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A few months ago, another underground romance was brewing. Despite Nath's strong objections, Lydia and Jack drove out every afternoon throughout the spring, driving around town or parking the Beetle outside the college campus, next to the playground, or in some abandoned parking lot.
No matter what Nath thought, Lydia was smug about it. People often see her getting into Jack's car, and they can't help but gossip - "No way, is it her? Impossible. Her? No way..." Unlike Lydia's expectations, the truth is not as ugly as the rumors say. . While the college students rushed to class, the kindergartners ran into the classroom, and the pitchers were busy attending halftime games, to Lydia's surprise, she and Jack would do nothing but talk. They sat smoking together, tripod propped up on the dashboard, and she told him a story about her parents: In second grade, she scribbled on an encyclopedia diagram of a heart, marking each ventricle with a highlighter. Color, her mother had the picture posted in her bedroom like a masterpiece. When Lydia was ten, her mother taught her to take a pulse; at twelve, her mother convinced her not to go to Kate Malone's birthday party—the only one she was invited to—in favor of preparing for a science fair. Her father insisted that she take basic dance classes and bought her a dress. As a result, she stood in the darkest corner of the gym all night, eager to go home early: when would it be over? eight thirty? Nine o'clock? At first, she tried to avoid mentioning Nath because she remembered that Jack hated him. But her story wouldn’t be complete without mentioning Ness. To her surprise, Jack proactively asked: Why did Nath want to be an astronaut? Is he as quiet at home as he is at school? So she told him that after the moon landing, Nath spent several days jumping up and down on the lawn pretending he was Neil Armstrong. In sixth grade, he persuaded the librarian to let him borrow books from the adult section and borrowed many textbooks on physics, flight dynamics, and aerodynamics. He really wanted a telescope as a fourteenth birthday gift, but he received a radio with an alarm clock, so he saved up his pocket money and bought himself a telescope. Sometimes at dinner, Nath never mentioned how his day was because their parents never asked. Jack listened with rapt attention, and when he saw Lydia throw the cigarette butt out of the window, he immediately lit another for her, and when she had finished her own, he threw his cigarette case over. As the weeks passed, Lydia felt guilty because Nath seemed even more miserable because of what she said about him—and, paradoxically, every afternoon she talked about Nas in Jack's car, and Nath was the one who was doing it because of her. The annoyance of spending every afternoon in Jack's car grew.
In mid-April, Jack began teaching Lydia to drive. By the end of the month, she would be sixteen.
"Think of the accelerator and the clutch as a pair of good partners," Jack said. "When one pedal is raised, the other must be lowered." Under Jack's guidance, Lydia slowly released the clutch pedal and tapped the accelerator with her toes. Steer the Beetle slowly through the empty parking lot next to the roller skating rink on Route 17. Then the engine stalled and her shoulder hit the backrest. Even though she had been practicing for a week, this sudden incident still surprised her. The whole car swayed, then stopped, like it was having a heart attack.
"Try again," Jack said, stretching out a foot toward the dashboard and kicking the cigarette lighter in. "Lighter, slower, lift the clutch, step on the accelerator."
On the other side of the parking lot, a police car drove in, turned around neatly, and pointed its front end at the street. "They're not here to find us," Lydia told herself. Route 17 is on the edge of town and is a notorious speeding zone. However, the black and white police car still distracted her. She turned the key and started the car again, and this time the engine died almost immediately.
"Try again," Jack repeated, pulling a pack of Marlboros from his pocket. "You're in a hurry."
She didn't realize the problem, but he was right. Her birthday is two weeks away, but she doesn't know when she will get her learner's license. Once she got her driver's license, Lydia thought, she would be able to go anywhere. If she wanted, she could leave Midwood and drive across Ohio to California. Even if Nath left—and she didn't want to think about it—she wouldn't be stuck alone with her parents; she could escape at a time of her own choosing. Just thinking about this made her legs tremble with excitement, as if she couldn't wait to escape.
Slow down, she thought, and then took a deep breath. They are a good pair of companions. One lifts and one falls. James promised that as long as she got her learner's license, he would teach her to drive their car, but Lydia didn't want to use the family car to learn. That car was too quiet and tame, like a middle-aged mare. When you're not wearing a seat belt, it hums gently, acting like a vigilant guardian. “When you get your learner’s license,” her father said, “we’ll let you drive out with your friends on Friday night.” “If your grades keep going up,” her mother would have added if she were there.
