Chapter 9 Chapter 7 The Dangers of Viz and Pimento

"I don't understand! You said your hiccups had stopped. When I called you on Sunday, you said you were fine." I sat in my office, poking a pen into a yellow pad while I talked. .Panic had made me angry, and Greer was walking up and down the corridor. "I'm fine! But last night it started again, and I played all night. I called my doctor this morning and she sent me to St. Vincent for some tests." "How long are you going to be there?" "She said it would take a few days." "Okay... what tests are they... going to do? What kind of disease?" I stuck the pointed end of a folder into my fingernail, and the blood came out.No one goes to the hospital for a hiccup!

"They don't know either, they've been pumping my blood all day... hiccups." He paused, and I heard him inhale, followed by another hiccup. "Okay, I'll go there after get off work." "No, don't bother! You can't do anything here." He thought it would be useless if I went, which made me feel a little disappointed, but it also made me feel a kind of relief.I couldn't help feeling ashamed, and I asked, "What about Virgil?" "My brother will take care of him." "What about your job? Didn't they ask you to go to work today?"

"I said I have something urgent at home." I heard the noise of voices after the phone call. "I've got to hang up, they want me to go downstairs for an MRI and talk to you later. Goodbye!" I could hear the strain in his voice, and it made my heart ache.I really want to protect him from those doctors torturing him like that. I slowly put down the phone and sat there for a minute.Finally I looked at Greer. "I don't know what's going on; neither does he." Greer sat down across from me, legs crossed. "So, is he all right?" she asked. "I have no idea."

She gave me a look she had never seen before.At this moment, I don't need that look. Foster told the group at the panel that he had kicked the Brit out.He gave him a check for ten thousand dollars and then ordered him to disappear from his life.People asked him how he came to make up his mind, and he gave me a slight but meaningful look, then mumbled, "I just figured out what I want." I talked about Pighead, not much. "Is loss a feeling?" I asked the crowd. "I'm sorry to hear that," Foster said once we were outside. "Thank you." I said, I suddenly felt very small.

"I wish I knew more about you," he said softly, "so I could hug you." "You don't have to," I paused, "I mean, you have to know more about me..." Foster opened his arms and I threw myself into his embrace, resting my head on his shoulder.He didn't hug me like those drunks hug each other after meetings.He didn't hug me like he was just a junkie I'd met three times in group therapy and had coffee once; he hugged me like we'd known each other our whole lives! Instead of patting me on the back and taking it away four or five seconds later, he held me tight, breathing slowly and heavily, as if he was teaching me how to breathe.

"I'm scared." I said on his shoulder. "afraid of what?" "everything." "Do you know what you need?" I feel it approaching.He'll say, you want a blowjob.He's just another Pighead after all, no different than any other gay man who just wants to let his lust out. "What?" I wish I didn't know. He gently pushed me away so he could see my face. “You want a sandwich with potato chips, Viz cheese and pimento, not low-fat potato chips. You want the real thing.” Foster lived a few blocks from my office, on the forty-seventh floor of a high-rise apartment building.His home is beautiful, full of boxes and cabinets full of books and assorted khaki pants.Apparently we probably had the same decorator.

His answering machine kept flashing, and he walked over. "Oh my God," he said, hitting play. "You have fifteen new messages..." Foster paused, then deleted.The old-fashioned cassette player started whirring. "Kelly for sure. Since I kicked him out, he's been calling twenty times a day, asking to move back. Or asking for more money." "Oh, so sad to hear that." I totally understand how he feels. He went into the kitchen, opened the refrigerator, and took out the ingredients for the sandwich. "Can I use your phone?" "Of course." He said with his head in the refrigerator.

"Where are you?" Haiding asked me like a parent. "I'm at Foster's. We're going to make some sandwiches and talk." "You're in that dope house? Get some sandwiches?" He sounds like I've just told him I'm wearing NAMBLA, America's notorious pedophile organization, Boys' Sex Federation.T-shirt dangling maliciously on the edge of the playground. "Anyway, I don't want you to worry about where I am. I'll be home in a minute." I hung up the phone before he could speak again. Foster emerged from the kitchen carrying two sandwiches and a small pile of disposable plates. "You can't eat a sandwich with Viz cheese and pimento in china, you have to use a paper plate," he said, placing the paper plate on the coffee table.I sat on the couch and he sat on the chair.

