Chapter 2 Chapter One

In 2000, Wilmington, my name is John.Terry, born in 1977 AD, grew up in Wilmington, North Carolina.Wilmington is proud of being the largest port city in the state and has a long and prosperous history, but now I feel that the existence of this city is all accidental.Of course, the pleasant weather and immaculate beaches are very attractive, but most of the large waves of immigrants come from the six small northern states, and they are a large number of retirees who are looking for low housing prices and want to retire by the sea.The influx of newcomers seems to have caught the city off guard, given that the tiny hinterland is just an inch between the Cape Fear River and the ocean.Highway 17 leads to Myrtle Beach in the north and Charleston in the south, which divides the city into two and is also the main traffic artery.When I was young, the old town near the Cape Fear River was only a ten-minute drive to Wrightsville Beach, but there were too many traffic lights and shopping malls in the middle, especially when holiday tourists flocked in on weekends, my dad and I It can take an hour to arrive.Wrightsville Beach, located on a small island off the coast of the northern tip of Wilmington, is undoubtedly the most famous beach spot in the state.The houses built along the dunes are ridiculously expensive, and most of them are rented out to vacationers in the summer.Although the Bund is more romantic because it is an island chain on the sea, it is also famous because of the famous test flight of the Wright brothers Orwell and Wilbur.But to be honest, no matter where you go on vacation, most people will only feel at ease when they can find McDonald’s or Burger King. more.

Like all cities, Wilmington has areas for the rich and areas for the poor.The place where my dad works is the post office, the most stable and simple public institution in the world, and he helps the post office deliver letters every day.His salary is enough for us to live on, not rich, but passable.We didn't have a lot of money, but we lived close to the affluent area, which just happened to allow me to go to one of the best schools in town.But my house is different from my friend's house. My house is small and old. Part of the front porch is starting to cave in, but the yard maintains a lot of facade. There is a big oak tree in the yard. When I was eight years old, I ran around The construction site picked up a lot of wood and built a tree house by himself.My dad didn't help from start to finish (if he nailed a nail, it was probably an accident); I also learned to surf without a teacher that same summer.I think in fact, as early as that time, I should have understood that my father and I were very different, but I can only say that I really didn't know much when I was young.

Dad and I couldn't have been more different: Dad was shy and introverted; I was always energetic and hated being alone.Dad thought education was important; but to me, school was a club with sports clubs and gym classes.Pa had bad posture and often dragged his feet when he walked; I was always jumping up and down everywhere, and I was always telling him to time how long it would take me to run from the street to the end of the street and back again.By eighth grade I was taller than Dad; a year later I beat him by the wrist.Our appearance is also completely different.Dad has sandy blond hair, hazel eyes, and freckles; I have brown hair, eyeballs, and olive skin that tans in the summer. We look nothing alike. No wonder some neighbors think it's weird, but This is inevitable, after all, my father raised me alone.Later, when I was older, I heard my neighbor gossip that my mother ran away with someone when I was less than one year old.Although later I doubted whether Mom really cheated on her, but Dad never confirmed it.All Dad said was that Mom found out she was getting married too early and wasn't ready to be a mother.Dad never complained, but he never said anything nice about Mom either.But make sure I remember to mention my mother in my prayers, no matter where she is or what she does. "You remind me of your mom," Dad would say sometimes.To this day, I neither have nor want to speak a word to my mother.

I think Dad should be very happy. I say this because Dad doesn't show his emotions very much.Growing up, we rarely kiss or hug, and when we do, it usually feels flat, obligatory.I know Dad loves me because he did his best to bring me up; Dad was forty-three when I was born, and sometimes I really think that instead of being a father, it would be better for Dad to be a monk .Dad is the quietest man I've ever met.Asks little about my life, hardly gets angry, and rarely cracks a joke.Life is an immutable law.Every morning, I prepare scrambled eggs, bacon and toast for breakfast; when I cook dinner at night, I just quietly listen to what happened at school.Dentist appointments, scheduled two months in advance; bills paid on Saturday mornings, laundry done on Sunday afternoons; leaving for work at 7:35 every morning.Dad has almost no social life, and most of the time he is alone every day, taking a fixed route to deliver letters and packages.Dad never went on a date, never played poker with friends on a weekend night; it was not uncommon for the family phone to go silent for weeks.Even if there is a call, it is either a wrong number or a telemarketing call.I know Dad must have had a hard time raising me by himself, but he never complained, not even when I let him down.

