I never told this story to anyone, and I never thought of telling anyone, not because I was afraid that people would not believe it, but because I was ashamed.Because it's my secret, to say it demeaned myself and the story itself, made it smaller and more mundane than a camp counselor's ghost story to the kids before lights out.I am also afraid that if I tell it and hear it with my own ears, I may not even believe it myself.But since my mother passed away, I haven't been able to sleep well.As soon as I closed my eyes, the past events reappeared, I woke up completely in shock, and turned on the light beside the bed, but the past events in my heart disappeared a lot.Have you ever noticed that there are many shadows at night, even when the lights are turned on, and the long black shadows may be the lingering past events in your heart, no matter what kind of thoughts.

I was a junior at the University of Maine, and Mrs. McCourty called me one day to tell me that my mother was ill.My father died early, I was too young to remember what he looked like, and my mother was the only child, so my mother, Alan Parker and Jenny Parker and I were the only ones in this world.Mrs. McCourty, who lived down the street, called my four-person dormitory.She knew my dorm phone number from the magnet on my refrigerator at home, which my mom had put on it. "She's having an attack," she said with a drawn-out northern accent. "It happened to be in a restaurant. You shouldn't rush here. The doctor said it's okay, she's still awake and can talk."

"Ah, but does it matter to her?" I asked, trying to make my voice calm, even relaxed, but my heart was beating wildly, and the dormitory suddenly became hot.I was alone in the dorm because it was Wednesday and my roommate had classes all day. "Oh, the first thing she said to me was to call you, but don't scare you. Pretty thoughtful, don't you?" "Yes." Of course I was terrified.How would you feel if someone called you to say that your mother had been taken from work to the hospital by an ambulance. "She told you, just stay there and study at ease, and talk about it on the weekend. She also said that if the class is not tight, you can come."

Of course I will go right away, it is impossible not to go.I couldn't stay in this crappy, beer-smelling dorm while my mother lay in a hospital bed a hundred miles to the south, probably dying. "Your mother is still young," said Mrs. McCourty. "It's just that she has been working too hard for a few years, has high blood pressure, and is smoking again. It seems that she has to give up smoking." But I don't think she's going to quit smoking, I know she's addicted to smoking, whether she's sick or not.I thank Mrs. McCourty. "The first thing I do when I get home is call you," she said. "So, Alan, when are you coming, Sunday?" There was a hint of slyness in her tone, as if she knew I would be there.

I looked out of the window at the woods under a blue New England sky on a beautiful golden autumn October afternoon, golden leaves falling on Mill Street.I glanced at my watch, three twenty.I was about to leave my dorm for my 4:00 philosophy seminar when the phone rang. "Are you kidding me?" I countered. "I'll be there tonight." She laughed, dry and a little hoarse.Mrs. McCourty was always fond of quitting smoking, herself and her Winstons. "What a good boy, you go straight to the hospital, don't you? Then drive home?" "Yes, I think so," I replied.I thought there was no need to tell Mrs. McCourty that my car's transmission was broken and I couldn't go anywhere but out of the car park driveway.I'm going to hitchhike to the hospital in Lewiston.If it's not too late, I'll be back home in Harrow after I get out of the hospital.If it was too late, I would have to take a nap on a hospital bench, or sit on a street bench with my head leaning against a Coke machine.Anyway, this isn't the first time I've hitchhiked home.

"Your house key must be under the red cart," she said. "You know where I'm pointing, don't you?" "I know." I am also sure.My mother kept a red wheelbarrow by the door of the shed behind the house, and it was used to grow flowers, and in the summer it was full of flowers.Thanks to Mrs McCourty's phone call, I can imagine my home in Harrow, the cottage where I grew up, no one turning on the lights after sundown, going dark tonight.Mrs. McCourty said my mother was young, but forty-eight seemed very old to me at twenty-one. "Be careful, Alan, don't drive too fast."