Foster talked about Kelly.Talk about how crazy Kelly is; talk about how he wishes he'd stop harassing him on the phone; talk about how he wants to get a dog; talk about how he misses South Carolina.He also mentioned that he worked as a waiter in the "Time" cafe.He wasn't short on money at all, but it would give him something to do and distract from during the night when he most wanted to do drugs.He gushed.I've eaten the whole sandwich and he's only eaten half.His knees were jerking up and down, his eyes twitched.Suddenly, instead of a movie star, he looked like a drug addict.

I was surrounded by an inexplicable sense of comfort.He was so disorganized and confused that I watched him as if I were watching a wonderful art film at the "Pavilion" movie theater on East 13th Avenue. "Are you going to talk about Pighead?" he asked at last. I swallowed a potato chip, "No." "That's good," he said. I laughed and ate another potato chip.I don't want to talk because talking makes things real. "You know what, when I walked into the group late that day, I noticed you right away." I swallowed the potato chips and he heard the sound in my throat as I swallowed.

"I noticed you right away, too," I said, "I mean, I noticed you because you were late." I said it as calmly as a piece of wood. We fell into a tense silence, trying not to look at each other.That's when the phone rang, "Oh shit." He took it, "What do you want, Kelly?" he growled, and he rolled his eyes, "No, Kelly." silence. "I said, no!" There was another silence. "Goodbye, Kelly." Foster hung up, then reached down and unplugged the phone cord from the back. "Sorry, where were we talking?" We talked about you telling me that you've been lying all this time, that you're not a drug addict at all, that you really are as sweet and warm as you look, and that your cold celebrity has nothing to do with the real you. "I don't know, I can't remember, that's a nice sandwich, thanks." "You are too polite, do you feel better now?" "I'm better! Really, no more fear." "it is good." "I have to go." "Oh, leaving now?" he asked.I look at him, the junkie, but I can't move, longing to stay a little longer. "Let's go later." I changed my words. "Well," he said, "it'll be better later than it is now." Then he said he was sorry, he needed to change his clothes, the logo on the back of his collar was hurting him.He said he would be back later and asked me if I would mind. "No," I said, and I almost blurted out again, Shall I change it for you? He disappeared down the corridor.After a while, I saw him come back with a white T-shirt.He went into the bathroom and turned on the light.I can see him in a mirror with an open medicine cabinet door, I don't think he can see me looking at him, I see him leaning his head against the mirror, probably looking at the blackheads on his nose.I saw him unbutton his shirt, take it off and hang it on the shower curtain rod.His muscular chest was covered with black chest hair, one of which ran down and burrowed into the waist of his jeans in a perfect curve.His stomach constricts as he pulls the white T-shirt over his head.This is a man that even straight men would want to see.They would pay nine dollars and fifty cents for a ticket, and seven dollars for a bucket of popcorn and a small Coke to admire him. He gently turned off the light and walked briskly into the room.This time he sat on the sofa, but in a corner far away from me. "It's better now," he said with a smile. His white T-shirt was stretched tight by his biceps, his nipples protruded from behind the cotton, and I could see a shadow of black chest hair behind it. "Want to see my photo album?" he asked. "certainly." He got up and walked to the bookcase, and when he came back he sat down directly next to me.His knee touched mine, and he opened the album on our laps.He explained to me one by one: aunt from so-and-so, uncle so-and-so, cousin of so-and-so... I didn't listen to a word, because I just looked at his hands and arms.I was mesmerized by the fine hairs that stretched from his forearm to every finger. I've never been so captivated before, as if every cell