Most of the nights, I was alone, and after my father was busy with the things he should do for the day, he would hide in the study and continue to play coins.Coins were Dad's greatest passion in his life.He is happiest sitting in his study looking at coins. He usually spends his time reading a collector's newsletter "Grey Pages" and deciding which coins to buy next time.In fact, it was my grandfather who first started collecting coins; the hero in my grandfather's mind was Lewis.Eli Asperger, a financier from Baltimore, is the only player to have a complete collection of U.S. coins, including versions with all the different minting dates and mintmarks.This man's collection, if not surpassed, is at least comparable to that of the National Art Museum.Grandma passed away in 1951, and later Grandpa insisted on expanding the coin collection with Dad.Every summer, the father and son take the train to travel north and south, go to the foundry to buy newly issued coins, or participate in coin fairs in southeastern states. It's a lot of money to buy and expand your collection.But unlike Ai Shi, grandpa was not rich at all, he just opened a grocery store in Burgau.When a Weijili convenience store opened in the city, Grandpa's store closed down, so there was no chance to build a collection comparable to Ai's.Even so, he invested every penny he had in buying coins.Grandpa wore the same jacket for thirty years and drove the same car all his life. I'm pretty sure that Dad only worked at the post office after graduating from high school because the family didn't have enough money to send him to college.Grandpa is indeed a bit weird, but just like Dad.I think it's the old adage that like father, like son.After the grandfather passed away, he specifically stated in his will that he would sell the house, and the money he got must continue to be invested in buying more coins.In fact, even without his reminder, Dad would do this anyway.

By the time Dad inherited that collection, it was already worth a lot of money. When inflation peaked, an ounce of gold was worth $850. That batch of coins was a very good asset, enough for my thrifty dad to retire for several years. There are always leftovers, but after all, it was inflation at that time, and of course these coins are worth more than they are now twenty years later.Dad and Grandpa didn't collect coins to get rich, the two enjoyed the thrill of the treasure hunt and the bond they built between father and son.It does take a lot of time and energy to find a particular coin, and after you find it, you have to try your best to bargain with the seller to get a good price.Sometimes the coins you are looking for are affordable, and other times they are unattainable.But every coin Pa and Grandpa collect is a treasure.Dad also hopes to continue this expensive hobby with me, of course, including the necessary sacrifices.Growing up, I slept in extra blankets to keep me warm in winter; I only had one new pair of shoes a year; I never bought new clothes unless it was a donation from the Salvation Army or church.My dad didn't even have a camera, and the only photo we had together was at the Atlanta Coin Expo, where we were standing in front of a dealer's booth, and the dealer took a picture of us and sent it to us.This photo has since sat on Dad's desk, with Dad's arm on my shoulder, both of us smiling, and me holding a 1926 bison five cent Nickel, that coin is in perfect condition, it's from my dad's new collection.That coin was one of the rarest batches of bison nickels, and we ended up eating hot dogs and baked beans for a whole month because the purchase price was so much higher than expected.

