English Original
I know now that the man who sat with me on the old wooden stairs that hot summer night over thirty-five years ago was not a tall man. But to a five-year-old, he was a giant. We sat side by side, watching the sun go down behind the old Texaco service station across the busy street. A street I was never allowed to cross unless accompanied by an adult.
Cherry-scented smoke from Grampy's pipe kept the hungry mosquitoes at bay while gray, wispy swirls danced around our heads. Now and again, he blew a smoke ring and laughed as I tried to target the hole with my finger. I, clad in a cool summer nightie, and Grampy, in his sleeveless T-shirt, sat watching the traffic. We counted cars and tried to guess the color of the next one to turn the corner.
As the fourth of six children, I was often caught in the middle—too young for some things, too old for others. That night was no different. While my baby brothers slept and my older siblings played out of sight, I stayed with Grampy, and I was content.
"Thirsty?" Grampy asked, pipe still in mouth.
"Yes," I replied.
"How would you like to run over to the gas station and get yourself a bottle of Coke?"
I couldn't believe my ears. In our family, Coke was a rare treat. I had only ever had a few tantalizing sips, never my own bottle.
"Okay," I said shyly, already wondering how to cross the street.
Grampy fished a mound of coins from his pocket and told me to pick out a dime. After helping me to the curb, he said, "I'll stay here and listen for the babies. I'll tell you when it's safe to cross. You go get your Coke and come back. Wait for my signal to cross back."
My heart pounded. Clutching the dime, I was breathless with excitement.
Grampy held my hand, looked both ways, then stepped off the curb. "It's safe," he said, letting go. I ran faster than ever before. The street seemed so wide. Reaching the other side, I turned to see him standing right where I'd left him, smiling proudly. I waved.
"Go on, hurry up!" he yelled.
Inside the dark garage, the familiar hum of the Coca-Cola machine guided me. I walked straight to the big red-and-white dispenser, inserted my dime with practiced certainty, and heard the bottles shift. On tiptoes, I opened the heavy door. A neat row of thick green bottles, necks pointed right at me, greeted me with icy cold. I grabbed one, feeling the cool glass against my sweaty hands. Using the wall-mounted opener, I popped the cap, which I retrieved as a precious souvenir.
Coke in hand, I marched back out. Grampy was waiting patiently. "Stop right there," he called. After a car passed, he stepped off the curb again. "Come on, now. Run!"
I did. Cool brown foam sprayed my hands. "Don't ever do that alone," he warned. I held the bottle tightly, afraid he'd make me pour it out. He didn't. One long swallow of the cold beverage cooled my sweating body. I don't think I ever felt so proud.
中文翻译
如今我知道，三十五年前那个炎夏夜晚，和我一起坐在老旧木楼梯上的男人个子并不高。但对一个五岁的孩子来说，他就是一个巨人。我们并肩坐着，看着太阳在繁忙街道对面老旧的德士古加油站后面落下。那是一条我从未被允许独自穿越的街道。
爷爷烟斗里飘出的樱桃味烟雾驱赶着饥饿的蚊子，缕缕灰白的烟圈在我们头顶盘旋。他不时吐个烟圈，然后笑着看我试图用手指戳中那个圈。我穿着凉爽的夏夜睡衣，爷爷穿着无袖T恤，我们一起看着车流。我们数着车子，猜着下一辆拐过街角的会是什么颜色。
作为六个孩子中的老四，我常常处于中间状态——对一些事来说太小，对另一些事来说又太大。那个夜晚也不例外。当我的弟弟们在屋里睡觉，哥哥姐姐们在远处玩耍时，我和爷爷待在一起，我心满意足。
“渴吗？”爷爷问道，烟斗仍叼在嘴里。
“是的，”我回答。
“想不想跑到对面加油站，给自己买瓶可乐？”
我简直不敢相信自己的耳朵。在我家，可乐是难得的享受。我只尝过几口诱人的滋味，从未拥有过一整瓶。
“好的，”我害羞地说，心里已经在琢磨怎么过马路了。
爷爷从口袋里掏出一堆硬币，让我挑出一个一角硬币。他扶我走到路缘边，说：“我待在这儿听着宝宝们的动静。我会告诉你什么时候可以安全过街。你去买可乐，然后出来。等我信号再安全地穿回来。”
我的心怦怦直跳。紧握着那枚硬币，我激动得喘不过气。
爷爷牵着我的手，左右看了看，然后走下路缘。“安全了，”他说着松开了手。我以从未有过的速度奔跑起来。街道显得如此宽阔。到达对面后，我转身看到他正站在我离开时的位置，骄傲地微笑着。我挥了挥手。
“快去，抓紧！”他喊道。
走进昏暗的车库，熟悉的可口可乐机器嗡嗡声指引着我。我径直走向那台红白相间的大自动售货机，熟练而肯定地投入硬币，听到瓶子移动的声音。我踮起脚尖，打开沉重的门。一排整齐的深绿色厚玻璃瓶，瓶口正对着我，散发着冰凉的寒意。我抓出一瓶，感受着冰凉玻璃抵着我汗湿的手掌。我用固定在墙上的开瓶器撬开瓶盖，并把瓶盖捡起来，当作珍贵的纪念品。
手握可乐，我大步走了出去。爷爷正耐心地等待着。“就停在那儿，”他喊道。一辆车驶过后，他再次走下路缘。“快，现在，跑过来！”
我照做了。冰凉的棕色泡沫溅到我的手上。“千万别自己一个人这么做，”他告诫道。我紧紧抓着瓶子，生怕他让我把可乐倒进杯子里。他没有。长长地喝下一口冰凉的饮料，我汗湿的身体顿时凉爽下来。我想我从未感到如此自豪过。