in my body was magically attracted to him.My cells want to be friends with his cells, to become one.I suddenly recovered from this obsession, and slowly remembered what happened when I was thirteen years old. After Berkman raped me, he became my friend and we went for walks every night.A week later, he told me that his world had been completely changed by me, that he found out that he had fallen in love with me, and that he was sorry for what happened the night I went to his house to see the photos. He would usually sneak into my room in the middle of the night and we would have sex.His mouth tasted like walnut, and he would always look at me with tears in his eyes and say, "You're so beautiful, so beautiful." I was thirteen and he was my everything.I hated school and never went to it.I was with him all the time, and gradually, he also hated my inseparability. Two years later, we had a falling out. "I'll either kill you or I'll kill myself." One night, he went out to buy film for his camera and never came back. He never heard from him, and my thoughts and resentment towards him gradually disappeared with the wind.At the time, everything seemed to be going with the flow. "Auggie, are you okay?" Foster asked worriedly. "what?" "Are you okay? You seem to be absent-minded! I hope these photos are not too boring for us to look at." He closed the album and put it back on the bookcase. "Oh no, I'm sorry. It's not that, it's something else, I was just thinking about something." It's weird how, since quitting drinking, memories keep popping into my head uninvited.And at this moment, I just can't help wanting his attention, wanting him around. "What do you think?" "I don't want to talk about it, it's just old stuff. There was a picture that reminded me of something, and then I lost my mind." He sat back beside me. "Come here," he said, pulling me into his arms, putting his hand on my head. "Don't think about it anymore," he reassured, "just close your eyes." Oh, so you can stay away from that time? At that time, I stayed by the phone all day and all night for a whole year.Every time it rang, I knew it was him, it was Berkman.I read over and over again the love letter he wrote to me on white lined paper in perfect handwriting: "I believe that you are God, the essence of life, the only God. And yet you torture me with your jeweled eyes that you throw at others instead of me; Your charming smile torments me. I love you like crazy, but you step on it again and again, you humiliate me with all your might. You are only thirteen years old, but you seem to have lived many times, and you use your Used to play with my feelings over and over again. You are my creator and I am crazy about you! Only you! But now I hate you and I hate you for abusing your power over me." Foster's hand moved from my head to my chest, and his fingers began to move gently over me.I can't believe this is happening, I can't let this happen, I shouldn't be dating anyone in the group.There is no worse crime for a recovering alcoholic. "I have to go, I have to go." I can't stay another minute, I better go. "Are you OK?" "Ok……" We stand up.I reached out and pulled the doorknob, but the door didn't respond.He reached out, twisted, and the door swung open.We stood there, embarrassed. He hugged me and I didn't refuse. "You smell good," he said. "You too." I utter only monosyllabic words. He hugged me and didn't let go. "You feel fine." "The same to you." We all felt it, it was impossible not to feel it, but we all kept our mouths shut. I pushed him away and said, "Okay, bye! Thanks for the sandwich and everything." "It was a pleasure to be with you." I walked out the door and walked to the elevator.I turned around and he was still looking at me at the door.I really want to run back and show him my heart.But I didn't, I left.He's just a drug addict I ran into in the group and I can't have that kind of affection for him. On the taxi ride home, I found myself glued to the night—excited and guilty.The smell of his perfume still lingers in my nose. "You're clearly on your mind now," Haiding said, flipping through the chamomile tea