Essays on revisiting small towns

Walking on the street of the town, looking around, it is a bustling scene. But what I'm looking for is a small town that was still a little quiet.

I once lived in this town for four years.

Walking in the street, I can't remember its street name, only the shops on the corner. As soon as you step into the door, clothes and groceries of different shapes and colors are placed on different shelves in the store. The busy waiter saw me come in and asked me what I wanted with great interest. I snorted, shook my head and walked out of the door. How do they know? I want a memory that is about to be blurred.

Behind the corner shop is the small yard where I once lived. Here, I can recognize its old image slightly. The original kitchen was low and old, the adobe wall was painted with a layer of rough white ash, and there were "tears" of different shades washed out by rain. At this time, I am standing in front of this small house that has been filled with the imprint of my youth, and I can't tell its original appearance. Its original use has been rewritten by a pile of black coal. Opposite the hut, a four-story building is independent, and my former "boudoir" is gone.

I remember when I first came to town, I was arranged by the company to be unemployed. I just turned 20, young and ignorant. I was warmly rejected by the person in charge here. He said, "You are not suitable for work at your age. Go home and study for two years and then report! " The contempt in my eyes completely angered me. Holding a transfer order, I was about to rush out of his office when my father pulled me back. I will never forget my father's behavior. He took out a box of cigarettes that he never wanted to smoke. The name of this cigarette is the same as the street name of a small town. I forgot, but I only remember my father's humble expression when he respectfully handed out a cigarette. At that time, I was annoyed by my father's contemptuous eyes and humble expression. It never occurred to me that my actions at that time almost changed my life. Fortunately, when you are young, many unreasonable places will easily find reasons to be forgiven or even tolerated.

I stayed and was arranged at this unemployment point. My job is to collect money for buying and selling goods, and I live in the innermost room of the yard where I am standing. My aunt who used to cook for us in these small rooms occupied by black coal is said to have gone to heaven. Twenty years later, I can still remember her simple and honest smile. She told me to drag my long tail when eating. She secretly gave me the appearance of barbecue, and she cooked soup for me when I was sick. Her name, I remember, I called her Aunt Wang.

Out of the yard, this is the original square! Now it is occupied by rows of commercial shops and has taken root. I tried to find some traces of it, even a song I heard, or a pigeon flying by. In this noisy market, my little wish was instantly disintegrated. Instead, I sat at the former gate, and now there are three or five people enjoying the cool in front of the bank, which just attracted my real kindness and reminded me of the first teacher who taught me abacus when I first came, a short and thin old man.

I was about her daughter's age. Her daughter is an apprentice in the barber shop on the street. In the evening, the barber shop closes late. When she can't go home, she will come and sleep with me. We play in this bed, talk about life, love and occasionally gossip about boys. Our crisp and hearty laughter often rings in the small yard, full of youthful atmosphere.

Every morning when I get up early, the short, thin and serious old man looks at us sleepily, stares and closes his mouth, as if he doesn't want to bring us breakfast. There are poached eggs, boiled chicken legs, oil cakes and fried peanuts ... For me who always have the same breakfast in the canteen when I am away from home, it is undoubtedly a delicious and sumptuous meal.

He is the director of our sales department. In his spare time, he will patiently teach me how to use abacus and how to register goods when I first joined the WTO. In summer, he sat at the gate and told us the Book, The Three Heroes and Five Righteousnesses, The Romance of the Three Kingdoms, The Legend of the Tang Dynasty and so on. He changed his usual seriousness and talked about taking pictures of the starry sky and moonlight. ...

At this time, how eager I was to be among them, I only heard a radiant "Zhang Fei roared, Dangyang Bridge was immediately broken in two ..." Then, I borrowed a cattail leaf fan to shake off my feelings of not sending it over the years. But as soon as I got close to them, I chickened out. They are strangers to me, but they are not strangers to my memory and the pictures I have often conceived in my mind for more than ten years, while I am a stranger to them!

On the outskirts of the town, there are fields on the roadside, and tall poplars and poplars surround farmers' families. At the moment, the fields, poplars and people are very quiet. I am quiet, too.

Quietly, come and say goodbye to this field, this poplar and this peasant family. The years that leave my thoughts and stay in my memory will eventually come to an end. However, the orchard fenced by the road in Tanobe has disappeared, but the memory of the orchard still exists in my mind.

At that time, I was young and had a bad appetite. After dinner, Aunt Wang, who cooks for us, and my colleagues on duty will take me for a walk on this path, in order to keep fit and eat more meat. On the other hand, I prefer to wander around this orchard. There are different kinds of apples and pears in the orchard. There is a canal beside the orchard and the highway. In order to water the orchard, the owner of the orchard built a small door with a height of 1 meter and a width of 50 cm where the canal passed through the orchard, and the door was usually unlocked. Every afternoon, when I come to this section of the road, I will stop, bend down and get into the orchard through this small door and visit the fruits in the orchard once. I have tasted every growing process from green summer to mature summer, just like tasting my own growing process. Now that I think about it, the owner of the orchard must know that I often patronize the fruits of his labor, because every time I walk out of that small door, I can see him far or near.

The fields are still there, the roads are still there, and so are the canals. The orchard has been occupied by a large area of corn, and my former friends must have been sent to their respective spaces by time. The stars are scattered!

I remember when I first left town, I would come back to visit every three or two months. My former colleagues and friends, because of their familiarity, always get together and play until the East turns white, as if to make up for those days after I left. Until the busyness occupied my rest, our familiarity and intimacy, until one day, I made an appointment with three or five friends, but I was embarrassed by strangeness and formality. By the time the formal formalities were cancelled, the child crawling on his knees had shouted "Go home" once and for all. Until then, I suddenly felt that we had walked out of our initial passion and heart in this endless time. So I didn't go to them this time. Isn't it? In fact, everything that happened to me in a small town is like this roadside orchard. Flowers bloom and fall several times, and will eventually be squeezed into the secular cracks by the footsteps of time. Although there are traces to be found, it is impossible to go back.

Walking out of the town, I asked myself, is the town a westernized city? Looking at the rows of neatly arranged attics, watching the plaques with different styles standing in the attic, and watching the vigorous and powerful Chinese characters on the plaque silently attract people's food and clothing. I told myself that this town was the same as before. I hope you are all right.

Stop-and-go, although the scenery in front of you has changed, the memory is like old wine. After washing away the lead, it still shows the charm of the old days. This is why I want to look back again and again.

Don't ask me why I came to town. I just want to say that I came to the town for no other reason, just to dispel my desire for its "local flavor", its human feelings and the healthy environment it gave me. I might as well come back once!