Lydia depressed the clutch to the bottom, started the engine again, and held the gear lever. It was almost half past five, and in a little while her mother would be looking forward to her coming home. When she tried to release the clutch, her foot accidentally slipped off the pedal and the car jumped and stalled. The policeman in the police car glanced at them, then turned back to stare at the road.
Jack shook his head. "We'll try again tomorrow." He pulled out the cigarette lighter from the socket, and the coil on it was shining. Jack put a cigarette into the middle of the cigarette lighter. Under the heat of the metal, the cigarette butt was first burnt black, and then turned red, as if The color of blood. He handed the cigarette to Lydia, switched places with her, and then lit another cigarette for himself. "You're about to learn it." After he finished speaking, he drove the car towards the exit of the parking lot.
Lydia knew that wasn't the truth, but she nodded. "Yes," she croaked, "next time." They drove onto Route 17 and she blew a plume of smoke in the direction of the police car.
"So, are you going to tell your brother that we've been together and that I'm not a bad person?" Jack asked as we approached home.
Lydia smiled. She suspected that Jack still took other girls out—sometimes he and his car would disappear—but he always acted like a gentleman when he was with her, and he never even held her hand. . So, are they just friends? Most of the time, she was the only one getting in and out of Jack's car, knowing that she couldn't escape Nath's eyes. At the dinner table, Nath would watch when she would tell her mother stories about her grades and her so-called "extra credit plan," or tell her father about Shelly's new perm and Pam's love for David Cassidy. Looking at her, angry and worried. He seemed to want to say something but didn't know how. She knew what he was thinking and didn't stop him from thinking about it. Some nights she would walk into Nath's room, plop down on the windowsill, light a cigarette, and wait for him to say something.
Now, hearing Jack's question, Lydia said, "He'll probably never believe me."
She dropped off early a block from home, Jack turned the corner toward his driveway, and Lydia jogged home, pretending she'd been walking the whole time. Tomorrow, she thought, she would shift into first gear and drive across the parking lot, over the white lines on the ground. Her feet would feel comfortable on the pedals, her insteps no longer stiff, and then she would hit the road, shift into third gear, then fourth, and accelerate somewhere, all on her own.
However, the reality is contrary to expectations. At home, Lydia turns on the record player in her room, where the record Hannah gave her for Christmas is already there—and to Lydia's surprise, she listens to it over and over again. She moved the needle an inch and a half toward center, trying to hit her favorite song, but it was too much, and Paul Simon's voice burst into the room: "Hey, let your honesty shine, Shine, shine—”
A faint knock on the door was mixed into the music, and Lydia turned the volume knob to the maximum. Marilyn's hand hurt from knocking outside the door. She reluctantly pushed the door open and put her head in.
"Lydia. Lydia." Seeing that her daughter did not turn around, Marilyn raised the stylus. The room became quiet, and the record spun helplessly under her hand. "This is much better. How can you think about problems with the music on?"
"It won't bother me."
"Have you finished your homework?" There was no answer, Marilyn pouted, "You know, you shouldn't listen to music before you finish your homework."
Lydia pulled off a hangnail on her finger: "I'll write after dinner."
"Don't you think it's better to start now? This way you have more time and are less likely to make mistakes." Marilyn's expression softened a little, "Dear, I know, you may think high school is not important, but it is the key to your future. The basis." She sat on the arm of Lydia's chair and stroked her daughter's hair. It was very important for Lydia to understand these truths, but Marilyn didn't know how to say it so that her daughter would understand. Her voice began to tremble, but Lydia didn't notice it, "Believe me, please, don't let life pass you by." slip."
Oh my God, Lydia thought, here we go again. She blinked irritably and stared at the corner of the table, where the dusty newspaper clippings her mother had sorted for her months before lay there.
"Look at me," Marilyn said, holding Lydia's chin, remembering what her own mother had never said to her, what she had longed to hear her whole life, "Your life depends entirely on you, you You can do whatever you want." She paused and looked at the full bookshelf behind Lydia, as well as the stethoscope and periodic table hanging above the bookshelf, "After I die, I just want you to remember Live in these.”
What she means is: I love you. I love you. However, her words took Lydia's breath away: Wait until I die. That summer all those years ago, she had truly thought her mother was dead, and those weeks and months had left an indelible scar on her heart. She has also secretly promised that she will realize all her mother's wishes, no matter what they are, as long as her mother stays by her side.
"I know, Mom," she said, "I know." She pulled the notebook out of her bag, "I'll start now."