bags in his mug. "You seem to be a little distracted." To be distracted is to spend your mind on other people and things instead of trying to be sober; and we should always put sobriety first.It is the instinct of drunkards to be distracted, and I am a good example. I am thinking about Foster now. "I know, but it won't be a big deal." "I don't like it when you say that. You're messing with a drug addict now, and that's an addiction." "We didn't get mixed up," I defended. "You said he hugged you on the sofa." "That's because I was sad at the time, he was a good man." hillbilly "Look, I'm not trying to make a judgment call, I just think it's a little uncool." I wish Hydin would disappear like a puff of smoke right now. "Heiding, don't teach me this again, or I'll wipe your face with cheese." "It looks like you're absolutely smitten with him," he said without fear. Yes, I am fascinated by him. "I didn't," I said. "It's your addiction at work. You're starving right now, and you need something to fill it up," he said, as if he were describing a horror sci-fi movie. "I was upset that Pighead was in the hospital, and Foster was just kind enough to enlighten me, that's all." "What did you say? Pighead is in the hospital?" I really want to drink, I really want to go out and drink now. "Yeah, he called me today when I was at work and the doctor wanted to do some tests on him and he was hiccupping all the time. That's all I knew." "Oh! God, I'm so sorry. Is he all right?" "I don't know. They're trying to find out what's wrong. Yes, he's fine, I'm sure he'll be fine. They're just trying to find out about the hiccups." Haiding looked at me with infinite sympathy. And I know myself that the Pighead affair saved me from Heading's questioning.I'm shamefully using him as a cover, and I'm really heinous. Think of your head as a dangerous neighbor, and don't take risks by yourself, I remember Ray once said to me. My office door was left wide open, which immediately filled me with doubts.I always lock the door, and even if I forget it, the cleaning staff will.I threw my things on the couch and walked over to the table.I saw a yellow note posted on the computer screen: drink, see you at the concert hall at nine o'clock tonight.Here is another typesetting: A glass of wine can't hurt anyone. I grabbed the phone and dialed Greer's extension, but she wasn't there.I went to the bookcase and found that the advertising schedule we made for Pizza Hut had been tampered with.These were made last year and we never threw them away.So I looked at that picture of the deep dish pizza for a year when I was free, and now it's gone.It immediately occurred to me that this might be Rick's doing.Rick might look at our past schedules for inspiration.You know sometimes you can steal ideas from one place and put them in another. I was always inspired, but Rick was not, he was always struggling.I can write a copy draft in minutes, Rick can't.He needs to meditate and brood all day and all week.Even so, he can't come up with anything brilliant, usually his ideas are reused and reprocessed from some old magazines. Instantly, I had an image of him sneaking into my office while I was away.He must have fumbled with these schedules and then savagely called me a piece of crap, called me self righteous, called me a drunk.After he's done venting, he has to leave the note behind. "I can't believe you came earlier than me." Greer suddenly appeared at my door, still panting slightly after getting off the train. "Look." I pointed to the computer and said. She walked to the computer and took a closer look. "Maybe someone is playing a prank on you." She looked up and said. "Hoax?" I said, and pulled out the Pizza Hut boards and placed them neatly against the wall. "Oh yes, maybe someone like you." She smiled mischievously. "Maybe the new accountant," she said. "The one with the goatee." "Greyer, this is not as simple as a prank. This is simply perverted." Greer tore off the note. "Why are you always so cynical?" she said. "Maybe someone really wants to drink with you. Maybe you should go on a date." I told her that those billboards