I traveled through time last week.

　　上周我穿越时空。

　　Okay, all I really did was clean out a closet. But what I found took me back nearly three decades, to a day I never could quite explain.

　　这当然是开玩笑，我所做的只是清理壁橱。但是我的发现把我带到30年前我难以启齿的一天.

　　The envelope was worn and the letter dog-eared and cnimpled. It was written in pencil by a passionate young soldier who looked like Richard Gere. It was written to me.

　　信封已磨破，信纸也是皱巴巴的那是一位热情似火的年轻士兵用铅笔写的，他长得像理查德·基尔，信是写给我的.

　　Mark was on an airplane when he wrote it, leaving Oregon for his Army post on the eastern seaboard. In simple, transparent words, he put his heart on paper, and mailed it off to me.

　　马克是在飞机上写的，他正离开俄勒冈州到东海岸担仟军职简单坦诚的文字，他把自己的心付诸纸上，然后寄给我。

　　He planned to talk with my dad and come to an "understanding". Mark was an optimist. It would've taken a diplomat to resolve their difference. Mark and my father were

　　both soldiers. Neither was a diplomat.

　　他计划着和我爸爸聊聊，想要达成“谅解”。马克是个乐观主义者要解决他们之间的分歧恐怕需要一个外交官。但马克和我爸爸都是军人，都不是外交官.

　　As I read the letter, I closed my eyes and began to journey back.

　　当我重读那封信时，我闭上双眼，开始回J顽往事

　　And then, quietly, it was that day once more:

　　然后，静静地，又回到那一天:

　　Several weeks had passed since I'd received the letter from Mark. I was at work at a small accounting firm. At midday, I climbed into my car to drive home for lunch. I backed out of the long lane, which ran past the parking lot for a local cocktail lounge. Suddenly, my breath caught in my throat. There Mark sat, on his beloved motorcycle.

　　距我收到马克的来信已过了好几周我在一家小会计公司工作。中午，我钻进车，开车回家吃午饭。我把车从长巷里倒出来，巷子经过停车场一直通到一家鸡尾洒吧突然，我的呼吸屏住了。我看见马克坐在那儿，在他心爱的摩托车上。

　　But it couldn't be Mark, he'd left on a plane. So I didn't stop, because I knew I had to be seeing things, but still, I couldn't keep myself from looking back.

　　但那不可能是马克，他乘飞机离开了，所以我没停车，因为我必须得看路，但我仍忍不住的回头看。

　　All logic shouted no. it was an incredible imitation-right down to the resolute jaw, the smoldering look in his eyes, the exact color of his hair, and, of course, the motorcycle.

　　所有的理智都在大声地否定。那是不可思议的相似—绝对果敢的下颗，热切的眼神，他的发色，当然，还有那辆摩托车。

　　It couldn't be him. But my stare was locked, and I saw Mark looking so intently at me, so strangely sad.

　　那不可能是他。但我的视线被锁住，我看到马克热烈地注视着我，异常悲伤。

　　I looked out the window all through lunch, expecting a motorcycle to boil into the drive with a furious Mark abroad. I expected a tongue-lashing for not even stopping to talk. Even as I expected all that, my practical mind dutifully reminded me that it could not have been my young wild-hearted love.

　　午饭时，我一直望向窗外，期待马克骑着摩托车呼啸而来。我期待他斥骂我，骂我不停下来和他说话。尽管我如此期盼，我务实的头脑却尽职地提醒我，那个人不可能是我那狂野的年轻爱人。

　　When I drove back to work, the young man and his motorcycle were gone. After work, I hurried home, thinking there might be a message from him. It didn't make sense, but I still expected it.

　　当我开车回去上班，那个年轻人和摩托车已不复存在。下班后，我匆忙回家，想象着会有他的消息。这纯属胡思乱想，但我仍旧盼着。

　　My father met me at the door with three words. "Mark is dead." I felt my legs go weak and my head began to spin.

　　爸爸在门口碰到我，他只说了二个字:他死J’我感到自己的双腿发软，天旋地转。

　　"He was killed in a traffic accident." It happened that day, he said, in south Carolina.

　　“他死于一场车祸。”他说，就在那天，在南卡罗莱纳州。

　　My heart broke, and my tears fell like rain on the hard concrete of the driveway.

　　我的心碎了，我泪如雨下，颗颗泪滴在坚硬的水泥车道上。

　　Because I had lost him.

　　因为我已失去他。

　　Because I had seen him.

　　因为我曾看到他。

　　Because I had passed him by.

　　因为我和他擦肩而过。

　　Although Mark and my father never did reach their understanding, I now visit them in the same Cemetery in Portland-a very honorable place for two soldiers to be.

　　虽然马克和爸爸从未达成他们的谅解，但现在我到同一地方看望他们。他们都安息在国立公墓—对两位军人来讲都很荣耀。

　　Even rugged soldiers need flowers sometimes. So I bring them. And I remember.

　　即使是粗狂的军人，有时也需要鲜花，因此我记得给他们带来了。

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（实习编辑：高奕飞）