I don't care what I miss, at least for a while.From the beginning when my father discussed coins with me, he treated me as an adult. At that time, I was only seven or eight years old.It would be exciting for any child to have adults, especially his father, treat him as an equal.I enjoyed my dad's attention and tried to absorb what he taught me.In a little while I'll be able to tell you how many more Saint-Gaudens double eagles were minted in 1927 than in 24; It's worth ten times more, and I still know a lot even now.Unlike Dad, though, I didn't want to continue collecting coins in the end.Coins were the only topic my dad could discuss, and for six or seven years, I spent weekends with him hunting around for coins instead of hanging out with friends.But then like most boys, I started noticing other things: sports, the opposite sex, cars and music.When I was fourteen, I was hardly at home.The resentment became deeper and deeper. Compared with my friends, I gradually discovered that I was different from others.Friends always have money to go to the movies, or to buy a pair of trendy sunglasses, but I have to scrape together a few quarters at home to buy a burger at McDonald's.When I was sixteen, several friends received cars as birthday presents; my dad only gave me a Morgan silver dollar minted in Carson City; the cracks on the sofa at home were covered with a blanket, and my home was the only one in the neighborhood without cable TV Or microwave household.Later, the refrigerator broke down, and Dad bought a second-hand one.The color of the refrigerator is the ugliest green in the world, which doesn't match the rest of the kitchen at all.I was awkward at the thought of having friends over, and Dad became the scapegoat.I know it's immature, and if I really wanted money, I could have mowed the lawn and done odd jobs, but I just blamed Dad, blind as a snail and stupid as a camel.But even if I tell you now that I regret it, I can't do it all over again.

Dad sensed that things had changed between us, but didn't know what to do.Though he tried, in the only way he knew, and the only way Granddad did, which was to discuss coins.That was the only topic that made Dad feel at ease.In addition to this, Dad also continued to help me cook breakfast and dinner, but we became more and more strangers.At the same time, I've become estranged from my long-time friends, who end up in cliques divided by who wants to see which movie, or who recently bought which shirt at the mall.I found myself an outsider watching everything, and then I thought, fuck it, there is always a place for me in school, so I started hanging out with the so-called bad students who didn't care about anything, and finally I the same.Started playing truant, smoking cigarettes, and was suspended three times for fighting.

I also gave up sports.I ran track, football, and basketball until my sophomore year in high school.Sometimes when I got home, Dad would ask me about school, but when I went into details, Dad was obviously uncomfortable because he didn't know anything about sports.Dad had never played a team game in his life; he came to see me play basketball once in my sophomore year and sat on the sidelines, half bald, wearing a battered blazer and socks that weren't right.Although my father is not too fat, but the waistline of the pants is too tight, making him look like he is three months pregnant. At the moment, I just feel ashamed and don't want to admit that he is my father.I even dodged it after the race, I knew it was bad, but that was who I was.

Then the situation got worse and worse. In the third year of high school, I rebelled to the point of being out of control.My grades have been declining for two years, and I always feel that it's just because I don't study and don't care, not because I'm stupid.More than once my dad caught me sneaking home in the middle of the night smelling of alcohol.Once I was at a party where people were doing drugs and drinking and the police sent me home and my dad grounded me; my reaction was to go and live with a friend for a few weeks and protest that he was too much and tell him to leave me alone on the head.When I got home, Dad still didn't say a word, and the usual scrambled eggs, bacon and toast were on the breakfast table.My grades were flying low, and the school that let me graduate might just be throwing me out early.I knew that Dad was very worried, and sometimes in his own usual way, with a little hesitation and reservation in a dull and shy way, he mentioned the matter of continuing to study.But at that time, I was determined not to go to higher education. I just wanted to work, buy a car, and all the material comforts that I hadn’t tasted in eighteen years of living.