had been moved. "It's absurd," she said, "that the cleaning woman probably dusted them. God knows how long you haven't dusted them." "I think Rick did it," I said. "Rick? Why would he do that?" "Think about it, those beer commercials, his fake caring expression, and this one now. You and I both know that he has no skills, he just wants to steal ideas." Greer thought about it. "I don't think Rick is that smart to come and do this," she said. "Rick is stupid, but he's no harm." I wasn't sure, so all day I'd been watching him for clues.When we met in the hallway, I looked at him and he looked at me, smiling.But he kept staring at me, and didn't look back naturally, which made me suspicious.I wanted to expose him, but I was afraid that if he didn't, I would really be taken for a crazy drunk by them. I also made two trips to the new accountant's office.I pretended to be natural and pretended to be walking, and I wanted to see if it was true, as Greer said, that person was just playing a prank.When I walked past him the third time, he looked up from his desk and asked, "What's the matter? Is there anything I can do?" I had no choice but to bite the bullet and walk in, "Oh, I want to ask if you have any information on beer manufacturers." I said. He laughed: "No, it's not here, but I can get you a copy. I'll arrange for someone to deliver it to you." I noticed a framed picture on his desk with a beautiful woman in it.The woman stood on the beach, raised her head and laughed, the straw hat on her head was almost blown away by the wind. "That's fine." I said. "real?" "right." Later, when I saw Greer, I told her the note wasn't from the accountant."That photo doesn't represent anything, it could be his sister," Greer said. "Greer, even if it's her sister, it's impossible for him to put such a photo on his desk. Believe me, it must be his wife or girlfriend." "Maybe," Greer said, "maybe he's confused now, maybe he's engaged, but not very confident; maybe he's sexually repressed or something and needs to find someone..." "Oh my God." "It's possible. Maybe his family is under too much pressure, and that girl put too much pressure on him, so he wants to find someone to drink and talk to." "Greyer," I said, "you're doing the right thing. I've never met anyone with as much creativity and creativity as you." Greer seemed to be very satisfied with himself: "Of course. You are not the only one who can think like that and have won so many advertising awards." "My name is Augustine. I'm a heavy drinker," I announced to the room. "Today is my ninetieth day." The drunks on Perry Street applauded.I sat on the rostrum, because I have not touched a drop of alcohol for 90 days, and I came here today to "receive the gift".I glanced at Haiding, who was smiling at me. I suddenly found myself tensing up, my throat dry.Although I have experienced many battles and have presented advertising ideas to clients and leaders many times in full view, I still feel scared.I couldn't speak, and my hands were wet with sweat.I don't know where to start or what to say.My mind was a mess, but I still twitched my mouth and words came out.I talked about what I was like when I was drunk; how I started with that Faberge egg exhibit and how I was forced by my boss to go to rehab; I talked about rehab and life after I got out. Also, I had a crush on a handsome hairy-armed junkie in my group.I didn't say it, I did say that I'm thankful for the people in my life, for being sober now, and stuff like that. "You're amazing," Heading told me later. "How did you see that?" "You're so frank and real, without saying a word." He patted me on the back. "Really? I'm that good?" "Of course! You are really good!" "I was so relieved. I didn't know what I was talking about, I was actually thinking, if I shave my chest hair, how will it grow back?" Haiding turned around sharply, "What did you say?" "I mean, it's summer, should I bleach them? But then I thought, with the roots showing their original color, that would be horrible, it would be a shame. Blonde chest hair is actually nice, it looks natural , but if the hair roots are not bleached