Teacher, Swayai Dahan
After the last exam, the winter break comes. No more school, but some of us still go to school every day just to be with the teacher. Be with her when she is correcting our exam papers, when she needs little helps or someone to chat with. We even follow her home. Not really a home, but a room that she rents from a retired teacher, Mr. Chang. He is old and grumpy and very mean to us. He complains that we are too noisy. But we are naughty enough to irritate him; every time we arrive at the house, we cry out loud, "Good-bye teacher, see you tomorrow," and run away quickly before he comes out to catch us.
We ask our teacher for her telephone number.
"Do you know how to make long distance calls?" she asks. Of course we do, because most of our parents work in other towns and cities. We've already learned how to call them. The teacher reads her telephone number to us, and we write it down and carefully put it in safe places. She says whenever we feel like talking to her, we can always call.
Our teacher doesn't tell us the exact day of her leaving. We ask her, but she just wouldn't tell. "I don't like people to see me off, " she says, "I don't like that. It's awkward. You feel like crying, but you have to hold it back. Very embarrassing. "
That day, Kuang and Mei see a taxi parking in front of the teacher's place. And, they see our teacher drag her luggage out of the house. The driver is helping upload the luggage. Mr. Chang and his wife are holding the teacher's hands.
"Please, please don't go!" Kuang runs to her. He cries out, giving his last try to keep her.
"Don't, Kuang. I'm leaving now," the teacher rubs his hair the last time.
She gets into the car. Mei is quietly standing aside, holding a bag of corns. Her big eyes follow the teacher until she waves good-bye from the window. She bursts out a big cry, "Don't go!"
But the car goes anyway, moving farther and farther, then disappears at the turn of the road along the foothill.
We call her quite often, for a period of time, and always do it secretly, because the growups say we are wasting our money calling a teacher who is not coming back. But, when we ask her when she is coming back. She always says, "Soon, very soon. You study hard and wait for me to come back." We believe her.
We wait and wait until we are too busy growing up. Missing her has slipped into the bottom of our memories. But at certain time, it pops up again like the plum blossoms that bloom in January ever year. We miss her, when the time our feet slip into the long waiting shoes when the first cold front hits the village. We miss her, when we make our own popcorn with lots of sugar in it. We miss her, when it's our turn to do the cheerleading dance on the sport day.
Sometimes we wonder maybe she has gone to America to study. Maybe she has seen a lot of differences. Ｍaybe she still remembers her words, just maybe.
We'd like to tell her we have grown up, but the little waterfall has dried out, for the one who loves her has never come back. We want to tell her that the mountains in Hwalian haven't changed much, our village looks pretty much the same, and our hope for her to come back is still there. We hope one day we can lie down again under the plum trees, tracing our memories back to the old days in the sweet smell of blossoms.
Teacher, Swayai Dahan, good-bye.
We ask our teacher for her telephone number.
"Do you know how to make long distance calls?" she asks. Of course we do, because most of our parents work in other towns and cities. We've already learned how to call them. The teacher reads her telephone number to us, and we write it down and carefully put it in safe places. She says whenever we feel like talking to her, we can always call.
Our teacher doesn't tell us the exact day of her leaving. We ask her, but she just wouldn't tell. "I don't like people to see me off, " she says, "I don't like that. It's awkward. You feel like crying, but you have to hold it back. Very embarrassing. "
That day, Kuang and Mei see a taxi parking in front of the teacher's place. And, they see our teacher drag her luggage out of the house. The driver is helping upload the luggage. Mr. Chang and his wife are holding the teacher's hands.
"Please, please don't go!" Kuang runs to her. He cries out, giving his last try to keep her.
"Don't, Kuang. I'm leaving now," the teacher rubs his hair the last time.
She gets into the car. Mei is quietly standing aside, holding a bag of corns. Her big eyes follow the teacher until she waves good-bye from the window. She bursts out a big cry, "Don't go!"
But the car goes anyway, moving farther and farther, then disappears at the turn of the road along the foothill.