"Good boy." Marilyn kissed her forehead, just where her head parted, and Lydia inhaled her mother's scent: a mixture of shampoo, detergent, and peppermint oil. She has been familiar with this smell since she was born, and every time she smells it, she will feel a sense of nostalgia. She put her arms around Marilyn's waist and held her mother so close to her that she could feel her mother's heartbeat on her cheek.
"Okay," Marilyn finally said, giving her daughter a playful pat on the back. "Let's study. Dinner will be on the table in half an hour."
The conversation with her mother over dinner made Lydia uneasy. She could only console herself: I'm going to talk to Nath later and that will make her feel better. She left the table early, leaving half of the food on her plate untouched. "I'm going to do my physics homework." She knew that her mother would not object if she said this. She passed the table in the front room, where her father had just brought in the letters before dinner, when an envelope caught her eye: it had the Harvard University coat of arms printed on the corner, and the words "Office of Admissions" beneath it. She opened the envelope with her fingers.
Dear Mr. Li, she read, we look forward to your visit to our school from April 29th to May 2nd, and we have arranged for a student to receive you. Although she knew this day would come sooner or later, the impact of the words in black and white was extremely real. It was the day after her birthday. She tore the letter and envelope in half without thinking, and just then Nath walked out of the kitchen.
"I hear you here," he said, "I can borrow..." Nath was stunned when he saw the red school badge and the torn letter on the torn envelope in Lydia's hand.
Lydia's face turned red. "Nothing important, I didn't..." But she had crossed a line, and they both knew it.
"Give it to me." Nath grabbed the letter. "This is mine, my God. What are you doing?"
"I just..." Lydia didn't know how to explain.
Nath carefully put the pieces together, as if that would restore the letter to its original form. "What do you think this is about my visit? If I can't see it, can't I go?" He said it so bluntly that it sounded stupid and pathetic, and tears welled up in Lydia's eyes. He looked out of the corner of his eye, but Nath didn't care. He felt like Lydia had stolen something from him. "You have to figure it out. I'm leaving. I'll be leaving that weekend, and even more so in September." He ran up the stairs, "Oh my God. , I can’t wait to leave this home as soon as possible.” After a while, his door was slammed shut with a bang. Although Lydia knew that he would not open the door again—she didn't know what she could say if he did—she went over and knocked on the door again and again.
The next afternoon, in Jack's car, she caused the engine to stall so frequently that Jack finally had to suggest ending practice for the day.
"I know what to do," Lydia said, "I just can't." She gripped the gear lever and pushed it aside. "Good companions," she reminded herself, the accelerator and the clutch were good companions. Suddenly, she realized that this was not true. If one goes up, the other has to come down. What kind of good partners are they? However, things are like this in the world. Her physics score improved to a C-, but her history score dropped to a D. She had another English paper due tomorrow—a two-thousand-word essay on Faulkner—but she couldn't even find Faulkner's book. Maybe there is no such thing as a good partner, she thought. A piece of knowledge she once learned flashed through her mind: "For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction." One goes up, the other goes down. One gains, the other loses. One escapes, the other is trapped, forever trapped.
These thoughts plagued her for days. Although Nath—who had calmed down from the letter-breaking incident—talked to her again, she still refused to face the fact that he was leaving, and even refused to apologize to him. Although she continued to listen to her mother's nagging at dinner every night, she would retreat to her room as soon as she left the dinner table instead of sneaking into the living room to find comfort. The night before her birthday, James knocked on the door.
“You seem to be in a bad mood these past few weeks,” he said, and pulled out a small blue velvet box the size of a playing card. “I thought it might cheer you up to give you this gift in advance. ." James felt proud because he had put a lot of thought into this gift. He'd asked Louisa for advice on what kind of things a teenage girl might like, so this time, he was sure Lydia would like it.
Inside the box is a necklace with a silver heart-shaped pendant. "So beautiful." Lydia said in surprise. She finally received a decent gift—not a book, not a hint—something she wanted, not what they wanted her to have. At Christmas, she was looking forward to receiving such a necklace. The chain slid down her fingers like running water, very soft and seemed to be alive.
James poked her dimple and pinched it, which was his usual move. "It can still be opened."
Lydia opened the pendant and was stunned. Inside were two pictures as small as her thumbnail: one of her father, and the other of her—taken last year when she was dressed up for the ninth-grade prom. On the way home, she kept telling her father how wonderful the dance was. Her father smiled broadly in the photo, with an air of innocence and anticipation. Her own photos are very serious, with a sullen look on her face, and her eyes are not looking at the camera.