and the original color remains, it will look disgusting." Hai Ding looked at me with a smile and fear, perhaps out of fear. "You really scare me! Your shallowness is astonishing." "Let's go to India House," I said. At the restaurant on Fifth and Seventh Avenues, I started talking about Rick. "I thought your boss was Eleanor." He took a bite of the vegetable dumpling. "Rick is her partner and they work together." "Didn't you say that your work is going well? What's the matter?" I talked about how I found out last week that someone had put a beer ad ripped from a magazine in my drawer; I talked about the post. Haiding said in shock: "It's terrible!" "Rick's a scum, he's a homophobic, he's got nothing. He got Eleanor a couple of years ago, and she's too busy to realize he's nothing." Haiding took a long sip of water, "You have to keep an eye on that Rick." I will. "Come to my house at six o'clock, let's go to the group together." Foster called. I rushed into the taxi and ran away.The street seemed to be three times longer, preventing me from getting to him sooner. He opened the door with a towel around his waist and shaving cream on his face. "Come in, I'm almost done shaving, I'll be leaving right away." I stood in the door of his bathroom watching while he was shaving.The towel was so short that I could see the muscles in his legs flex every time he shifted his weight.Strong muscles, bronzed skin, and black body hair, he is a thick-haired individual.As he shaved, he watched me, his eyes roving from the sink, his face, and me.He smiled softly. "Are we going to be late?" he asked, the blade making the sound of a butter knife on sandpaper in his face. "No." I said without looking at my watch. Foster pulled the towel down from his waist, revealing his white panties. I can't help but wonder, is it okay for a member of the group to look at another member's panties like that?Am I off the rails? He bowed his head, washed his face, then stood up and wiped it with a towel. "All right." He came out and rubbed against my body intentionally or unintentionally. "Oh, sorry," he grinned, "I'm so clumsy." I followed him into the bedroom. "Am I wearing this... or this one?" he asked me, holding up a pair of black jeans and a pair of khakis. "Not good." I said. He raised an eyebrow—a gesture he must have practiced in front of the mirror for a long time (from Greer). "Okay." He said flatly, throwing both pants on the ground, and then he slowly approached me, and I made a gesture of retreating. "I mean you should wear sweatpants." I laughed. "Really?" He raised his arm and gently stroked my face, "It's so soft." He said. I hugged his waist and pulled him tightly towards me.He hugged me tightly and fell on the bed with me. "What's going on?" I asked, pointing to a small scar under his chin. He touched it lightly with his fingertips, "I had a drug addiction attack on the school bus when I was in school, and I hit my face on the steering wheel at that time." His earlobe is between my lips - I've forgotten what it's like to kiss someone.When I was with Pighead, every time I kissed him, I always felt that he didn't actually want to.This time is very different!Consensual feeling is not the same!Then, however, it dawned on me that I was about to kiss a member of my therapy team. "Foster, we're all crazy. What are we doing?" "You said you liked crazy people." "I know. But it shouldn't be me doing therapy with someone." I struggled to get up and he pushed me down. "Stay still," he said. I lay still, motionless, and closed my eyes; he put his hand on my chest. "What were you thinking?" he asked. I was thinking about Wendy, and about the consent form I signed, the consent form stating that I would not have sex with the group members. "Nothing." I lied. Foster kissed my neck, "Want to know what I was thinking?" "I don't know if I want to know." "No, I guarantee you want to know! Just ask me." He shook me. "Well, what are you thinking?" "Oh, that's good of you to ask. I'm thinking, I can't wait to see how those people react when we're late together." "You bastard. Come on, let's go." Foster laughed and I