Until the summer after graduation, I never told him a word about what I really wanted in my heart.When Dad found out I hadn't even signed up for a specialist, he locked himself in his study all night and didn't even speak to me at the breakfast table the next day.That night, Dad tried to talk to me about the coins again, as if trying to recapture the shared memory between father and son. Pa said, "Do you remember that time you went to Atlanta? You found that buffalo nickel, the one we've been looking for for years, remember? And we took a picture that time. I'll never Will forget how excited you are, remind me of my dad and me." I just shook my head hard, and all the frustrations of living with Dad exploded, and I yelled at Dad, "I hate the money thing, don't talk to me anymore I said, you should sell the goddamn coins and do something else, okay? Anything!" Dad didn't say anything at the time, but to this day, I can't forget the look of pain on his face, Finally Pa turned and walked back to the study.I broke Dad's heart. Although I told myself in my heart that I didn't mean it, I knew very well that it was just deceiving myself.From that day on, Pa seldom mentioned anything about coins.me too.But there is a deeper and deeper gap between us father and son, even to the point where we have nothing to say face to face.A few days later, I found out that the only photo of us together was gone, and Dad seemed to think that anything that reminded me of coins would make me angry.Maybe that was true back then, I figured Dad probably lost that photo, but I still didn't really care. Growing up to this age, I never thought about joining the military.Although Northeast California is home to the most military bases in the United States, there are seven different bases nearby just a few hours' drive from Wilmington.I used to think that I would join the army when I had nowhere to go. After all, who would want to be ordered around by a few soldiers with haircuts for the rest of their lives?Outside of ROTC, at least me, and a lot of people in school, never thought about being in the military.Good students go to North Carolina or North Carolina State University, and bad grades stay in their hometown after graduation, changing from one bad job to another, drinking beer every day, and trying to shirk all possible responsibilities. I belong to the latter.In the years after high school, I changed jobs, doing odd jobs at Outback Steakhouse, a ticket collector at a movie theater, an unloader at Staples, frying muffins at Muffin House, working at several restaurants. Worked as a cashier in a small souvenir shop in a tourist area.Spent every penny I earned, had no interest in climbing into management, and ended up getting fired no matter what I did.For a while I didn't give a damn.I live my own life, always sleeping late; the most important part of the day is surfing.Because you still live at home, you don't need rent, food, insurance, or furniture.Also, my friends are not much different from me.I don't remember any unpleasantness, but I quickly found life boring, except for surfing (in 1996, when Hurricanes Fran and Bertha hit North Carolina, the waves were some of the best in years).It's just that it's boring to hang out in a bar called "Hot" every time after surfing.I began to realize that every night was actually the same.It's all drinking beer in a bar, and then you will meet someone from high school, and then ask me what I am doing, and tell me what they are doing, and you don't have to use your brain to know that we are both eating and dying .Even if some people live out by themselves and tell me they like to clean gutters, wash windows, or work as porters, I never believe it.Because I know very well that these jobs are definitely not the careers that these people have dreamed of since childhood.I may not be a hardworking student, but I'm not stupid. I dated dozens of women during that time.The most indispensable thing in "hot network" is women.Most are fleeting relationships with little meaning or memory.I use women and let them use me, without genuine emotional involvement.The only relationship that lasted a few months was with a girl named Lucy.Before we drifted apart, I really thought I was in love with her.Lucy, one year older than me, is a student at North Carolina's