深圳婚紗攝影-現代經典婚紗攝影

I first met Owen seven years ago when I was a sophomore and he was a freshman at our high school. We became inseparable. Like me, he was totally into music-playing instruments and writing songs. And he was the “nice guy.” If Owen was going to a concert, he d invite everyone he knew, regardless of grade or “status .” Everyone loved him-especially me.

Even after I graduated from high school and enrolled at a nearby community college , Owen and I hung out every day. He was the first person I called when I decided to have a party at my parents house that year. It seemed like a perfect opportunity to get a keg : My mom and dad were going to visit my aunt for the entire day. Having the party at my house also meant I wouldn t have to worry about driving.

From what people told me later, the party was a pretty typical get-together . A lot of my friends came, and we hung out, drinking beer, watching the game, joking around and listening to music. When my parents came home that evening, the keg was gone but people were still milling around ; my parents were pretty angry to discover that I d had a party. I decided to go out so they could cool down. A friend offered to give Owen and me a ride-we were both drunk-but plans got confused and he left before we could meet outside. Somehow, I got behind the wheel of my car.

The next thing I knew, I was in the hospital. My vision was blurry and my entire body was racked with pain . Tubes seemed to be coming out of every part of my body. I had no idea how I got there: The last thing I remembered was planning a party with Owen over the phone. My mom was sitting next to my bed when I came to , but all she told me was that I had been in an accident and lost a lot of blood.

By my third day in the hospital, I realized Owen didn t visit. I couldn t understand why my best friend wouldn t come to see me. Struggling against the pain, I called his house. His mom answered, and when I asked for Owen, she got quiet. “He s not here right now,” she said. I thought it was strange that she didn t tell me where he was or offer to have him call me. But I was so weak, I just let it go .  I found out later that Owen s mom telephoned my parents right after we hung up. My phone call really made her anxious, and she insisted they talk to me. Later that night, my mom came by. Did I remember drinking? Did I remember being in a car? I had no idea what she was talking about, so she finally told me the news: I d hit a tree. Owen, in the passenger seat, was thrown from the car and killed instantly . The only reason I d lived was because of my seat belt.

My first reaction was of shock. I d been drink-driving? Hit a tree? Killed Owen? I felt like the worst person in the world. Even after I was able to go home several weeks later, I didn t want to eat, I didn t want to talk. I just stared at the wall in my bedroom and cried. The only person I wanted to see was Owen. I didn t feel like hanging out with any of my old friends.

Owen s parents said they didn t blame me. Ten months later, though, a policeman rang our doorbell. The state was prosecuting me for Owen s death. I had the option to plead guilty and maybe get a sentence, but my parents kept saying, “It was an accident!”

The trial was cruel. The prosecutor made me out to be a horrible person. The worst part was the terrible pictures the prosecutor showed-not only of the car but also of Owen after the accident. In the end, I was found guilty and sentenced to five years in prison.

I can t describe how terrified I was to leave my family and friends. Besides cleaning the toilet in our prison, I have nothing to do, nowhere to go and no one to talk to. I have never felt so lonely. Two years into my sentence, not a day goes by that I don t think about Owen. I ve joined a prison program that sends me to schools to warn students about drink-driving-it s like I have Owen inside to keep me going. I want to study in school again and pursue a career in music industry. Music is like therapy to me. I know nothing will ever bring Owen back. And whether I m in prison or not, I will have to live with that for the rest of my life. 
 

現在,一條蟲子近在咫尺.我的女兒用手指撫摸著它,好像那是一塊冷冷的斑斕寶石.我的腦海迅速地攪動著。如果我害怕，把蟲子丟在地上，女兒一定從此種下蟲子可怕的印象。在她的眼中，媽媽是無所不能無所畏懼的，如果有什麽東西把媽媽嚇成了這個樣子，那這東西一定是極其可怕的。

我讀過一些有關的書籍，知道當年我的媽媽，正是用這個辦法，讓我一生對蟲子這種幼小的物體，駭之入骨。即便當我長大之後，從理論上知道小小的蟲子只要沒有毒素，實在不值得大驚小怪，但我的身體不服從我的意志。我的媽媽一方面保護了我，一方面用一種不恰當的方式，把一種新的恐懼，注入到我的心裏。如果我大叫大喊，那麽這根恐懼的鏈條，還會遺傳下去。不行，我要用我的愛，將這條鐵環砸斷。

我顫顫巍巍伸出手，長大之後第一次把一只活的蟲子，捏在手心，翻過來掉過去地觀賞著那蟲子，還假裝很開心地咧著嘴，因為女兒正在目不轉睛地看著我呢！蟲子的體溫，比我的手指要高得多，它的皮膚有鱗片，鱗片中有濕潤的滑液一絲絲滲出，頭頂的茸毛在向不同的方向擺動著，比針尖還小的眼珠機警怯懦……

