I had a good friend when I was a child. I was about the same age as him. I am someone else's child in the eyes of my relatives, and he is someone else's child in the eyes of my parents.
I still remember the scene of going to play with him after school every Friday afternoon.
That is a house that the bottom merchant changed by himself. The middle is separated by a curtain that is not shabby but not luxurious. Outside is the street, inside is the shop, inside a dark, damp room with a strange pungent smell is the place where he sleeps every day.
At that time, we were not old, and we were at the age of carefree going to the house to uncover the tiles.
But in retrospect, that room was indeed the most shabby I had ever seen.
There is only one curtain apart, which can only hold two six-year-olds, and one can only carry it on his shoulder. Reading and appreciation of American articles
I can't remember whether it's a square or a rectangle. Anyway, it's a bed made of two very narrow boards and arranged in an L shape.
There is a TV, which is an old-fashioned big belly TV, saying that it is a big belly but very small, and you can't read clearly. There are snowflakes from time to time. In this way, he was stupefied with pirated CDs under the bed.
You will feel a little dark when you enter the room during the day, and you can't see it at night. The narrow room could only be illuminated by a light bulb hanging from a small string overhead.
By the way, the room is small, but the height is very good. Maybe we were too short. I remember there was a huge plastic sheet on top of my head, carrying some things. I was really afraid that he would sleep at night, and then those things would fall on him.
He explained to me that it was all next season's clothes, and his family did not have a wardrobe, and thick clothes and quilts were all on it.
Although the environment is limited, he is the most knowledgeable person I have ever met. And the smartest person I've ever met.
Have you ever seen a person who finished reading the history records in the third and fourth grade and then wrote a brief history of more than a hundred thousand words?
I can't find any adjective to describe him except genius.
Later, when he was in junior high school, he left Tianjin.
It is said that all the outsiders who had no money to buy a house in Tianjin have left.
And I lost two close friends as a result.
One is him.
To tell you the truth, I still can't write his name up to now. It's not that I really can't write that word. I just didn't get a chance to ask. I've been calling him by his first name.
I didn't know that I had called the wrong name for more than a decade until I added QQ as a friend.
Shuofeng Shuo, not a master's Shuo.
I remember him as a very outgoing and lively person.
You can talk to everyone, and people who are older than him will think that he is very learned. Not to mention the younger ones.
In recent years, he will come back to visit our friends in Tianjin during the summer vacation.
When he came back, he became very literary and artistic. That feeling is indescribable, and his temperament is as correct as a Xinhua dictionary.
He said that I had also changed, that I was getting older and less talkative.
Only at that moment did I know that time would really change a lot.
I still remember the night he left Tianjin.
It was a midsummer, but I didn't feel a trace of warmth, only a tingling in my heart.
Three or five of our friends hugged him and said the most mature words of that age: take care of yourself, good-bye.
At that time, I felt as if the word goodbye was misused. Should I use goodbye forever?
Later I learned that to say goodbye is to express the hope that I met again.
We watched him leave the street where we had been noisy for six years.
We didn't cry, we just watched his back drifting away. He did not look back, probably for fear that we would see his tears, we did not cry, probably for fear that he would look back and see us cry.
After we went home separately, my loving mother asked me, "is he gone?" I said: let's go. And then I cried.
Crying heartbroken, crying heartbroken lung. I couldn't hear anything from crying, only my crying.
It was probably the first time in my life that I didn't sleep at all.
Crying red and swollen eyes in the morning. I regret that I didn't say a few words of farewell last night.
Now I go back to his old home, which has long been transformed. Now it is a warehouse for express delivery.
I walked past the warehouse and looked inside for a long time when I was suddenly photographed by a man who asked me: Sir? Are you looking for express delivery?
I shook my head and he went in.
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