We call her quite often, for a period of time, and always do it secretly, because the growups say we are wasting our money calling a teacher who is not coming back. But, when we ask her when she is coming back. She always says, "Soon, very soon. You study hard and wait for me to come back." We believe her.
We wait and wait until we are too busy growing up. Missing her has slipped into the bottom of our memories. But at certain time, it pops up again like the plum blossoms that bloom in January ever year. We miss her, when the time our feet slip into the long waiting shoes when the first cold front hits the village. We miss her, when we make our own popcorn with lots of sugar in it. We miss her, when it's our turn to do the cheerleading dance on the sport day.
Sometimes we wonder maybe she has gone to America to study. Maybe she has seen a lot of differences. Ｍaybe she still remembers her words, just maybe.
We'd like to tell her we have grown up, but the little waterfall has dried out, for the one who loves her has never come back. We want to tell her that the mountains in Hwalian haven't changed much, our village looks pretty much the same, and our hope for her to come back is still there. We hope one day we can lie down again under the plum trees, tracing our memories back to the old days in the sweet smell of blossoms.
Teacher, Swayai Dahan, good-bye.
老師 再見 Swayai Dahan
考完最後一次月考後，雖然就放寒假了，不用去上學，但是每天還是有人到學校找老師，陪老師改考卷，幫一些小忙，陪老師聊天，還跟著老師回家，也不算是老師的家，因為她只是跟退休的張爺爺分租了一個房間。我們都不敢進去張爺爺的家，因為他很兇，會嫌我們很吵。我們只能在門口大聲說：「老師明天見。」然後很快的跑走。
很多人跟老師要電話，老師問：「你們知道要怎麼打電話嗎？」我們然知道，因為爸爸媽媽在外面工作，我們早就知道怎麼打電話給他們。老師把電話號碼念給我們，大家小心翼翼的把電話寫下來，收好。老師還說，只要想找老師講話的時候就可以打。。
老師沒有告訴我們哪一天要離開，我們問她，她都不肯說，「我不要離開那天一大堆人送
，我不喜歡那樣，讓人想哭又不好意思哭的場面。」 老師這樣告訴我們。
那天，光正和純妹看到一部計程車停在老師家門口，又看到老師把行李推出來，司機幫忙把行李放上車。張爺爺和張奶奶握著老師的手。
「求求你，老師你不要走！」光正趕緊跑向老師，他大喊著，還是不放棄，想要留住老師。
「光正，不要這樣，老師馬上就要走了。“」老師摸摸他的頭說。
老師坐進計程車，純妹抱著她裝滿玉米的布袋，甚麼話也沒有說，大大的眼睛盯著老師看，老師從車窗裡向我們揮揮手，車子開動了，純妹這時才放聲大喊：「不要走！」
但是車子還是開走了，越走越遠，然後消失在遠處的山腳下。
之後，我們常常偷偷打電話給老師，每次都問她什麼時候會回來，每次她都說「快了快了，你們要加油，好好讀書，等我回去。」等著等著，漸漸的，成長的忙碌，讓我們對老師的思念，慢慢沈澱在記憶的深處，但是一如那每年都會悄然綻放的李花，那看似靜止的回憶，好像固定在某些時候，又會一下子悄悄的浮現；像是那雙自由了整個夏天的腳，在冬天穿上鞋子的時候；當我們自己可以爆玉米花加一堆糖的時候，還有輪到我們跳啦啦隊舞的時候。
我們常想，也許老師真的去美國讀書了，也許她已經看到了很多的不一樣，也許她還記得說過的話，只是也許。
我們很想要告訴老師，我們已經長大了，但是小瀑布的水已經乾涸了，因為愛她的人一直沒有回來。
花蓮的山沒有變，西林村也沒什麼變，我們希望老師再回來的心情，也不會變。老師，希望李花盛開的時候，能和你再一次躺在樹下，循著李花的香味，重拾過去的記憶！
老師，Swayai Dahan。
No comments:
Post a Comment