女友說著，我在一旁聽得毛骨悚然。只有一個對蟲子高度敏感的人，才能有如此令人震驚的描述。

女友繼續說，那一刻，真比百年還難熬。女兒清澈無瑕的目光籠罩著我，在她面前，我是一個神。我不能有絲毫的退縮，我不能把我病態的恐懼傳給她……不知過了多久，我把蟲子輕輕地放在了地上。我對女兒說，這是蟲子。蟲子沒什麽可怕的。有的蟲子有毒，你別用手去摸。不過，大多數蟲子是可以摸的……那只蟲子，就在地上慢慢地爬遠了。女兒還對它揚揚小手，說“拜……”

我抱起女兒，半天一步都沒有走動。衣服早已被粘粘的汗浸濕。

我說，為了一個小蟲子，下這麽大的功夫，真有你的，值得嗎？女友很認真地說，值得啊。你知道我為什麽怕蟲子嗎？

我撇撇嘴說，我又不是你媽，我怎麽會知道啊！

女友拍著我的手說，你可算說到點子上了，怕蟲就是和我媽有關。我小的時候，是不怕蟲子的。有一次我媽媽聽到我在外面哭，急忙跑出去一看，我的手背又紅又腫，旁邊一條大花毛蟲正在緩緩爬走。我媽知道我被蟲蟄了，趕緊往我手上抹牙膏，那是老百姓止癢解毒的土法。以後，她只要看到我的身旁有蟲子，就大喊大叫地嚇唬我……一來二去的，我就成了條件反射，看到蟲子，真魂出竅。

後來如何好的呢？我追問。依我的醫學知識，知道這是將一個刺激反復強化，最後，女友就成了巴甫洛夫教授的案例，每一次看到蟲子，就恢復到童年時代的大恐懼中。世上有形形色色的恐懼症，有的人怕高，有的人怕某種顔色，我曾見過一位女士，怕極了飛機起飛的瞬間，不到萬不得已，她是絕不搭乘飛機的。一次實在躲不過，上了飛機。系好安全帶後，她駭得臉色刷白，飛機開始滑動，她竟嚎啕大哭起來……中國古時的“一朝被蛇咬，三年怕井繩”說的也是這回事。只不過杯弓蛇影的起因，有的人記得，有的人已遺忘在潛意識的晦暗中。在普通人看來是微不足道的小事，對當事人來說，痛苦的煎熬，治療起來十分困難。

女友說，後來有人要給我治，說是用“逐步脫敏”的辦法。比如先讓我看蟲子的畫片，然後隔著玻璃觀察蟲子，最後直接注視蟲子……

原來你是這樣被治好的啊！我恍然大悟道。

嗨！我根本就沒用這個法子。我可受不了，別說是看蟲子的畫片了，有一次到飯店吃飯，上了一罐精致的補品。我一揭開蓋，看到那飄浮的蟲草，當時就把盛湯的小罐摔到地上了……朋友撫著胸口，心有餘悸地講著。

我有一位閨中好友,從小怕蟲子。不論什麽品種的蟲子都怕。披著蓑衣般茸毛的洋拉子，不害羞地裸著體的吊死鬼，一視同仁地怕。放學的時候，甚至連雨後的蚯蚓也怕，如果恰好剛停了小雨，她就會閉了眼睛，讓我牽著她的手，慢慢地在黑鏡似的柏油路上走。我說，邁大步！她就乖乖地跨出很遠，幾乎成了體操動作上的“劈叉”，以成功地躲避正蜿蜒於馬路的軟體動物。在這種瞬間，我可以感受到她的手指如青蛙腿避正蜿蜒於馬路的軟體動物。在這種瞬間，我可以感受到她的手指如青蛙般彈著，不但冰涼，還有密集的顫抖。

大家不止一次地想法治她這毛病，那麽大的人了，看到一個小小手蟲，哭天搶地的，多丟人啊！早春天，男生把飄蕩的楊花墜，偷偷地夾在她的書頁裏。待她走進教室，我們都屏氣等著那心驚肉跳的一喊，不料什麽聲響也未曾聽到。她翻開書，眼皮一翻，身子一軟，就悄無聲息地癱到桌子底下了。

從此再不敢鍛煉她。

許多年過去，各自都成了家，有了孩子。一天，她到我家中做客，我下廚，她在一旁幫忙。我摘青椒的時候，突然從蒂鑽出一條青蟲，胖如蠶豆，背上還長著簇簇黑刺，好一條險惡的蟲子。因為事出意外，怕那蟲墊人，我下意識地將半個柿子椒像著了火的手榴彈扔出老遠。

待柿椒停止了滾動，我用殺蟲劑將那蟲子撲死，才想起酷怕蟲的女友，心想剛才她一直目不轉睛地和我聊著天，這蟲子一定是入了她的眼，未曾聽到她驚呼，該不是嚇得暈厥過去了吧？

