主题：【原创】相见，有一种痛叫无法拥有 -- 齐眉

你是否还记得读过大学英语的一篇课后阅读《feels like spring》？你是否也曾为其中的情节所感动？

往下翻，你会看到一个关于邂逅的故事。。。

你可以选择不相信，你可以选择嗤之以鼻。没关系，我相信你已从生活中学到了很多，而同时你是否发现你可能也失去了很多。。。

FEEL LIKE SPRING

by Milton Kaplan

I stop the corner drugstore for a breakfast and coffee, and then I race to the subway station and gallop down the steps to catch my usual train. I hold on to the strap and make believe I'm reading my newspaper, but I keep glancing at the people crowded in around me. I listen to them talk about their troubles and their friends, and I wish I had someone to talk to, someone to break the monotony of the long subway ride.

As we approach the 175th Street station, I begin to get tense again. She usually gets into the train at that station. She slips in gracefully, not pushing or shoving like the test, and she squeezes into a little space, clinging to the people and holding on to an office envelop that probably contains her lunch. She never carries a newspaper or a book; I guess there isn't much sense in trying to read when you're smashed in like that.

There's a fresh outdoor look about her and I figure she must live in New Jersey. The Jersey crowd gets in at that stop. She has a sweet face with that scrubbed look that doesn't need powder or rouge. She never wears make-up except for lipstick. And her wavy hair is natural, just a nice light brown. And all she does is hold on to the pole and think her own thoughts, her eyes clear-blue and warm. I always like to watch her, but I have to be careful. I'm afraid she'd get angry and move away if she catches me at it, and then I won't have anyone, because she's my only real friend, even if she doesn't know it. I'm all alone in New York City and I guess I'm kind of shy and don't make friends easily. The fellows in the bank are all right but they have their own lives to lead, and besides, I can't ask anyone to come up to a furnished room; so they go their way and I go mine.

The city is getting me. It's too big and noisy----too many people for a fellow who's all by himself. I can't seem to get used to it .I'm used to the quiet of a small New Hampshire farm but there isn't any future on a New Hamshire farm any more; so after I was discharged from the Navy, I apply for this position in the bank and I got it. I suppose it's a good break but I'm kind of lonesome.

As I ride along, swaying to the motion of the car, I like to imagine that I'm friends with her. Sometimes I'm even attempted to smile at her, and say something like "Nice morning, isn't it?" But I'm scared. She might think I'm one of those wise guys and she'd freeze up and look right through me as if I didn't exist, and the next morning she wouldn't be there any more and I'd have no one to think about. I keep dreaming that maybe some day I'll get to know her. You know, in a casual way.

Like maybe she'd br coming through the door and someone pushes her and she brushes against me and she'd say quickly, "Oh, I beg you pardon, "and I'd lift my hat politely and answer, "That's perfectly all right, "and I'd smile to show her I meant it, and then she'd smile back at me and say , "nice day, isn't it ?"and I'd say, "Feel like spring. "And we wouldn't say anything more, but when she'd be ready to get off at 34th Street, she'd wave her finger a little at me and say, "Good-by, "and I'd tip my hat again.

The next morning when she'd come in, she'd see me and say "Hello, "or maybe, "Good morning, "and I'd answer and add something to show her I ready knew a little about spring. No wise crack because I wouldn't want her to think that I was one of those smooth-talking guys who pick up girls in the subway.

And after a while, we'd get a little friendlier and start talking about things like the weather or the news, and one day she'd say, "isn't it funny? Here we are talking every day and we don't even know each other's name. "And I'd stand up straight and tip my hat and say, "I'd like you to meet Mr. Thomas Pearse. "And she'd say very seriously , "How do you do Mr. Pearse .I want you meet Miss Elizabeth Altemose."

"Thomas,"she'd say,as if she were trying out the sound of it.

"What?"I'd ask.

"I can't possibly call you Thomas,"she'd say, "It's so formal."

"My friends call me Tommy,"I'd tell her.

"My friends call me Betty."

And that's the way it would be. Maybe after a while I'd mention the name of a good movie that was playing at the Music Hall and suggest that if she weren't doing anything in particular----And she would come right out with, "Oh, I'd love it! "I'd knock off a little earlier and meet her where she worked and we would go out to dinner somewhere. I'd ask some of the men at the bank for the name of a good restaurant. And I would talk to her and tell her about New Hampshire and maybe mention how lonesome I got, and if it's a really nice place and it's quiet and cozy, maybe I'd tell her how shy I was, and she'd be listening with shining eyes and she'd clasp her hands and lean over the table until I could smell the fragrance of her hair and she'd whisper, "I'm shy, too. "Then we'd both lean back and smile secretly, and we'd eat without saying much because , after all, what's there to say after that?

And after the movie, I'd take her home. She wouldn't want me to travel all the way out. "I live in New Jersey, "she'd say. "It's nice of you to offer to take me home but I couldn't ask you to make a long trip like that. Don't worry, I'll be all right. "But I'd take her arm and say, "Come on. I want to take you home. I like New Jersey. "And we'd take the bus across the George Washington Bridge with the Huston River flowing dark and mysterious below us, and then we'd be in New Jersey and we'd see the lights of small homes and she'd invite me in but I'd say it was too late and then she'd turn to me and say, "Then you must promise to come for dinner this Sunday. "And I'd promise and then---

The train is slowing down and the people are bracing themselves automatically for the stop. It's the 175th Street station. There's a big crowd waiting to get in. I look out anxiously for her but I don't see her anywhere and my heart sinks, and just little flowers on it. The door opens and the people start pushing in. She's caught in the rush and there's nothing she can do about it. She bangs into me and she grabs the strap I'm holding and hangs on it for dear life.

"I beg you pardon, "she gasps.

My hands are pinned down and I can't tip my hat but I answer politely, "That's all right."

The door close and the train begins to move. She has to hold on to my strap; there isn't any other place for her.

"Nice day ,isn't it? "she says.

The train swings around a turn and the wheels squealing on the tails sound like the birds singing in New Hampshire. My heart is pounding like mad.

"Feels like spring, "I say.