Wilmington campus. After graduation, she wants to work in New York.On the last night we were together, Lucy told me: "I care about you, but you and I are completely different people, you should be able to do more, I don't know why, but you would rather just hang around all day." Lucy He hesitated before continuing: "Besides, I never knew if you really liked me." I knew she was right.After a while, Lucy got on a plane and left without bothering to say goodbye to me.A year later, I asked her parents for a phone number and called her. After talking for 20 minutes, I found out that Lucy was engaged to a lawyer and was going to get married in June. That call affected me more than I expected.I just lost my job that day, yes, again, so as usual, I went to "hot" to relieve my emotions.It's the same bunch of idle thugs in the bar, and it strikes me that I really don't want to be like this again, spending a pointless night pretending there's nothing wrong with my life.I ended up buying six cans of beer and sitting by the beach.For the first time in many years, I seriously started looking back at what I had done and wondered if I should listen to my dad and go to college.But having been away from school for so long, the thought of going back to class felt both absurd and foreign.I don't know if it was fate or bad luck, just happened to be two marines jogging past, looking young, strong, exuding ease and confidence.I told myself that if those two could do it, so could I. In the next few days, I really thought about it, and in the end, my decision still had something to do with Dad.Of course not because we discussed it, we didn't talk at all back then.Walking through the kitchen one night, I saw Dad sitting at the study table, as usual.But this time I really looked at him carefully, only to find that almost all of Dad's hair was gone, and the rest around the ears were all white.Dad is about to retire, and I suddenly realized that after Dad has done so much for me, I really can't let him down anymore. So I joined the army.I originally wanted to join the Marine Corps. After all, this area of ​​​​North Carolina often sees these people.These GIs from Camp Lejeune or Cherry Point are often seen at Wrightsville Beach.But then I picked the Army, I just figured either way, I'd get the gun.But in the end it was just bad timing: when I went to register, the Marine Corps recruiting guy had gone to lunch and was out of the office, though the Army recruiting office was still open, just across the street.In the end, my decisions should have been haphazard rather than the result of careful planning.I remember signing the dotted line at the bottom of the application and walking out the door and the guy from the recruiting office patted me on the back and welcomed me into the army, wondering what the hell I'd done.It was the end of 1997, when I was twenty years old. Recruit training at Fort Benning was as miserable as I had imagined.The whole training is to thoroughly humiliate everyone, and to thoroughly brainwash everyone, no matter how unreasonable the request is, so that everyone can obediently obey the order.Compared to most people, I got used to it very quickly.After training, I chose to join the infantry regiment.The next few months were field training, with trips to Louisiana and, of course, the obligatory Fort Bragg.The combat skills learned at that time were to destroy things or take lives in the fastest way.After a while some of my unit, the 1st Infantry Division, nicknamed the Red First Column, were sent to garrison Germany.I don't speak a word of German, but it doesn't matter, everyone I deal with speaks English.Transferring to Germany was easy at first, but the stress of army life soon began.First to Macedonia in 1999, then to Kosov, where he stayed until the end of the spring of 2000.The salary of the military career is not much, but there is no rent, no food expenses, even if the salary is received, there is no place to spend the check.For the first time in my life, I had money in the bank, not too much, but enough to live on. The first time I went home from vacation, I was so bored that I was going crazy; the second time I went to Las Vegas.There was a brother in the team who was from there, and the other three of us went to his parents' house to play the floor.At