My speed, of course, is determined by the driver of the car I'm in, and I hope whoever the driver is, I'd better drive as fast as I can get out of hell.All I cared about was getting to Mid Maine Medical Center as quickly as possible.But there's no reason for Mrs. McCourty to worry about me.So I said, "No, thank you." "Very well," she said. "Your mother will be well. She won't be able to tell how happy she is to see you." I hung up and scribbled a note explaining what happened and where I was going.I asked a more responsible roommate, Hector Passmore, to call the counselor for me and ask him to tell my teacher why I was absent, so that I would not be reprimanded, because two or three A teacher hates skipping classes the most.Then I stuffed a few changes of clothes into my backpack, added a rolled-up copy of Introductory Philosophy, and headed out.I'm going to drop next week's class, but luckily I'm doing well in the classes I'm taking.What happened that night changed my view of the world so much that none of the philosophy textbooks seemed to apply to it.I gradually saw the true meaning of the world. No book can explain a person's insight into the world. I think sometimes only forgetting is the best solution, if you can forget.

It's a hundred and twenty miles from the University of Maine in Orono to the town of Lewiston in Anderson County. The fastest way is to take the I-95 Turnpike, but it's not a good way to hitchhike. gone.State troopers always chase hitchhikers down this road, even if they're just standing on the slope of the road.If you get caught twice by the same cop, he'll even bill you.So, I had to take Highway 68, which winds southwest from Benge, and it's quite easy to go.As long as you don't look like a complete psycho, it's easy to get a ride, and most of the time there's no police involved.The first car I got was a morose insurance broker who drove me to Newport.I waited 20 minutes or so at the junction of Route 68 and Route 2, and got another car driven by an older gentleman who was going to Porto Ihan.He was grabbing his crotch while driving, as if something was scurrying around there.

"My wife always reminds me that if I still like to pick up hitchhikers, someone will stab me in the back and die in the ditch." He said, "But when I see a young man standing on the road When I stopped the car, I couldn't help but think of my young years. I also stretched out my hand and gave a thumbs up to stop the car①, and got in the car. Now, she has been dead for four years, and I am still alive, and I still drive this car Old Dodge, I miss her." He clawed eagerly at his crotch. "Where are you going, kid?" he asked.I told him about going to Lewiston and why.

"It's terrible," he said. "Your mother, I'm so sorry." His sympathy was so strong and sincere that I was moved to tears at the corners of my eyes, and I blinked back the tears.At this moment, I don't want to cry in this old man's old car, because the body shakes and bumps, and there is a pungent smell of urine. "Mrs. McCourty who called and told me that my mother's not very ill. She's young, only forty-eight." "Still young! But she's sick!" He really felt bad, and grabbed the baggy crotch of his green pants again, yanking at the oversized crotch with clawed hands. "Sudden illnesses are always serious, boy, and I'd send you to Mid Maine Medical Center right to the door if I hadn't promised my brother Ralph to take him to the Nursing Hospital at Gates. He There's the wife, she's got one of those amnesiacs I can't remember the name of, and can't remember what the hell it's called. Anderson's disease or Avenger's disease or something like that."