pulled him up and tossed him the khaki pants. "I'll come after you and sneak in," I said triumphantly. He pulls on his pants. "Oh, where's your adventurous spirit?" We took a taxi and headed for the city.All the way Foster held my index finger tightly, which he did unconsciously while looking out the window, which made me even sweeter.I checked my watch before walking into the group: we were fifteen minutes late. As soon as we pushed the door open, the conversation inside stopped abruptly and all heads turned.Foster walked ahead and whispered, "Sorry sorry! Please go on." I sat across from Foster, although there was an empty chair next to him.Panelist Pete picked up what had just been interrupted.I looked intently at Pete; and I stole a look at Foster, who was staring at me and laughing like a fool. This evening Haiding and I walked home after dinner.I can't help talking to myself: I don't know Linda Hunt, a famous American actress who won the Oscar for Best Supporting Actress in 1983 for "The Year of Living Dangerously".Which apartment do you live in.Because I'd read that she lived on Perry Street, and I'd seen her walk her dog.I was squatting on the floor shoveling Virgil's poop into a trash bag and she was standing there, almost face to face with me, asking how old my dog ​​was.When this Oscar winner, this big celebrity saw me, I was hunched over and shoveling shit in the street. As we walked forward a man in a wheelchair stopped us on the sidewalk in front of an upscale building, I thought he wanted money and ignored him.As I was walking, I noticed that Hai Ding had turned around—they were talking.I couldn't hear the content because I was far ahead.It annoys me that Hydin runs off to talk to a stranger like that.Haiding also waved to me and said, "This gentleman needs our help. He has been waiting for a strong man to pass by." I have great strength, so Haiding came to me.The man was also looking at me with all his attention, which made me very impatient and annoyed. Finally, the man said, "Thank you for helping me. If only you could lift me up the steps and open the door to my house." He took out his keychain and groped for the key with his half-paralyzed hand.I think you don't need to give me the key now; you can give it to me at the door.Now that I've decided to help him, I want to finish helping him sooner. "Wait for me, I'm going to park my wheelchair here on the steps," he said. When the wheelchair was parked, he flicked the switch to put it away.Then he told me to pull a chain from the trunk and lock it to the railing of the steps. I feel like I'm being manipulated, but I manage to smile.I reached into the trunk, found the chain, and locked the wheelchair.And he's sitting there, babbling, "Be careful, be gentle." I really want to say, shut the fuck up. Then he asked me to carry him home. "Just hug me from under my knees..." I couldn't hear a word because I just realized that I was going to carry this man up the steps and into his house.At this time he said again: "Gently from under the knee, like holding a child." I suddenly felt sick. I felt like I was hugging my own mother. My mother was paralyzed on the right side of her body due to a stroke ten years ago, so she is in a wheelchair.I have deliberately avoided seeing her, and the last time I saw her was a year and a half ago.I really couldn't stay a minute longer, and every time I stepped into her house, the desire to escape hit my face like a strong smell.I do nothing more than help her change a light bulb, push her across a bridge to buy some canned tuna, and disassemble or put something on her lap.I always turn things on and off, and move things around, as if she specifically needs me to do these things, as if she has accumulated these things for me to do, and it seems that they are specially prepared gifts for me.Of course, it's just some trivial things, but it always makes me feel very uncomfortable. I feel dirty every time I visit my mother.She was always informal, and her pajamas were always so thin that the flesh showed through.I even started to feel like every request she made was a pussy I didn't want