that time, the deposit was probably almost spent.Wait until the third vacation, after returning from Kossov.I desperately needed a break, so I decided to go home and hope that the boring days would really calm me down.Because of the distance and jet lag, my dad and I seldom talked on the phone.But Dad's letters were always postmarked on the first of every month.These letters were not like other brothers' letters, unlike those from mothers or sisters or wives, without too intimate details, without sentimentality, and never said anything that missed me.Dad never mentioned the coin again.The letters always told me about changes in the neighborhood, and wrote a lot about the weather.I wrote to Dad about that frightening experience in the Balkans; Dad wrote back saying he was glad I was alive, but not much else.From Dad's choice of words, I read that he meant that he didn't want to know too much about the dangers I experienced.The fact that I was at the front terrified him, and I learned to skip the scary details.In my reply, I started telling Dad that standing guard was without a doubt the most boring job ever, and that the funnest thing I'd done the past few weeks was just count how many cigarettes the guy on the watch could smoke in one night.Dad always ends his letters by saying he'll write to me again soon, and he never disappoints me.I knew a long time ago that my dad was a much better man than me. I've matured a lot in the past three years, yeah, I know I'm a stereotype: a punk before the army, a mature man after the army, crap.But in the army, everyone is forced to grow up fast, especially someone like me who joins the infantry.The army handed you a bunch of priceless weapons, other people entrusted their precious lives to you, and if you messed up, the punishment was much worse than no dinner.Of course, being in the army comes with paperwork and boredom; almost everyone in the army is a heavy smoker, and it's almost impossible to speak without profanity.Plus, the stereotype is that soldiers have boxes of adult magazines under their beds; professional soldiers like me have to deal with pre-college prep officers who everyone thinks we're Nyans with low IQs Deta primitive.But in the military, you will also learn the most important lesson in life, which is to be responsible for yourself, and to take responsibility well.You cannot say no to an order.Let's be honest, everyone is risking their lives.One wrong decision and the brother will die.The military operates on this model.Many people fail to understand why soldiers can risk their lives on the battlefield every day, or even fight for some motives that they cannot accept.I gotta say, not every soldier is like that.I have fought side by side with soldiers from all over the world. I have met people who hate the army, and I have also met people who volunteered to join the army; I have met geniuses and idiots.But at the end of the day, we're all for each other, for friendship, not for our country or anything patriotic, and certainly not because we've been trained to be some kind of killing machine, just for that brother who's right next to you.You're fighting for a friend to save his life, and it's mutual; all relationships in the military are based on that simple premise. But like I said before, I've changed a lot.Before I joined the army, I was a heavy smoker. During recruit training, I coughed so badly that I almost coughed up my lungs.Unlike most of the people on the team, I later quit smoking and haven't touched it for more than two years.The same goes for alcohol, try not to be greedy now, one or two bottles of beer a week is enough, sometimes it’s okay if you don’t drink it for a whole month.In the army, I performed well. I was promoted from chief soldier to corporal, and half a year later to sergeant major, which also let me know that I really have the ability to lead.I was responsible for leading the other brothers in the fire battle. My team caught an important war criminal in the Balkans. The commander recommended me to go to the officer candidate school. There's also a whole lot of paperwork, which I'm not quite sure I really want.Apart from surfing, I hadn't done much exercise before joining the army; by the third furlough, I had gained twenty pounds of muscle and the belly fat had