芒果街上的小屋第42篇

　　Sire

　　I don't remember when I first noticed him looking at me—Sire. But I knew he was looking. Every time. All the time I walked past his house. Him and his friends sitting on their bikes in front of the house, pitching pennies. They didn't scare me. They did, but I wouldn't let them know. I don't cross the street like other girls. Straight ahead, straight eyes. I walked past. I knew he was looking. I had to prove to me I wasn't scared of nobody's eyes, not even his. I had to look back hard, just once, like he was glass. And I did. I did once. But I looked too long when he rode his bike past me. I looked because I wanted to be brave, straight into he dusty cat fur of his eyes and the bike stopped and he bumped into a parked car, bumped, and I walked fast. It made your blood freeze to have somebody look at you like that. Somebody looked at me. Somebody looked. But his kind, his ways. He is a punk, Papa says, and Mama says not to talk to him.

　　我不记得什么时候期，发觉他在看我，塞尔。可我知道他在看。每次。我从他家房前走过时，他一直在看。他和他的朋友在房子前，坐在自行车上抛硬币。他们没吓我。他们吓着我了，可我不会让他们知道。我不像别的女孩那样过街。我走了过去，笔直向前，笔直的视线。我知道他在看。我要想自己证明，我不害怕任何人的眼睛，即便是他的。我要回头用力看，就一眼，当他是块玻璃。于是我那么做了。我看了一眼，可我看的太久，在他骑过身边的时候，我看是因为我想勇敢些，一直看到他看见上灰蒙蒙的毛毛里去。自行车停下来，撞在一辆停着的小汽车上，撞到了，我于是飞快的走开。有人那样看你会让你的血结冰。有人看我，有人看。可是他是那样的人，他那样看。他是个小混混。爸爸说。别和他说话，妈妈说。