回頭尋她，只見她神態自若地看著我，淡淡的說，一只小蟲，何必如此慌張。

我比剛才看到蟲子還愕然地說，啊，你居然不怕蟲子了？吃了什麽抗過敏藥？不定式是狠鬥私字一閃念，階級覺悟有了大提高？

女友苦笑說，怕還是怕啊。只是我已經能練得面不改色，一般人絕看不出破綻。剛開始的時候，我不盯著一條蚯蚓看，因為我知道它是益蟲，感情上接受起來比較順暢。再說，蚯蚓是絕對不會咬人的，安全性能較好……這樣慢慢舉一反三，現在我無論看到有毛沒毛的蟲,都可以把驚恐壓制在喉嚨裏。

我有一台舊電腦，8086型,但它可不曾偷懶，打出過上百萬字的文稿。搬家的時候，我用棉被把它包裹得好似一個怕風的嬰兒，托在膝蓋上，呵護備至，眼看平安抵達，沒想到路面開了一道槽，司機沒留意，車身猛地一個劇烈顛簸。打開家門，我忙不叠地察看電腦，從接通電源到等待字符閃現的那段時辰，急得人揪心裂肺。

電腦壞了，進入持久的冬眠。無論你怎樣敲擊健盤，漆黑的屏幕就是無動於衷。那一陣，我遍訪號稱電腦醫生的高手，把他們請到家裏，好生待承，希望他們能妙手回春，拯救我昏迷癱瘓的朋友。

沒想到各路英雄所見略同，都說這種原始電腦，防震功能很差，系統現已崩潰。就是把當初造這台機器的IBM工程師請來，也回天無術。最好的辦法是把它扔了，再買親的來。一位好心高手諄諄告誡說，要扔盡早吧，要不以後像這種大宗舊電器，人家要收垃圾費的。

起死回生無望，只得買了新電腦。新物的確好使，但舊物如何處置呢？我無法想象讓它和果皮煤渣為伍，埋在廢墟中腐朽。鍵盤上的每一枚字母，都重疊著無數我的指紋。多少個夜晚，家人熟睡，只有這台忠誠的電腦，陪伴我喜怒哀樂。它連結著打印機，將最初的文稿連續吐出的時候，我會湧出一個農民揚場時的感動。

於是我把舊電腦藏進包裝箱，塑膠布封好，尼龍繩紮緊，擺在家的角落。一年年過去了，它在狹小的房屋內牢固地佔據著空間，塵封漸厚。有知底的朋友見了，吃驚地問，還沒舍得丟啊？你是事打算收藏文物，或者以後開個計算機博物館？我絕無那般宏偉的籌劃，只是覺得人們對待一條曾經流過血的警犬，一匹淌過汗的軍馬，尚且頤養天年，對一起走過長路的助手，也該柔和些。

有一個詞，叫做“物情”，說的是人與共同度過年華的物件，有一份難捨難分的感情。

古代人好像對“物”有一些成見，一句“不以物喜，不以己悲”的名人名言，就把“物”釘到千古的恥辱柱上了，好像什麽若沾了喜愛物的名聲，就成了小人，更有“身外之物這樣的貶詞，顯出冷峭的淡然。但我想說的，不是那咱權柄之物，豪華之物龐然之物，只是曾經嵌入我們生命的小物件，它們大體上是家常和暗淡的，散發著陳舊的氣息。

現代社會，節奏越來越快。早年間，老祖母會指著一個紅漆的小板凳，說，這是我結婚時的陪嫁。如今家具三五年就淘汰一輪，再也找不到懷舊的眷戀。過去的一件衣服，大孩子穿了小孩子穿，最後殘破的片段，還會被糊成鞋底，在腳上陪人們走過歲月。現今難得有一件衣服是被穿破的，都是因為式樣色彩的不時髦，而讓我們隨著丟棄。更不消說一次性的筷子一次性的飯盒，吃飯的時候，我們絕不會從千篇一律的僵白色和簸箕狀的結構裏，嘗出獨屬母親盛在青花小碗裏的那份溫馨。

因為不曾長久相伴，所以我們心中惘然，不知珍惜。即使共過患難，時進境遷，我們也漸漸在忙碌和喧囂中將它淡出。

物情恐怕會越來越少了，如同我們曾經擁有過的晴朗天空和明澈河水，一次性服務的物品越來越多了，從孩子的紙尿褲到成人的愛情。

也許哪一天，我也會狠下心，把功勛卓著的電腦抛進垃圾堆，以便讓家中寬敞些。當揀一個雲黑風高的日子，一是省得讓收垃圾的人看見，氣惱增加了勞動量，二是為了心中殘存的那點情誼，而怕見月亮。