disappeared.When I'm free, I'm mostly running, boxing, and lifting weights.My partner in the gym is Tony, a muscular man from New York, who speaks not by talking, but by yelling; he also guarantees that tequila is the most aphrodisiac, but he is my best brother on the team.Tony also convinced me to get tattoos on both arms like him. Every day in the army, I feel more and more distant from the past. I also read a lot of books.People in the army spend more time reading books.Everyone would exchange books and borrow them from the library. In the end, the covers of the books were all tattered.I'm not saying I've become a pedant, because I'm not.I have no interest in Chaucer, Proust, or Dostoevsky, nor in the other great dead writers.Most of the books I read are suspense novels or horror novels, as well as Stephen King. Recently, I especially like Xi Yasen because his writing is fluent and easy to read, and he is very funny.I always feel that if these books are designated to be read in school English classes, there will be more people in the world who love to read. Unlike my brethren, I prefer to remain single and shun all the company of the opposite sex.Sounds weird, right?Isn't it normal for a man in his prime and in the masculine army to want to relax with a female companion?Not for me.Several people I knew dated and married locals when they were stationed in Uzburg.But I have heard too many such things and know that this kind of marriage is difficult to last.In general, a military career is a stressful marriage.I know this very well after seeing too many examples of divorce ending.But having said that, if I meet a very special person, of course I don't mind, but I just haven't met.And Tony just couldn't figure it out. "You have to come with me," Tony tried to persuade, "You never came here once." "I'm not in the mood." "How could it be? Sabine guarantees that her friends are straight, tall, and Blonde hair and likes to drink tequila." "Ask Don to come with you. I'm sure he'll want to." "Castro? No way, Sabine can't stand him." I didn't say anything . "Just have a good time!" I shook my head, thinking I'd rather be alone than go back to being the same person I was before.But I really wonder if I'm going to be like Dad, as independent as a monk. Tony knew he couldn't convince me, so he didn't hide the disgust on his face when he walked out the door. "Sometimes I really don't understand you." Dad came to pick me up, didn't recognize me at first, and when I patted him on the shoulder, he almost jumped up in fright.Dad is thinner than I thought.Instead of giving me a hug, he shook my hand and asked me how the flight was going.But then, we didn't know what to say, so we could only walk out of the terminal together.It feels a little weird to go home, and I seem to be disoriented all of a sudden, and I feel a little anxious, similar to the last time I was on vacation.Walked to the parking lot, dumped our luggage in the trunk, and saw a sign on the bumper of Dad's car, telling everyone to "support our military."I'm not sure what Dad thinks, but I'm still very happy. When I got home, I put my luggage in the previous room.Everything in the house is exactly as I remember it, from the dusty trophies on the shelves to the half-full bottle of Westfield bourbon hidden in the panty drawer; the same goes for the rest of the house.There was still a blanket over the couch; the green fridge in the kitchen looked like it just didn't deserve it; the TV only had four poorly received channels.Dad cooked spaghetti for dinner; Fridays were pasta.At the dinner table we tried to chat. "It doesn't feel bad to be home." Dad's smile was short. "That's good." Dad took a sip of the milk, which we always serve with dinner.Then Dad continued to concentrate on eating. "Do you remember Tony?" I tried to go on. "I think I mentioned it in my letter. Anyway, he said he should be in love. The girl's name is Sabine, and she has a six-year-old daughter. I warned Tony, say it's a bad idea, but he won't listen." Pa carefully sprinkled cheese powder over the noodles, as if to make sure that every corner got a regular amount. "Oh, that's it." Then I ate noodles, and no one spoke.I drank some milk and ate a few mouthfuls of noodles.The clock on the wall was ticking. "You will be retiring in August this