to look at, something I was afraid to avoid. Her apartment is not as clean as ours used to be.When I was a kid, our house was always spotless.A single speck of dust on that teak dining table would have prompted a thorough house-cleaning. Just like hugging this man today, I also had to hug my mother.I'm going to carry her into a restaurant in full view, my face burning red with shame.Of all the people in the restaurant, she was the only one who needed two people to do the job of one. At the beginning she gave me the young me so cruelly to her insane doctor, now I am paralyzed, poor, just begging me? I don't go to see her because I'm a total stranger to her body.She seemed to reside in someone else's body, the body of a paralyzed woman.She worked so hard to give up her original body, but in the end she got such a weak and dilapidated body.I hate her because I think she does it on purpose.She acted impulsively and then regretted it; she seemed to think that by being so paralyzed she could regain attention. Of course, this is not the case in reality.She had gone to sleep one night and a capillary in her brain had burst, and then woke up and had to wave goodbye to her old life as if it were an old dream.My mother lived in the body of a paralyzed woman, and every time I hugged her, it was as if I was hugging a stranger, as if I was just visiting a shell.It's like a psychic who can often communicate with my dead mother.I feel especially awkward every time I use her bathroom.Because it wasn't the usual bleach or toilet cleaner smell in it, but another weird smell; the same goes for the kitchen.These rooms smell of paralysis, of crippled people. My mother never thought it was unusual for her teenage son to get a pedophile in his ass, so this woman couldn't expect anything from me - she wasn't entitled to have me change her light bulb.我十二岁时她把我送人，所以现在也别指望我回来。 但我还是帮了那个坐轮椅的男人。我一直爬了四段楼梯，把他抱回家。他趴在我身上，像一堆要洗的衣服一样无声无息。我一直把他送到家门口，然后伸进他口袋掏钥匙。我的手碰到他的死腿，仿佛是在猥亵地侵犯他，但是他对此毫无知觉，毫无反应，因而看上去像是已经习惯了被侵犯，也许还很欢迎，或者至少能容忍。当我一把把摸找像公寓大门的钥匙时，他指点道：“不是那把，不是那把，是铜的圆的那把。”当我把钥匙插进锁时，我吸了口气，做好准备迎接那种像条大狗般从房间里蹿出来的可怕、腐烂的瘫痪味道。 我打开门，眼前立刻一亮，出乎意料地看见一幕截然不同的场景。房间大且充满了艺术气息，一尘不染；塞满书的书柜一直耸立至天花板；墙上挂满黑框相片，应该是他以前的相片，他和朋友们站在海边，器宇轩昂；还有电脑、传真机……一个富丽堂皇的壁炉，里面没有木头，而是装满了丁香花。 他让我把他口袋里的零钱拿出来放到台子上。“不，不是那个，是放着钱的那个。”我把零钱和那些钱放到一起。我暗想，我可以拿走这些钱；我可以拿走那张毕加索的素描；我甚至还可以取了他的性命，他只能乖乖就范，毫无还手之力。他现在在靠信任而活，只能靠对别人的充分信任。他连连对我表示感谢，我笑起来，说没什么。 回家路上，我一直觉得浑身不自在，仿佛他身上什么东西传到了我身上。我不敢碰我的脸，担心那些微分子会传播到我脸上。我想起我自小认识的一个叫安妮的女孩，她四岁时有一天在院子里玩，把狗屎弄进了眼睛里，结果那只眼睛因为寄生虫感染而瞎了。想到这里我更加头皮发麻，感觉他的残缺、他的需要、他的依赖，都附到我身上来了。 他和我母亲一样，都是没有壳的蛤、蜗牛或龙虾——残废而暴露。 我每天都跟我母亲通电子邮件。如果不那样，她会感觉她被抛弃了。但今晚没有她的来信，很奇怪，这让我感觉怅然若失。我不禁想她为什么没有写信，但我并没有深想，我没继续想她是不是摔倒了，或者又中风了，让她左边也瘫痪了；我没继续想她是不是饿了或心情不好。我只是想起她那些曾在我电脑屏幕上闪烁的文字；我把它们都存进了以她命名的小文件夹。这是为数不多的我们之间关系的见证，我一条条存进去，标上日期和时间。我和她不仅是城市相隔，电脑相隔，还是时间的相隔。我还是常给她打电话，但我从来没给她寄过钱，尽管我的一小笔钱对她来说可能都是巨款。 这是在惩罚她吗？ I do not know either.只是有时候似乎很难找到邮票，似乎没时间写支票再寄出去。我对我母亲没有承诺，我只是对她像她对我一样。 有的时候我会忍不住幻想我有这样一个母亲：她身穿海军百褶裙和白衬衫，蓝色的毛衣从她肩膀上自然地搭下来；她上车把她的茶色皮包扔到车座上时，包里不会发出药瓶子撞击的声音；她会对时装，而不是各种医疗咨询，兴趣浓厚；她会有一头漂亮的披肩长发。 她会娇弱地对我说：“介意帮我拿这些瓶子吗？”她还会去农贸市场买鲜山羊奶，然后拿它洗澡。“它们对我皮肤有好处。”她总是振振有词地这么说。 当我把我全是A的成绩单给她看时，她会说：“虽然看上去没什么可骄傲的。不过就是多一点的这样努力，就会是普林斯顿大学和本宁顿学院的区别了。”接着她会诡秘地笑着对我说：“亲爱的，想想看，本宁顿都是些女同性恋去的地方呵。” 即使只是幻想，我有时也会恨我的母亲。我会认为她太斤斤计较，太追求物质。我会抱怨说：“你的眼睛已经整过一次了。” 而她会回答：“不！上次整的不好，所以这次才算。” 我的母亲还会跟开加盟店的人约会。 “你不是很喜欢开加盟店的吗？”她竭力要说服我。 “妈妈，他简直就是只猪。我看见他挠他屁股，然后还闻闻手，而且他手上毛太多。” 她还会每月定期去纽约市里“朝圣”一次，回来后会大包小包地全是从第五大道买的东西。而我顶多只会远远地瞻仰曼哈顿一番，把它看作没有屋顶的购物中心。我不会对它心存爱意，相反，我会告诫自己以后少来这个地方。 所以当我十八岁时，自然而然地，我申请了南加州大学。我的母亲会吓一跳，她会说：“天哪，你不会是真的吧？那所大学？你是怎么想的啊？你要读什么专业？快餐技术？冲浪？” 我会说：“不，妈妈，我要读昆虫学。” 她听了一定会生气，因为她听不懂这个词，她会说我在卖弄（当时我应该是个书呆子）。“哦，如果你想当医生，你不应该去这个学校。” “是虫子，妈妈，不是医生，是研究昆虫的。” 她会一下子呆住的，拿着指甲油刷子的手会停在半空。 "What did you say?" 我会看着她，耸耸肩。 "What did you say?" “虫子？” “是的，妈妈，昆虫学，虫子。” 然后她会把指甲油刷放回瓶子里，拧紧它。她会一边往她指甲上吹气，一边看看我。“我该怎么说呢？你真是年少冲动，你会后悔的。” 我会告诉她，这是我的选择。 然后她会立刻提醒我，是她在供我上学。 我会说我会自己挣钱。 于是她会问，怎么个挣法？ 我会说，我会打工存钱。 然后她会说我一定是疯了，要带我去看医生。她会说：“如果你不去，我就一毛钱也不给你了。” 我还是不答应，我会气愤地摔门而出。 然后我们会一个星期都不和对方说话。 但是最后，我还是去了普林斯顿大学。因为我的母亲终归在很多方面是对的。而且这样会使她很高兴，也会使生活更好，所以我会去的。况且研究虫子是不会有什么前途的，我还是应该尝试一下法律专业。 于是我的母亲会给我买只劳力士手表，作为犒赏。 我会在开学的第一天戴上它。 当然，我有可能到头来成了一个酒鬼律师，那个时候我才翻然醒悟，然后埋怨我母亲一直以来过度保护我了。所以到最后，事情还是扯平了。