|
My cousin Stacey in San Francisco called recently. We hadn’t spoken since she visited me the previous month, and I missed her. I was sitting in my office, catching up on e-mail while refreshing my Twitter feed every few minutes. Hardly too busy for a chat.
我住在旧金山的表姊妹斯塔西最近打来电话。她上个月来看过我，后来我们就没再聊过了，我还挺想她的。当时我正在办公室，一边收邮件一边隔几分钟刷一次Twitter，不能算没空聊天。
And yet, I watched the call come in without touching my phone. I didn’t listen to the voice mail she left either but fired off a text instead, apologizing for being too busy to talk and proposing that we plan a call for the next day.
但我看着打进来的号码，并没有接，也没听语音信箱里她的留言，只是匆匆回了个短信，道歉说我太忙，没空聊天，建议明天再通话。
Why the lie? I had time to talk. I had the privacy and quietude I rarely have at my home full of little children and happy chaos. Some of my best conversations of all time have been with Stacey. But my reflex was to avoid her call.
我明明有空，为什么还要撒谎？而且当时也拥有家里少见的隐私和安静，因为家里挤满小孩子，总是充满快乐的吵闹。斯塔西一直是我最好的聊天伙伴之一，但我的反应居然是不接她的电话。
These days, I hardly ever pick up. Most of my daily phone-based exchanges are conducted via text and messaging on social-media platforms. With those, I’m rapid-fire on the turnaround. Every ping signaling a text or swoosh alerting me to a Twitter direct message feels like a tiny gift in waiting. The trill of an unexpected incoming call, on the other hand, feels like a potential demand on my time and attention.
这些日子以来，其实我很少接电话，使用手机的大部分日常交流都是通过短信或者社交网络的私信。这样可以很快结束一轮谈话。每一声短信或者Twitter站内信的提示音都像是一份有待开启的小礼物。而突如其来的电话带来的却是紧张感，仿佛是在要求占用我的时间与注意力。
Stacey’s call probably would have fallen into this category. She was going through a difficult time. Her five-year relationship with her boyfriend was falling apart, and she was laid off 18 months earlier. While she couldn’t bear to live another second with her almost-ex, she also couldn’t afford to venture out into the exorbitant San Francisco housing market on her own.
斯塔西的电话可能也算是这一类。她最近过得不太如意，和交往了五年的男朋友就快分手了，18个月前又没了工作。现在她和这位准前男友在一起，一分钟也呆不下去，又没法独自负担旧金山高昂的房价。
Stacey hadn’t responded to my text, but I wasn’t worried. We would catch up. We always did.
斯塔西没回我短信。但我也不担心。我们还会联系的，一直都是这样。
A week later, she texted: “Can you talk tomorrow around 9:15 or 2?” I was actually quite busy that day, preparing to host a company event in the evening. But Stacey’s prefacing her call with a text felt different. Softer. Less intrusive. “I’ll call you at 2!” I replied.
一周后，她发来短信：“我们能不能在明天上午九点十五或下午两点聊聊？”我那天其实很忙，要准备晚上的公司活动。但是斯塔西在打来电话之前先发短信，感觉很不一样。显得更温和，不那么打扰人。“我两点打给你！”我回复。
“You didn’t listen to my voice mail last week, did you?” she asked when we finally spoke.
“你上周没听语音信箱吧？”等我们终于说上了话的时候，她说。
“Uh. . . . ”
“哦……”
“I know,” she sighed. “You never listen to your voice mail. Just delete; I’m fine.”
“我知道，”她叹息，“你从来不听语音信箱就删掉；我没事。”
We talked for an hour, mostly about her ailing relationship and her housing situation, as I anticipated. But it was an easy conversation. She’d just been approved for a great studio apartment. The prospect of being single again was starting to offer her glimmers of new possibility, instead of frightening loneliness.
我们聊了一个钟头，不出我所料，主要是关于她那段痛苦的恋情，还有住房问题。但谈话很轻松。她刚刚获准住进一处很棒的零居公寓。再次单身的前景让她可以看到新的可能性，而不是害怕孤独。
Afterward, I listened to her voice mail from the previous week. It was almost unintelligible through her sobs. She was having a bottom-of-the-well moment, utterly distraught by the Big Picture of her life, not one thing in particular but the sort of malaise that strikes from every direction and gobbles you whole. She simply needed me to keep her company on the phone while she freaked out. To tell her everything would be O.K.
后来我听了她上周的语音留言。留言中她一直在抽泣，话音几乎难以分辨。她当时正处在低谷，未来的人生蓝图令她忧心如焚，不是某件具体的事，而是那种萎靡不振的感觉从四面八方袭来，仿佛吞噬了她。在那个惊慌失措的时候，她只是需要我在电话里陪陪她，告诉她一切都会好起来。
Hearing that message slammed me with guilt. When had I become a person who prioritized emotional convenience over the needs of those closest to me? Because really, that’s what my phone avoidance is about: delaying the on-the-spot engagement required by another human voice. I’d been coasting along on what seems like a new norm: Nobody picks up. Why should I?
听了那个留言，我心里充满歉疚。从什么时候起，我开始在感情上只图自己方便，不理会身边人的需要？真的，我不愿接电话就是这个原因：我想回避另一个人所需要的现场干预。我一直在一种新现象中随波逐流：既然没有人接电话，那我为什么要接？
Lesson learned, I resolved to change. Unless I was legitimately occupied, I promised myself I would start picking up the phone whenever it rang, regardless of any disruption the conversation might bring. I would become a more spontaneous, generous friend.
我吸取了教训，得做出改变。我向自己保证，除非有正事，一定要电话一响马上就接，不管这通对话会给我带来怎样的打扰。我要做个更主动、更慷慨的朋友。
I mentioned the New Me in passing to many people in the weeks after Stacey’s voice mail, including Stacey. Guess what? I’m a person who answers her phone now! Call me and see.
斯塔西这件事之后，几周来我把自己的改变告诉许多人，其中也包括斯塔西。“你猜怎么样？我现在可以马上就接电话了！不信就打给我试试看吧。”
But hardly anyone has put me to the test. My phone continues to chirp throughout the day with text, e-mail and Twitter notifications, but full days pass without a single ring. My will to recondition myself came too late; my friends, family and I have already trained one another to live by the new rules of engagement: Call only if truly necessary. Text first.
但是几乎没有人来试验真假。我的手机还是整天只响着短信、电子邮件和Twitter更新的提示音，好几天过去了都没有一个电话打来。重塑自我的愿望似乎来得太迟；朋友、家人和我自己似乎都已经学着适应了交际的新规则：除非真有必要才打电话，凡事先发短信。
As a result, the desire to change that I felt so urgently after Stacey’s call has since faded. It’s an instinctive preference, seemingly shared by nearly everyone I know, for the low emotional risk of communicating via words on a screen. I might force myself to answer unplanned calls these days. But I’ll always hesitate first.
所以，斯塔西事件之后，我那改变自我的决心也渐渐消退了。这是一种本能的偏好，我认识的所有人似乎都是这么选择的——靠屏幕敲击文字交流，付出的感情风险比较小。如今我可能会强迫自己接听突如其来的电话。但我总会先犹豫一下。
本文作者Caeli Wolfson Widger是现居加利福尼亚州桑塔莫妮卡的一位作家，她的小说《真正快乐的家庭》(Real Happy Family)明年将由亚马逊出版公司出版。
本文最初发表于2013年10月6日。
翻译：董楠
|
- VOA 英语教学节目
-
- 经典英语在线训练资源
-
|
