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I walked into the Huddle1 House restaurant in Brunswick, Georgia, and sat down at the counter as all of the booths2 were taken. I picked up a menu and began to look at the various items, trying to decide whether I wanted to order breakfast or just go ahead and have lunch.
“Excuse me.” Said someone, as she touched me on the shoulder.
I looked up and turned to the side to see a rather nice-looking woman standing in front of me.
“Is your name Roger by any chance?” she asked.
“Yes.” I responded, looking rather confused, as I had nev－er seen her before.
“My name is Barbara and my husband is Tony.” She said, pointing to a distant table near the door leading into the bath－room.
I looked where she was pointing but did not recognize the man sitting alone at the table.
“I’m sorry...I don’t think I know you. But my name is Roger. Roger Kiser.” I told her.
“Tony Claxton. Tony from Landon highschool in Jacksonville, Florida?” she asked me.
“I’m really sorry. The name doesn’t ring a bell.”
She turned, walked back to her table and sat down. She and her husband immediately began talking and once in a while, I would see her turn around in her seat and look directly at me.
I finally decided to order breakfast and a cup of decaffeinated3 coffee. I sat there racking my brain, trying to remember who this Tony was.
I must know him, I talked to myself. He recognized me for some reason. I picked my coffee and took a sip. All of a sudden it came to me like a flash of lightning.
Tony， was Tony the bully? I mumbled, as I swung around on my stool and faced his direction. The bully in my seventh grade geography class?
How many times had that sorry guy made fun of my big ears in front of the girls in class? How many times had this sorry son-of-a-gun laughed at me because I had no parents and had to live in an orphanage? How many times had this big bully slammed me up against the lockers in the hallway just to make himself look like a big man to all the other stu－dents?
He raised his hand and waved. I smiled, returned the wave, turned back and began to eat my breakfast.
“Jesus! He’s so thin now, not the big burly guy I re?鄄member from back in 1957.” I talked to myself.
All of a sudden I heard the sound of dishes breaking, so I turned around to see what had happened. Tony had knocked several plates off the table as he tried to get into his wheelchair, which had been parked in the bathroom hallway while they were eating. The waiters ran over and started picking up the broken dishes and I heard that as Tony and his wife tried to apologize.
As Tony rolled by me, pushed by his wife, I looked up and I smiled.
“Roger.” he said, as he nodded.
“Tony.” I responded, nodding my head in return.
I watched as they went out of the door and slowly made their way to a large van which had a wheelchair loader locat－ed on its side door.
I sat down and watched as his wife tried, again and a－gain, to get the ramp4 down. But it just would not work. Fi－nally I got up, paid for my meal, and walked up to the van.
“What’s the problem?”
“Damned5 thing sticks once in a while.” Said Tony.
“Would you help me get him in the van?” asked his wife.
“I think I can do that.” I said, as I grabbed the wheelchair and rolled Tony over to the passenger door.
I opened the door and locked the brakes on the wheelchair.
“Okay. Arms around the neck, Dude.” I said as I reached down, grabbed him around the waist and care－fully raised him up onto the passenger seat.
As Tony let go off my neck, I reached over and swung his limp, lifeless legs, one at a time, into the van so that they could be stationed directly in front of him.
“You remember, don’t you?” he said, looking into my eyes.
“I remember, Tony.”
“I guess you’re thinking: what goes around comes around?” he said, softly.
“I would never think like that, Tony.” I said, with a stern6 look on my face.
He reached over,grabbed both my hands and squeezed them tightly.
“As how I feel in this wheelchair is just like how some one felt way back when you lived in the orphan7 home.”
“Almost, Tony, you are very lucky. You have someone who loves you to push you around. I didn’t have anyone.”
I reached in my pocket, pulled out one of my cards and handed it to him, “Give me a call. We’ll havelunch.”
We both laughed. I stood there watching as they drove toward the interstate8 and finally disappeared onto the southbound ramp. I hope he calls me some time. He will be the only friend I have from my high school days.