year, you should be very happy?" I said, "Think about it, you can finally take a vacation and go abroad for fun." I almost blurted out that I could come to Germany to see me, but I still didn't say it.I knew Dad didn't want to, and I didn't want to embarrass him.We rolled up the noodles with forks at the same time, and Dad seemed to be thinking about the best answer. "I don't know," Dad said finally. I gave up trying to talk to Dad, the only sound on the table was the sound of the knife and fork hitting the plate.After dinner, we split up and went about our own business.I was so exhausted from the long flight that I fell asleep in my room, but woke up every hour as if I were still on base.When I got up in the morning, Dad had already gone to work.I read the newspaper while eating breakfast, and tried to call my old friends, but they couldn't get through.Finally dug my surfboard out of the garage and hitched a ride down the road to the beach.The waves aren't too good, but it doesn't matter.Haven't surfed in three years, and it was really rusty at first, but even a little bit of sea-smelling water makes me wish I could be stationed at the beach. It was the beginning of June in 2000, and the temperature was already very high, but the sea water was very cool.Standing on a surfboard and looking from this vantage point, I saw quite a few people on the beach moving things into houses on the dunes.As I said, Wrightsville Beach was always full of small families who rented a house and went on vacation for a week or two, though sometimes there were college students from Church Hill or The Lowry.The latter is always more interesting, and I noticed some girls in bikinis on the back terrace of one of the houses starting to bask in the sun.As I watched them and enjoyed the view, I caught up with another big wave, and it was like that all afternoon, in my own little world. I thought about going to "Zheluo" to have a look, but later I gave up my idea, because apart from me, there should be no change in that place and the people who will appear there.So I bought a bottle of beer in a small shop by the sea, and sat on the pier to enjoy the sunset.Most of the anglers have gone home, and those who are still here are either cleaning the catch or throwing the unwanted fish back into the sea.After a while the color of the sea changes from gray-blue to orange-red and then golden.A few pelicans hover above the breaking waves far from the pier, and below, playful dolphins skim across the water.I know that tonight is the first day of the full moon. After being a soldier for a long time, this kind of thing has become instinctive.At that time, I didn't have any special thoughts in my head, and whatever came to my mind was whatever I wanted.Believe me, no matter how I think about it, I just never thought that I would meet a girl who makes my heart beat. 就在此时，我看到她往码头走来。应该说是她们，金发那个比较高，另一个棕发的很漂亮，两个年纪应该都比我小，很可能是大学生。两人都穿短裤和背心。棕发女孩还背着一个很大的编织袋子，就是有时候夏天去海滩会带的那种大袋子。她们越走越近，我可以听见她们边走边谈笑，听起来就是一副要过暑假的轻松模样。 当她们走到近处时，我叫了一声："嘿！"这招实在不高明，应该也不管用。 金发那个证明我是对的，她看我一眼，打量我手上的冲浪板和啤酒罐，转转眼珠一副不耐烦的样子；棕发女孩倒是出乎意料地友善。 "哈啰，陌生人。"她笑着回答我，"我想今天的海浪很不错吧！"棕发女孩指指我的冲浪板这样说。 她的响应让我一下子失神，声音里有一种出乎我预期的善意。棕发女孩跟金发女孩继续往码头尽头走去，我发现自己盯着她靠在栏杆上，心里天人交战，不知道要不要过去自我介绍，不过想想还是算了。这两个都不是我喜欢的型，更确切一点说，我应该也不是她们会喜欢的那种年轻小伙子。我吞了一大口啤酒，努力不要再往那边瞄。 虽然试过了，可是我的视线还是忍不住回瞟那个可爱的棕发女孩。我不想听她们在讲什么，可是那个金发的声音很尖，实在很难不听到。金头发不停讲着某个叫布莱德的家伙，说自己有多爱他、说自己的姊妹会是北卡大最好的、学期末办的舞会是历来最成功的一次，还说其它人明年都应该参加，不止这样，金发那个还讲到自己很多朋友都勾搭上兄弟会最糟的混蛋，有人后来怀孕了，不过都是那女的自己的错，大家已经警告过她之类云云。棕发女孩没说什么，看不出她是觉得好玩还是无趣，不过三不五时会笑出声。我又在她的声音里听到友善和体贴，让我彷佛有种回家的感觉，这实在没什么道理。把啤酒放在一边，我注意到棕发女孩把袋子放在栏杆上。 这两个女生就在那边站了大概十分钟，然后两个男的从码头另一边走过来，看起来就是大学兄弟会里典型的小伙子。一个穿粉色、另一个穿橘色的，都是鳄鱼牌的马球衫，还有百慕达五分裤。我马上就觉得其中一个就是布莱德，那个金发妞说的家伙。两个人都拿着啤酒，靠近的时候一副鬼鬼祟祟的样子，好像要吓那两个女生。我想女生应该是在等这两个家伙，待会儿经这两人一吓，尖叫几声，意思意思打几下出气，一行人就会打道回府，一路笑闹着回去，就像典型大学情侣会做的事。 事情应该会像我预测的一样，因为那两个小伙子所做的果然如我所料。两人一靠近，就一大步跳到女生背后，大叫一声。两个女生也很买帐地尖叫，打了两人几下。两个男的打闹一阵，粉色上衣男的啤酒还洒了出来。他往前靠着栏杆，很靠近棕发女孩的袋子，两只脚交叉，双手抱在背后。 "嘿，我们待会儿要在海滩上生火。"橘色上衣男说，手环住那个金头发的，亲亲她的脖子，"两位小姐要回去了吗？" "要走了吗？"金头发的问朋友。 "好啊！"棕发女孩回答。 粉色上衣男靠着栏杆撑起上身，手大概去碰到了那个袋子，因为那包包就这么滑下去掉进海里。扑通一声，好像鱼跳出水面的声音。 "那是什么东西？"粉色上衣男转头问。 "我的包包！"棕发女孩倒抽一口气，"我的包包被你推到海里了！" "抱歉啦！"听起来还真是不怎么抱歉。 "我的钱包在里面！" 粉色上衣男眉头一皱："我说了我很抱歉。" "你得把我的包包捡回来，趁现在它还没沉下去！" "别傻了，来不及了。"粉色上衣男说，还把手放在棕发女孩的手上阻止她。"跳下去太危险了，海里可能有鲨鱼，那不过是个袋子嘛，我给妳买个新的。" "我需要那个包包！全部的钱都在里面！" 我知道这不关我的事，但是我跳起来、冲向码头边，只想到："噢，管他去死……"