【时间旅行者的妻子】50（在线收听）

“Right, no problem. Anything else?”　“Vivian Teska.”　Vivian is this girl in Geometry whom I lust after. I’ve never said a word to her.　“After class tomorrow, go up to her and ask her out.”　“I don’t even know her.”　“Trust me.” He’s smirking at me in a way that makes me wonder why on earth I would ever trust him but I want to believe. “Okay.”　“I should get going. Money, please.” I dole out twenty dollars. “More.” I hand him another twenty.　“That’s all I’ve got.”　“Okay.” He’s dressing, pulling clothes from the stash of things I don’t mind never seeing again. “How about a coat?” I hand him a Peruvian skiing sweater that I’ve always hated. He makes a face and puts it on. We walk to the back door of the apartment. The church bells are tolling noon. “Bye,” says my self.　“Good luck,” I say, oddly moved by the sight of me embarking into the unknown, into a cold Chicago Sunday morning he doesn’t belong in. He thumps down the wooden stairs, and I turn to the silent apartment.　Wednesday, November 17/Tuesday, September 28, 1982 (Henry is 19)HENRY: I’m in the back of a police car in Zion, Illinois. I am wearing handcuffs and not much else. The interior of this particular police car smells like cigarettes, leather, sweat, and another odor I can’t identify that seems endemic to police cars. The odor of freak-outedness, perhaps. My left eye is swelling shut and the front of my body is covered with bruises and cuts and dirt from being tackled by the larger of the two policemen in an empty lot full of broken glass. The policemen are standing outside the car talking to the neighbors, at least one of whom evidently saw me trying to break into the yellow and white Victorian house we are parked in front of. I don’t know where I am in time. I’ve been here for about an hour, and I have fucked up completely.