Chapter 26 Under the locust tree D black box

One day, I had a lot of wrinkles, but my heart was still the heart of a little girl, and when the wind blew, my leaves rustled as usual... ——Singing happy songs in duet is always fun I remember that there were many locust trees at that time, with oval leaves, soft, finely divided, mottled, emerald green, like a group of trains.The white flowers bloom in clusters and toots at the intersection of March and April, swaying slightly in the shadow of dusk, as if they are far away. I was an ugly child wearing a small black floral red striped velvet basket with shoes. I took a small shovel with a triangular iron piece of wood to play with the soil under the locust tree, and occasionally watched ants crawling around.

A few grown-ups were a little far away from me, and what they talked about had nothing to do with me.But I have thought that I am their child, but I have not thought that one day I will be theirs. I already have colorful wishes for the future. I already have a friend, that is Forrest Gump, who plays with me with my head bowed.We all insisted that burying something under a great tree was the miracle we had to wait for later. A house at dusk, with red bricks and red walls. Because there is no rainy season, there is no moss under the wall. (When I grow up, I like this kind of red: nostalgic, warm, simple, and quiet, as if we are green leaves, and we have to lean on it to be comfortable.) When moss grows overgrown, A-Gump and I firmly believe that the house grows out, and it grows with it. Like a tree, unable to walk, unlike a tree—

The windows are its eyes. Our two houses are next to each other.Sometimes A-Gump's chicken would stand on the wall in the middle, its golden eye circles turned very charming, its crown and earlobes were bright red, and when I shooed it away with a "whistle--", it would "click" and fly to A-Gump. The Gan family went.Sometimes it doesn't fly, and its ass rushes towards me and pulls out a puddle of shit. In the evening, A-Gump came from the roof of his house to the roof of my house. The pagoda tree behind the house, its canopy surpassed the eaves, and its branches and leaves stretched over, casting mottled shadows.

"A-Gump, I don't know what happened to our box under the pagoda tree?" "Glazed rice——" A-Gump looked at me, with eyes like little black beans shining like the moon. "Forrest Gump, I can hear the sound of the sea when I put the conch shell in my ear, but do you think it is asleep in the box now?" "Forrest Gump, there is also a silver button of mine. It fell off my skirt. You said it was dreaming in the black box. Would it dream of me?" "Glazed rice—" A-Gump liked silence. "Your top, slingshot, and harmonica are in the black box, is there really a good place?" I stopped asking Forrest Gump, I asked about the leaves of the locust tree.

Rustle, another rustle... The locust tree shakes a fragrant wind. The small round collar on my clothes was turned up to the corner of my mouth, and my hair brushed against my face, which was very itchy. "Glazed rice—" A-Gump said, "Twenty years later, maybe only the black box will faithfully guard some childhood dreams." I closed my eyes and thought about the miracle in the black box twenty years later. We buried the black box under the locust tree, and we also buried distant expectations. In early summer, the sun is warm, but its rain is cold. It was the first rain in early summer. There was an army green jeep parked at the entrance of the alley. When I arrived, A-Gump was packing one of his own suitcases. I leaned against the door without speaking. I wasn’t even sure where In the farewell crowd, did he see me? I just stood far away.

I knew he would look back, and he did.His eyes searched the farewell crowd, and then he was carried into the car by the adults with a melancholy expression. I chased it far away, and the car became smaller and smaller in the rain.Passing through the yard on the way, there are many lonely stacks of wheat straw, the straw that has collapsed - when I ran over, I made a sad and beautiful sound of "scratching"... The black box has become a sad black box, and under the locust tree is under the sad locust tree.After a rain, there was moss under the heels of the house. I went in and out of the red house. The small red house was filled with my sad heart.

A-Gump lived in a house in the city. The buildings in the city are tall, there are few trees, and the asphalt roads are hard and ruthless.But there are neon lights at night, which dot the night like a dream. Many people insist on staying in the city for this reason, probably me too. On the street, a wandering singer who seemed to be living in distress, with his hoarse voice, completely conquered the passing crowd. I also stopped and couldn't help crying in the singing. He still insisted on shaking the guitar and came to me, and sang for a while, as if he sang to me wholeheartedly. He had a very good smell of tobacco, which is only found in that kind of elegant man.In his neck, ah!in his neck.My God—the little conch, the little silver button, dancing on the red rope around his neck as he sang.

Forrest Gump! Of course he didn't know that I was glazed rice. I ran home and opened the closet: top, slingshot and harmonica. The top does not spin, the slingshot does not hurt the bird, the harmonica is lonely, and there is no singing in my life. And the black box under the locust tree is empty.