Old Friends

石海鵬

They finish your sentences， they remember the cat that ran away when you were twelve， and they tell you the truth when you’ve had a bad haircut. But mostly， they are always there for you—whether it’s in person or via late night phone calls—through good times and bad. But as the years pass， it becomes increasingly difficult to see each other， to make new memories. Fortunately， my high school girlfriends and I vowed long ago not to let this happen. We vowed to have reunions.

A few months ago， we met up for a three-day weekend in the American Southwest. We grew up together in Maine and have said for years that we should have an annual event， yet it’s often postponed or canceled due to schedule conflicts. Not this year.

Four of us—two from San Francisco， one from Boston， and one from Seattle—boarded planes bound for Santa Fe， New Mexico， where one of the ganglives and works for an art gallery. Two years ago， she moved there—scaped， rather—from the film industry in New York City， where she led a life that felt too fast， too unfulfilling. The artist in her longed for vibrant landscapes and starry moonlit skies. She wanted to drive a truck on dusty roads， a trusty dog at her side， riding shotgun. She got all that and found love， too. She is happy.

The rest of us—still big city folks—converged on her like a cyclone straight out of the pages of a girlfriend novel. Chattering and memory swapping， we were fif-teen again in a space of five minutes. Naturally， we relived some of the stories of our youth—angst and all—but we also brought much more to the gathering this time. We were new people. We were wives and girlfriends to someone back home. We were businesswomen， artists and writers. We were no longer girls， no longer post-college grads. We were women.

I shared an air mattress that night with my friend from Boston， the one who calls me， while rubbernecking in traffic， to catch up on her cell phone， to tell me of her life and love. On the next mattress was a gal from San Francisco， newly single and enjoying her independence. Our host， the artist， shared her bedroom that weekend with a married dotcommer from San Francisco. Yes， we are different， but we are also the same. The years of our youth say so.

The apartment was open and we talked late into the night， our voices carrying back and forth between the rooms as we laughed， cackling about things that would only be humorous to friends with this kind of history. The next morning， I awoke to a brilliant blue sky， beautifully contrasted by the earthy brown of the surrounding adobe. It was Saturday and the art enthusiasts were out， so， with coffee in hand， I dropped off our host at work. I returned to find the others still deep in slumber， deep lines on their faces evidence of a restful sleep.

We checked out town and headed to the airport to pick up the last straggler， who came in from San Francisco for one night.“I wouldn’t have missed this for anything，”she said， despite her 4 a.m. trip to the airport. That night we celebrated over margaritas and Southwestern fare， each of us gazing at the faces around the table as we wondered， who would have thought the bonds of childhood could last this long？ Some of us have been friends since the age of five， some since age twelve and， yet， here we are approaching the age of thirty. Quite rapidly， I might add.

The weekend consisted of long talks by the pool， wonderful meals， and a hike that brought the entire group to tears. Not tears of sadness or anger， but an outpouring of emotion over the sheer wonderment that we can be this close- twelve years after graduation—with such physical distance between us. It’s heartbreaking that we can’t spend our days together in the same neighborhood， walking the same streets， reading the same newspaper at the same coffee shop. But that’s life. Grown-up life.

Most amazing is the group’s adaptability to one another. The months we spend apart are non-existent. No need to get reacquainted， we jump back in the saddle and it’s as comfortable as ever. Old friends—friends with an ever—present sense of support and sisterhood， friends that know each other innately—are hard to come by and yet we remain as tight today as we were， years ago， giggling in the back row of Mr. McKechnie’s 9th grade math class.

Life today， however， is no math class. Our world， spinning slightly off its axis is full of doubt， full of fear. Yet it reminds me—now， more than ever—how vital it is that we stay in close touch. We may have questions about our future， but we have true faith in our past， and though this reunion of friends has come to a close， we are already drawing up plans for the next one.

他們會(huì)接完你沒(méi)說(shuō)完的句子，他們記得在你十二歲時(shí)跑掉的那只貓，如果你剪了一個(gè)很糟糕的發(fā)型，他們會(huì)跟你說(shuō)實(shí)話。但主要的是，不論是在美好抑或糟糕的日子里，他們總會(huì)在你身邊——或是面對(duì)面交流，或是深夜與你通電話。但是隨著年月流逝，彼此越來(lái)越難見(jiàn)到對(duì)方，也越來(lái)越難制造新的回憶了。幸運(yùn)的是，很早以前，我與我的一幫高中女友們?cè)⑾率难圆蛔屵@樣的事發(fā)生。我們?cè)S諾一定要重聚。

幾個(gè)月前的一個(gè)周末，我們?cè)诿绹?guó)西南部聚了三天。我們一起在緬因州長(zhǎng)大，這幾年來(lái)一直都在說(shuō)我們應(yīng)該有個(gè)一年一度的聚會(huì)，但通常都因?yàn)槿粘逃?jì)劃沖突而延遲或取消。今年終于如愿了。

