father's, melting cold mountains and steep peaks, very domineering.

Because of his sensitivity to ultraviolet rays, Mr. Meng doesn't bask in the sun very much. When he is at home, he likes to read in his bedroom.In spring and summer, the curtains are often drawn, and occasionally the wind blows them aside, and the sunlight makes his eyes glow with gold, and finally falls on his chest, condensing into two thin golden flowers.

This problem sounds delicate, but after I ran to the hospital with him a few times, I never dared to take it lightly. No matter how hot the weather was, I never forgot to ask him to wear long sleeves.

Nothing to do at home, I sat at the table watching him, to pass the time.Mr. Meng is like his mother, with fine facial features, especially thick and thick eyelashes, which almost become two heavy black curtains. Whenever she looks down, the eyelids seem to fall straight down.Mr. Meng, whose gaze was covered by eyelashes, looked particularly docile, with his neck hanging down, like a deer, ready to be enjoyed by others.

Most of the time, he calmly does his own thing, ignores me, and acts as if he is alone; but sometimes he is distracted by my stare, and he will say, "Don't keep looking at me."

Usually I will obediently go away, go to another room, or sit on the bed with a book and read.Sometimes I deliberately tease him, but I ignore it. After a while, he will close the book and look up at me: "What are you doing?"

At this time, the docile shadow on him disappeared, and his gaze was like the rising tide of the sea, pouring into people's eyes involuntarily.

If I continue to sit still, he will drive me away. When I am busy with work, he will throw me out by the collar; Something bad, all right, so we'll usually be lounging in bed this afternoon.

Mr. Meng would also stare at me when he was hanging out with me.

His eyes are very focused when looking at people. Whenever I am watched by him, there will be an illusion: it seems that I have wasted a few minutes of his life by not saying something meaningful.So whenever my conscience is disturbed by this gaze, I discuss philosophy with him.

In the world, only philosophy and sex can live up to it.This is the motto of my humble travels in the world.

It's not that I love philosophy, but that the seemingly omnipotent Mr. Meng also has weaknesses, one of which is philosophical blindness.

The first two times when we started talking, he couldn't tell right from wrong, and he would bite the bullet and deal with me. The two of us cheated and abducted each other, and had a great time.However, the story of "Wolf is Coming" tells us that there are only three things, and practice has proved that this is true. When I talked about Humeism for the third time, I was thinking about the aftertaste of the climax, my mind was dizzy, and I accidentally said the wrong thing, and I was caught by Meng. The gentleman grabbed the fox by the tail and got caught, and his reputation was ruined ever since.

Fortunately, I have always been shameless in front of Mr. Meng, and I still used this trick to tease him afterwards.Whenever I just started, he pulled the quilt over my head, so I couldn't be fooled anymore.

I attribute his childish behavior to anger from embarrassment.

If I continue to make trouble with him persistently, Mr. Meng will hold my hand:

"Let's not talk about philosophy, but about other sciences."

This "other science" is most likely sexology. Our research on this subject often coincides with each other, and we like to use practice to test the truth.

So of course I am happy to accept.

After spending many wonderful afternoons with Mr. Meng, I gradually realized that there are so many poets in the world who tirelessly wrote love poems and songs for their loved ones. Burning heart.

I used to think it was extremely nasty, but now I know that it was not written for me at all, it was written for love.

Even though I know my pen is blunt and my language is clumsy, whenever I look into those eyes, I can't help but write love as poetry.