"Andsheimer's disease," I said. "Ah, maybe I've got the disease myself, and I'm fucking going to send you there." "You don't have to," I said quickly, "it's easy to hitch a ride in Gatestown." "Your mother is young," he said, "but she's sick, only forty-eight." He scratched at the baggy crotch. "Damn hernia," he cursed, and then laughed again, desperately amused. "Damn hernia. I'm telling you, boy, if you just wait, all the hard work goes to nothing. Everything you do will pay off in the end. But you're a good boy when you drop everything and go see her like you are now. " "She's a good mother," I said, feeling the tears well up again.I was never very homesick, except for a little during my first week away from home for college.But at this time, I was very homesick. In this world, there were only me and her, and there were no other close relatives.I can't imagine life without my mum, Mrs McCourty said it wasn't too serious.Sudden illness, but really not serious?It's best that the old woman is telling the truth, and I hope she's telling the truth. We were silent for a while, and he wasn't going as fast as I'd hoped.The old man was driving at a steady forty-five miles an hour.Sometimes he would drive beyond the white divider into another lane, which would take him a long time to get there at this speed.In fact, the road is really long. Highway 68 spread out in front of us, and the road front turned into miles of forest, passing through several small towns located in the forest, Newsharon, Ofelia, West Ofria, Gansu Nistan (it used to be called Afghanstan here, which makes people feel real and strange), Mick Nikoval, Cathwaite, Castrock, and the simple towns quickly disappeared behind us. There are signposts and self-service gas stations in small towns.As the day wore on, the bright blue sky dimmed.The old man turned on first the parking lights and then the headlights.The lights were harsh but he didn't seem to notice, not even the glare from the oncoming car. "My sister-in-law can't even remember her own name," he said. "She can't even tell the difference between yes, no, maybe. That's what Anderson's disease does. The look in her eyes is like, 'Let me out .' She would have said it if she could remember those words. Do you understand what I mean?" "Yes," I replied.I took a deep breath and wondered if the piss smell I was smelling was from the old man or if he used to bring the dog in the car, and wondered if he would be mad if I rolled down the window, which I eventually rolled down windows.He didn't seem to notice, any more than he cared about the glare of the oncoming car.At about 7 o'clock, our car drove to a small hill in the west of Gates.The old man who was driving suddenly yelled: "Look, child, the moon, isn't she just like a beautiful goddess?" She was truly beautiful, a huge golden orb hanging over the horizon.I still feel uneasy.This moon is pregnant with an evil spirit.Looking at the rising full moon, a terrible thought suddenly popped up: What if my mother doesn't recognize me when I arrive at the hospital? If her memory is completely lost, there is nothing left, and she won't be able to tell "Yes, No, maybe" What if the doctor told me that she will be taken care of for the rest of her life.Of course, that person was me and no one else, neither friend nor neighbor.That had to say goodbye to my college life. "Son, make a wish to her." The old man cried, his excited voice becoming shrill and piercing, stuffing my ears like shards of glass.He jerked at his crotch, and there was a snapping sound.With or without a hernia belt, I've never seen an elephant tug at the crotch so hard without tearing the balls off. "Wishes made on the full moon will come true, that's what my father said," he added. "So I made a wish: my mother recognized me when I walked into the ward, immediately perked up, and called out my name. Made a wish and then wished it could be taken back, I think wishing on a crazy orange moon Not at all. "Well, boy, you know," said the old man, "I wish my wife was here with me at this moment, and I'm going to ask her to forgive me for scolding me, for all the mean things I said to her. " Twenty minutes later, with the last gleam of day still in the sky, and the moon still low and plump in the sky, we arrived at Gatesfals.A yellow traffic light was at the intersection of Route 68 and Pleasure Street, and when it was approaching, the old man suddenly turned the car to the side of the road.The right front wheel of the Dodge hit the curb, jumped up, backed up, my teeth chattered, and the old man looked at me with a kind of crazy, contemptuous look, although it wasn't the first time I saw this behavior .I found him doing everything crazy, seeing everything neurotic, and saying everything yelling. "I'll drive you there, yes, I will, leave Ralph alone, let him go to hell, you just promise me." I'd love to see my mother, but the thought of smelling the piss in the car and blinding headlights with the twenty miles left makes me sick, so I won't let the old guy in Lewiston The scene of wandering around the four-lane