建厂经典少儿英语小故事带翻译：老朋友

2021年1月11日发(作者：山达)

经典少儿英语小故事带翻译：老朋友

Old friends. They finish your sentences, they remember
the cat that ran away when you were twelve, and they tell you
the truth when you've had a bad haircut. But mostly, they are
always there for you—whether it's in person or via late
night phone calls—through good times and bad. But as the
years pass, it becomes increasingly difficult to see each
other, to make new memories. Fortunately, my high school
girlfriends and I vowed long ago not to let this happen. We
vowedto have reunions.





A few months ago, we met up for a three-day weekend in
the American Southwest. We grew up together in Maine and have
said for years that we should have an annual event, yet it's
often postponed or canceled due to schedule conflicts. Not
this year.

Four of us-two from San Francisco, one from Boston, and
one from Seattle-boarded planes bound for Santa Fe, New
Mexico, where one of the ganglives and works for an art
gallery. Two years ago, she moved there-escaped, rather- from
the film industry in New York City, where she led a life that
felt too fast, too unfulfilling. The artist in her longed for
vibrant landscapes and starry moonlit skies. She wanted to
drive a truck on dusty roads, a trusty dog at her side,
riding shotgun. She got all that and found love, too. She is
happy.



The rest of us- still big city folks-converged on her like
a cyclone straight out of the pages of a girlfriend novel.
Chattering and memory swapping, we were fifteen again in a
space of five minutes. Naturally, we relived some of the
stories of our youth-angst and all-but we also brought much
more to the gathering this time. We were new people. We were
wives and girlfriends to someone back home. We were
businesswomen, artists and writers. We were no longer girls,
no longer post-college grads. We were women.

I shared an air mattress that night with my friend from
Boston, the one who calls me, while rubbernecking in traffic,
to catch up on her cell phone, to tell me of her life and
love. On the next mattress was a gal from San Francisco,
newly single and enjoying her independence. Our host, the
artist, shared her bedroom that weekend with a married dot-
commer from San Francisco. Yes, we are different, but we are
also the same. The years of our youth say so.

The apartment was open and we talked late into the night,
our voices carrying back and forth between the rooms as we
laughed, cackling about things that would only be humorous to
friends with this kind of history. The next morning, I awoke
to a brilliant blue sky, beautifully contrasted by the earthy
brown of the surrounding adobe. It was Saturday and the art
enthusiasts were out, so, with coffee in hand, I dropped off
our host at work. I returned to find the others still deep in
slumber, deep lines on their faces evidence of a restfulsleep.

We checked out town and headed to the airport to pick up
the last straggler, who came in from San Francisco for one
night. “I wouldn't have missed this for anything,” she said,


despite her 4 a.m. trip to the airport. That night we
celebrated over margaritas and Southwestern fare, each of us
gazing at the faces around the table as we wondered, who
would have thought the bonds of childhood could last this
long? Some of us have been friends since the age of five,
some since age twelve and, yet, here we are approaching the
age of thirty. Quite rapidly, I might add.

The weekend consisted of long talks by the pool,
wonderful meals, and a hike that brought the entire group to
tears. Not tears of sadness or anger, but an outpouring of
emotion over the sheer wonderment that we can be this close-
twelve years after graduation-with such physical distance
between us. It's heartbreaking that we can't spend our days
together in the same neighborhood, walking the same streets,
reading the same newspaper at the same coffee shop. But
that's life. Grown-up life.

Most amazing is the group's adaptability to one another.
The months we spend apart are non- existent. No need to get
reacquainted, we jump back in the saddle and it's as
comfortable as ever. Old friends-friends with an ever-present
sense of support and sisterhood, friends that know each other
innately-are hard to come by and yet we remain as tight today
as we were, years ago, giggling in the back row of Mr.
McKechnie's 9th grade math class.

Life today, however, is no math class. Our world,
spinning slightlyoff its axis is full of doubt, full of fear.
Yet it reminds me-now, more than ever-how vital it is that we
stay in close touch. We may have questions about our future,
but we have true faith in our past, and though this reunion