罗杰·迪安·凯泽/RogerDeanKiser
Whentheschoolbellrang,IheadedoutthebackdooranddownSprgParkRoad.Itwasnoteasyforaten-year-old,runawayboytowalkthestreetsofJaville,Florida.ItraveledforwhatseedtobeilesbeforeIcrossedovertheMaStreetBridge.Iwalked,asfastasIuld,throughthedowntownareahuntgforsothgtoeat.
IadeywaydowntoBayStreetandspedandstoodthedoorwayofthebstation.Iwatchedasthedirtylookgbdrankfrotheirbrsandarguedwithoneanother.
“Sonny!yougotothatstoreacrossthestreetandcashtheseheregssbottlesfor?I’llbuyyouady,”saidtheoldwoan.
“Sure.Idothatforyoufornothg,”Itoldher.
Iloadedthebottlestothestoreafewatati.Herrgewoodentypewagoncartwasfilledtothewithallvarietiesofsodabottles.
IcashedthebottlesandIwalkedbackoutofthestoretogivehertheoney.
“youunttheoneyoutfor,Sonny?”sheasked.
“’tyouunt?”Iquestioned.
“It’snotthat,Sonny.Ijt’tseeverywell,”shetold.
AsIstoodthereuntgouttheoneyherhand,eboyswalkedupandbeganpullgotail.Oneoftheboyswastrygtograbtheoneyfroourhandswhiletheotherboypulledherbackwards.IidiatelyclosedyhandsandIfelltothegroundtrygtocatchtheswhichhadfallen.
“OUCH!”Iyelledoutasoneoftheboyssedonyhand,pngittotheground.
“Boy,yousurestkdy,”saidoneoftheboys.
“Youboysgoonnow.Leavealone!”sheyelledoutattheo.
“Shutupyouretardedoldbag!”yelledtheyounganashestartedacrossthestreetwithhisfriend.
IgotbackdownonykneesandIpickedupwhatoneyhadbeeontheground.Aga,IreuheoneyandIpceditherhands.
“Yousureuntsawfulgoodflittlelikeyouare.Andyouuntfasttoo.”shesaid,assheughed.
“Areyouretardedtoo,like?”Iaskedtheoldwoan.
“Youa’tretardedboy.Youassartasawhip.Lookhowfastyouunt.Andyou’rerealcutetoo.”shereplied.
“Youreallythkso?”Isaid,withabigsileonyface,andyeyesopenwide.
Forthereaderoftheday,Iwalkedaroundandtalkedwiththeoldwoan.Istayedasclosetoheraspossible,allthewhilehopgthatshewouldonceagasaysothgniceabout.
Throughouttheyears,Ihaveoftenthoughtaboutthatoldwoan,especiallywhenIdrivethroughargecityandseesoonephgashoppgcartdowreet.
Iulduntononehandthetisthatanygrownadultevergaveapltoradefeelproudofyself.Thefewtisthatitdidhappen,Isoakeduptheexperientlyhowsheslled.Ireberherlegsbegfatattheanklesandtheanyvesherlegsweredarkandbroken.Herlipswereroughandcrackedandherhandswerescarredandshehadanysoresaboutherhandsandwrists.
ButwhatIreberostaboutherwasherkdsile.
Notthekdoflookthatonehaswhentheyactuallysile—itwasalookthatshethavebeenbornwith—anstantsilewhichstayedonherfaceevenwhenshewasrestgonthebsbench.Ireberwepartedpaheafternoononthedaywet.Istoodforawhile,watchgherasshedisappearedtotheeveng.
Ineversawheragaafterthat.
Butthatwasokaywith.
Evenifitwasonlyforaont,shegavewhatIneededfroa“other”—thethoughtthatIightnotberetarded,thatIwashandso,aofall,thatIwas“sartasawhip.”
Thosefewwordsturofeelgsandtheyfollowedforthe50yearsofylife.
Thisyear,theMother’sDayflowersareforyou.Whereveryouare.
下课铃一响，我就冲出后门，沿着斯普林公园路而下。对于一个十岁的逃学孩子而言，走在佛罗里达杰克逊维尔的大街上并不是件悠闲的事。我走了漫长的一段路，才穿过缅街桥。我尽量加快脚步，准备穿过市区去找些东西吃。
走到海湾路，我停下来站在公共汽车站门口。我看到脏兮兮的流浪汉喝着牛皮纸袋里的东西，并互相吵闹着。
“小家伙！你能到对面的店里帮我把瓶子换成钱吗？我会给你买糖吃。”一位老妇人说。
“好的，不过我什么都不要。”我对她说。我每次只能拿一点瓶子到商店。因为她那木制的大手正推着堆满了各种各样汽水瓶的车子。
我进商店把瓶子换成现金，然后出来交给她。
“小家伙，你能帮我数数这些钱吗？”她问我。
“您不会数吗？”我问。