我走进佐治亚州布伦维尔区的“会友轩”餐馆，由于所有的包间都已客满，我就坐在柜台旁。拿起菜单，边看各种各样的菜名，边决定我应该点早餐还是直接吃午餐。
“对不起。”有人拍拍我的肩膀说。
我转过身去，抬头看到一个非常漂亮的妇女站在我面前。
“你是罗杰吗？”她问。
“是的。”我回答道，我很纳闷，因为我以前从来没见过她。
“我叫芭芭拉，我的丈夫叫托尼。”她指着远处洗手间门旁边的一张桌子说。
我顺着她指的方向看去，但是没认出独自坐在桌子旁边的那个人。
“对不起……我想我不认识你们。我的名字是罗杰，罗杰·凯塞。”我告诉她说。
“托尼·克拉克斯顿。佛罗里达州雅克维尔区伦敦高中的托尼，你不认识吗？”她问我。
“真是对不起，这个名字听起来不耳熟。”
她转身回到她的桌旁坐下，然后和她丈夫开始交谈起来。过了一会儿，我看到她坐在位子上转过身来，盯着我看。
我最终决定点一份早餐和一杯不含咖啡因的咖啡。我坐在那绞尽脑汁，想这个托尼是谁。
我一定认识他，我自言自语。因为某种原因，他认出了我。我端起咖啡杯喝了一口，突然像有一道闪电闪过，我想起来了。
托尼，托尼是那个坏小子吗？我嘀咕着，突然转过身朝着他的方向望去。他是七年级地理班上的那个小坏蛋？
好多次这个坏小子在班上女生面前取笑我的大耳朵，好多次这个可恶的小子因为我没有父母，不得不生活在孤儿院而嘲笑我，好多次这个大混小子把我撞在门厅的橱柜上，仅仅是为了在其他同学面前显示他像个男子汉。
他抬起手挥了挥，我笑了笑，也朝他挥了挥手，转回身来开始吃我的早餐。
上帝！他现在太瘦了，不是我记忆中1957年那个强壮的小伙子了。我对自己说。
突然我听到盘子打碎的声音，于是马上转身去看发生了什么事。原来，托尼和他的妻子吃饭的时候，把他的轮椅停在了通往洗手间的走廊里，饭后托尼想往轮椅上坐时，碰掉了桌上的几个盘子。服务生跑过来开始捡地上的碎片。我听到托尼和他的妻子的道歉声。
托尼坐在轮椅上，由妻子推着。经过我身边时，他看到我，挪了挪身子。我抬眼看了一下，笑了。
“罗杰。”他边说边点头。
“托尼。”我也点头说。
我目送着他们走出门，慢慢走向大货车，货车的门旁边有可以装轮椅的地方。
我坐下来，看着他的妻子想把斜板弄下来，但她试了一次又一次都不行。最后我站起来，付了钱，走向大货车。
“怎么了？”
“老是被烦人的东西粘住。”托尼说。
“你能帮我把他抬进货车吗？”他妻子问。
“可以。”我说。我抓住轮椅，把托尼推到门边。
我打开门，把轮椅的闸挂上。
“好，用胳膊抱住我的脖子，老兄。”说着我俯下身抱住他的腰，小心地把他放到副驾驶座上。
托尼的胳膊松开了，我伸过手把他麻木而毫无知觉的腿挪进车里，放在他前面。
“你记得，是吗？”他直视着我的眼睛说。
“是的，托尼。”
“我猜你在想，这是报应！”他轻声说道。
“我从来没那样想过，托尼。”我说，脸显得很严肃。
他伸过手来抓住了我的双手，紧紧地握着。
“我坐在轮椅上的感觉和你当时在孤儿院的感受一样。”
“差不多吧，托尼。但是你是幸运的，你有爱你的人推你四处走走，但是我身边却一个人都没有。”
我把手伸进口袋，掏出一张名片递给他：“给我打电话，我们一起吃顿午饭。”
我们都笑了。我站在那儿看他们向另一个州驶去，最后消失在南行的斜坡上。我希望他能够找个时间给我打电话，因为他将是我惟一的高中时代的朋友。
“Excuse me.” Said someone, as she touched me on the shoulder.
I looked up and turned to the side to see a rather nice-looking woman standing in front of me.
“Is your name Roger by any chance?” she asked.
“Yes.” I responded, looking rather confused, as I had nev－er seen her before.
“My name is Barbara and my husband is Tony.” She said, pointing to a distant table near the door leading into the bath－room.
I looked where she was pointing but did not recognize the man sitting alone at the table.