Lisbon Avenue appeared.While he may well have sent me, I couldn't stand twenty miles of crotch scratching and nervously agitated noises. "Hey! Don't," I said, "It's ok, you'd better go see your brother off." I opened the car door, and what I was worried about happened. hand, grabbed my arm. "You promised," he said to me, his voice hoarse with confidence.His fingers dug deep into the flesh of my armpit. "I'll take you straight to the door of the hospital, heck, even though I've never seen you before and you haven't seen me, it's okay. Don't worry about the "yes, no, maybe" illness. I'll take you there there!" "No more." I replied, and hurriedly struggled to escape from the carriage.If he hadn't caught my arm, my shirt would have been pulled.I thought he'd get a tighter grip as I struggled, maybe even grab the back of my neck, but he didn't.His determination seemed overwhelmed by my determined look.His fingers loosened, and when I stepped out of the car door with one foot, his hand completely loosened and slipped from my arm.I've always wondered, after a bout of inexplicable panic, people are confused about what it is they're afraid of?What the hell am I so scared of when I'm in the car?He was just an old organic being in the piss-smelling ecosystem of that old Dodge, just an old man suffering from colic, disappointed that his enthusiastic help had been rejected.What am I afraid of? "Thank you for driving me and continuing to drive me." I thanked him. "But I can cross this road," I pointed to Pleasure Street, "and get a ride right away." He was silent for a moment, then sighed and nodded. "Well, that's the best route," he advised me. "Stay out of town. In town, no one will give you a ride. No one will stop and honk at you to get you in." He was right, it was futile to try to hitch a ride in a town, even a town like Gatesfales.I figured he must have hitchhiked a lot in the past. "But, do you really want to go? Boy, you know it's better than nothing." I hesitated again, and he was right, something is better than nothing.It's about a mile or so from Pleasure Street to Richie Road.The fifteen miles from Richie Road to Route 196 outside Lewiston run through a forest.This section of the road is almost dark and harder to hitchhike.Standing by the headlights on the side of the road, he looked like a fugitive from the Whiteham Juvenile Reformatory, even with all his clothes on.But I really don't want to be in that old man's car anymore.Until the moment I got out of his car safely, I still thought there was something sinister about him, perhaps because his voice was full of lamentations.And I always consider myself lucky to get a ride. "Really," I said, "thank you very much." "Son, when... when..., my wife..." He stopped, and I saw tears in his eyes, thanked him again, and slammed the car door before he could say anything else . I hurried across the street, my figure flickering in and out of the flickering lights.In the distance, I looked back, and the Dodge was still parked there, next to the Frank Fruit and Grocery sign.By the flickering light, I could see the Dodge about 20 feet from the streetlight, and he sat dejectedly in the driver's seat.It occurred to me that he must be dead, having been mortally wounded by refusing to ride in his car again. At this point, a car was coming around the corner, and the driver shone bright lights on the Dodge.The old man turned his lights back on, and that's when I believed he was alive.After a while he reversed the car and turned a slow corner, and I watched until he disappeared into the darkness, then looked up at the moon in the sky, fading its orange glow but still shining evil spirit.I hadn't heard of wishing on the moon before, only about the stars, not the moon.Again, I wish I could take that wish back.As night fell, I stood at the crossroads and couldn't help but think of the story of "Monkey's Paw". I walked across Pleasure Street, giving a thumbs up to the cars flying by, and they didn't see them.At the beginning, there were some shops and houses on both sides of the road. As we walked, the sidewalk disappeared, and the woods appeared again, quietly occupying both sides of the road.Every time the street lights come on and the figure is reflected in front of me, I turn around and give a thumbs up, with an honest and trustworthy smile on my face, while the oncoming cars roar past every time.One time, a guy taunted me and yelled, "Get a job before you buy a car, Birdman," and walked away laughing. I have never been afraid of the dark, nor am I now.But what I'm worried about is: I may have made a mistake and went directly to the hospital without taking the old man's car.It seems that I should prepare a sign before departure, which says "Mother's illness, need a ride".But I doubt it will work, since any mental patient would write such a sign. I walked alone along the road, my rubber shoes rubbed against the dust on the gravel road shoulders, and listened to the sounds of nature in the dark night: the barking of dogs in the distance, the hooting of owls a little closer, the rustling of the