我們一行四人——兩個(gè)來(lái)自舊金山，一個(gè)來(lái)自波士頓，還有一個(gè)來(lái)自西雅圖——登上了飛往新墨西哥州圣菲的航班。我們這幫人中有一個(gè)住在圣菲，為那里的一家畫廊工作。兩年前，她搬到那里——更準(zhǔn)確地說(shuō)是從紐約的電影業(yè)中——逃離出來(lái)。她當(dāng)時(shí)覺(jué)得在紐約生活節(jié)奏太快，太沒(méi)有成就感。她那藝術(shù)家的本性向往生機(jī)盎然的自然景致和繁星點(diǎn)綴的月夜。她希望能在塵土飛揚(yáng)的路上開著卡車，有只忠誠(chéng)的狗坐在前排的乘客座位，陪伴她左右。這一切都實(shí)現(xiàn)了，她還找到了愛(ài)情。她是幸?？鞓?lè)的。

我們其余幾人——仍然是大城市居民——像是從女性小說(shuō)的頁(yè)面中直接跳出來(lái)的一股旋風(fēng)似地向她襲去。我們聊天、分享回憶，仿佛在短短的五分鐘內(nèi)又重返十五歲。我們自然而然地重溫了年輕時(shí)候的故事——憂愁悵惘等種種情感——但我們給這次聚會(huì)帶來(lái)的還不止這些。我們是有著全新身份的人。我們是家里那位的妻子或女友。我們是女商人、藝術(shù)家及作家。我們不再是小女孩，也不再是剛畢業(yè)的大學(xué)生。我們已成為女人。

那天晚上，我與來(lái)自波士頓的朋友共睡一張充氣床。路上交通堵塞時(shí)，她會(huì)邊看熱鬧邊給我打電話閑聊，說(shuō)說(shuō)她的生活及愛(ài)情。旁邊的另一張床上睡的是來(lái)自舊金山的朋友，她剛剛恢復(fù)單身，正享受著一個(gè)人的生活。我們的主人——那位藝術(shù)家，那個(gè)周末與來(lái)自舊金山，就職IT行業(yè)的一位已婚姐妹同住一間房。是的，我們變得不同了，但我們又仍然未變。我們的青春歲月可以證明這一切。

那房子的設(shè)計(jì)是開放式的，我們聊天至深夜，笑談著那些要有同樣經(jīng)歷才覺(jué)得搞笑的事情，大家的聲音在各個(gè)房間之間來(lái)回飄蕩著。第二天早上醒來(lái)后，我發(fā)現(xiàn)外面陽(yáng)光燦爛，在周圍那泥褐色的房屋的映襯下，蔚藍(lán)的天空顯得分外美麗。當(dāng)天是周六，那些藝術(shù)愛(ài)好者們都出動(dòng)了。于是，我手捧咖啡送我們的主人去工作?；貋?lái)后，我發(fā)現(xiàn)其他人還在熟睡，她們臉上壓出的深痕表明她們睡得很沉很香。

我們離開城里，去機(jī)場(chǎng)接最后一個(gè)“落伍者”。她來(lái)自舊金山，會(huì)來(lái)呆上一晚?！拔以趺匆膊荒苠e(cuò)過(guò)這次聚會(huì)?！彼f(shuō)。盡管她要凌晨四點(diǎn)趕到機(jī)場(chǎng)。那天晚上，我們喝著瑪格麗塔酒，吃著美國(guó)西南部的佳肴來(lái)慶祝。彼此都凝望著圍坐在桌子前的這些面孔，心生感慨：誰(shuí)會(huì)想到孩童時(shí)的友誼可以維持這么長(zhǎng)時(shí)間呢？我們其中一些人自五歲起便是朋友，有些是十二歲才開始成為朋友，然而，我們現(xiàn)在都接近三十歲了。真的過(guò)得很快，我不得不加上這句。

那個(gè)周末的活動(dòng)包括在池塘邊長(zhǎng)時(shí)間談心，享用美味的飯菜以及一次讓我們所有人淚濕衣襟的遠(yuǎn)足步行。這些不是傷心或憤怒的眼淚，而是純粹驚嘆盡管畢業(yè)十二年了，彼此距離那么遙遠(yuǎn)，但卻能保持如此親密的關(guān)系，眼淚是這種情感的迸發(fā)。我們不能在同一個(gè)社區(qū)里生活，不能每天走在同一條街道上，不能坐在同一間咖啡店里看同一份報(bào)紙，這都讓人感到悲傷。但，這就是生活，成年人的生活。

最讓人覺(jué)得不可思議的是我們這幫人對(duì)彼此的適應(yīng)性。仿佛我們分開的那些日子不曾存在過(guò)。無(wú)須重新了解熟悉對(duì)方，只要跳回各自的角色，舒心依舊。老朋友們——那些不斷給予支持，姐妹情深的朋友，那些命定知心的朋友——是很難遇到的。然而如今，我們親密如故，就像當(dāng)年念九年級(jí)時(shí)在麥基奇尼先生教的數(shù)學(xué)課上我們?cè)诮淌液笈趴┛┥敌δ菢印?/p>

雖然我們?nèi)缃褚巡挥迷偕蠑?shù)學(xué)課了。我們的世界稍微有點(diǎn)離軸，其中充滿了猜疑和恐懼。然而，這反而提醒了我——讓我現(xiàn)在比以前更清楚地知道，保持親密關(guān)系是多么的重要。我們可能會(huì)對(duì)未來(lái)充滿疑問(wèn)，但我們對(duì)于過(guò)去有真正的信念。盡管這次的朋友聚會(huì)已接近尾聲，但我們已經(jīng)開始著手計(jì)劃下一次聚會(huì)了。