wind, it was a sign of wind, the night sky was clear, The moonlight was pouring down, but I couldn't see the moon itself at this time. The tall and green forests by the roadside covered the whole moon for a while. The farther and farther away we got from Gatesfals, the fewer cars passed me.As the minutes passed, I felt more and more stupid for not continuing to ride the old man's car.I began to imagine my mother lying on the hospital bed with an oxygen mask on her mouth, unable to control her own life, but she would still keep scolding me more and more severely, not knowing why I didn't want to take that old man's car anymore. I don't like his horrible voice and smell of urine. I climbed a steep slope, and like the first part of the road, I went to the moonlit road again.There are no trees on the left side of the road, but a small cemetery with tombstones shining brightly under the moon.Something dark and small was crouched by a tombstone and looked at me. I stepped forward curiously, the black thing moved and turned into a marmot.It gave me a reproachful look with its red eyes and disappeared into the tall grass, and I suddenly felt so tired, so tired indeed.I've been running on impulse since Mrs. McCourty called me five hours ago.But the bad thing is that the impulse is gone. Fortunately, I still retain that eager and useless mood, at least for now.I've made the choice to take the Ridge Road instead of Route 68, and I have no reason to beat myself up.Play as long as you play, and do as you please, my mother often said that, she always had a lot of such words, and the short words were like Zen words, and they were quite reasonable.Regardless of whether it makes sense in normal times, this sentence makes me feel reasonable now.If she dies as soon as I get to the hospital, that's the end of my efforts tonight.Maybe she won't die, the doctor said it wasn't too serious, and Mrs. McCourty said she was young.Yes, it's just that the work is too tiring, and besides smoking a lot, but still young. I am far from the town, in the woods on the outskirts.At this moment, I suddenly felt weak all over, and my feet could not move as if they were stuck. There is a low stone wall on the road side of the cemetery, and two ruts pass through the stone wall to form a gap.I sat on the stone wall, my feet rooted in the ruts.From here, you can see the long Liqi Road to the left and right. When I saw a car heading west, heading towards Lewiston, I walked to the side of the road and gave a thumbs up.Other times I just sit there with my pack on my lap and let my feet regain strength. The mist on the ground rises from the grass, reflecting faint light.The woods around the cemetery rustled in the slight breeze.In the far distance of the cemetery, there is rushing water, and occasionally there are a few "croak, croak" frogs. It is really a beautiful and peaceful world like the illustrations in the collection of love poems. I looked left and right on both sides of the road. If there were no lights flashing in the distance, it meant that there was no car passing by.I put my backpack in the rut between the walls where I had rested, got up and walked into the graveyard.A gust of wind blew a strand of hair across my forehead, and a mist curled lazily around my feet.The tombstones at the back of the cemetery looked old, several of them were still lying on the ground, while the ones in front were much newer.I bent down, hands on knees, to look at a new tombstone surrounded by fresh flowers.In the moonlight, the name on the stele is clearly visible: George Stauber The date below the name marks the short life of Mr. George Stauber: born January 19, 1977, died October 12, 1998.No wonder there are still flowers piled around the tombstone. October 12 was two days ago, and 1998 was two years ago.It seems that George's relatives and friends have sacrificed to him.There are other words under the name and date, which are sentence inscriptions.I bent down to look at it, and I was startled when I saw it. This inscription was so familiar to me. Visiting this cemetery under a moonlit night, this inscription terrified me. just play it, do it A very ominous feeling came from the bottom of my heart that my mother died, maybe at this time.This is a portent. -------------------------------------------------- ------------------------------ ① Stretch out your hand and give a thumbs up: If you want to hitchhike in the United States, you just need to put out your hand and give a thumbs up on the side of the road, and the driver will know. ② Andsheimer's disease: Alzheimer's disease. ③ "Monkey's Paw": This is a short story by British writer WW Jacobs. It tells the story of an old man who gets a magical dried monkey's paw collected from India, which can make three wishes.He made his first wish - to get £200. A few days later his son died from a work-related injury and he got £200 in compensation.His wife, Si'er, was eager and asked him to make a second wish with a monkey's paw - to revive his son. When there was a knock on the door, he made a third wish - to make his son disappear.