“I’m sorry...I don’t think I know you. But my name is Roger. Roger Kiser.” I told her.
“Tony Claxton. Tony from Landon highschool in Jacksonville, Florida?” she asked me.
“I’m really sorry. The name doesn’t ring a bell.”
She turned, walked back to her table and sat down. She and her husband immediately began talking and once in a while, I would see her turn around in her seat and look directly at me.
I finally decided to order breakfast and a cup of decaffeinated3 coffee. I sat there racking my brain, trying to remember who this Tony was.
I must know him, I talked to myself. He recognized me for some reason. I picked my coffee and took a sip. All of a sudden it came to me like a flash of lightning.
Tony， was Tony the bully? I mumbled, as I swung around on my stool and faced his direction. The bully in my seventh grade geography class?
How many times had that sorry guy made fun of my big ears in front of the girls in class? How many times had this sorry son-of-a-gun laughed at me because I had no parents and had to live in an orphanage? How many times had this big bully slammed me up against the lockers in the hallway just to make himself look like a big man to all the other stu－dents?
He raised his hand and waved. I smiled, returned the wave, turned back and began to eat my breakfast.
“Jesus! He’s so thin now, not the big burly guy I re?鄄member from back in 1957.” I talked to myself.
All of a sudden I heard the sound of dishes breaking, so I turned around to see what had happened. Tony had knocked several plates off the table as he tried to get into his wheelchair, which had been parked in the bathroom hallway while they were eating. The waiters ran over and started picking up the broken dishes and I heard that as Tony and his wife tried to apologize.
As Tony rolled by me, pushed by his wife, I looked up and I smiled.
“Roger.” he said, as he nodded.
“Tony.” I responded, nodding my head in return.
I watched as they went out of the door and slowly made their way to a large van which had a wheelchair loader locat－ed on its side door.
I sat down and watched as his wife tried, again and a－gain, to get the ramp4 down. But it just would not work. Fi－nally I got up, paid for my meal, and walked up to the van.
“What’s the problem?”
“Damned5 thing sticks once in a while.” Said Tony.
“Would you help me get him in the van?” asked his wife.
“I think I can do that.” I said, as I grabbed the wheelchair and rolled Tony over to the passenger door.
I opened the door and locked the brakes on the wheelchair.
“Okay. Arms around the neck, Dude.” I said as I reached down, grabbed him around the waist and care－fully raised him up onto the passenger seat.
As Tony let go off my neck, I reached over and swung his limp, lifeless legs, one at a time, into the van so that they could be stationed directly in front of him.
“You remember, don’t you?” he said, looking into my eyes.
“I remember, Tony.”
“I guess you’re thinking: what goes around comes around?” he said, softly.
“I would never think like that, Tony.” I said, with a stern6 look on my face.
He reached over,grabbed both my hands and squeezed them tightly.
“As how I feel in this wheelchair is just like how some one felt way back when you lived in the orphan7 home.”
“Almost, Tony, you are very lucky. You have someone who loves you to push you around. I didn’t have anyone.”
I reached in my pocket, pulled out one of my cards and handed it to him, “Give me a call. We’ll havelunch.”
We both laughed. I stood there watching as they drove toward the interstate8 and finally disappeared onto the southbound ramp. I hope he calls me some time. He will be the only friend I have from my high school days.
我走进佐治亚州布伦维尔区的“会友轩”餐馆，由于所有的包间都已客满，我就坐在柜台旁。拿起菜单，边看各种各样的菜名，边决定我应该点早餐还是直接吃午餐。
“对不起。”有人拍拍我的肩膀说。
我转过身去，抬头看到一个非常漂亮的妇女站在我面前。
“你是罗杰吗？”她问。
“是的。”我回答道，我很纳闷，因为我以前从来没见过她。
“我叫芭芭拉，我的丈夫叫托尼。”她指着远处洗手间门旁边的一张桌子说。
我顺着她指的方向看去，但是没认出独自坐在桌子旁边的那个人。
“对不起……我想我不认识你们。我的名字是罗杰，罗杰·凯塞。”我告诉她说。
“托尼·克拉克斯顿。佛罗里达州雅克维尔区伦敦高中的托尼，你不认识吗？”她问我。
“真是对不起，这个名字听起来不耳熟。”
她转身回到她的桌旁坐下，然后和她丈夫开始交谈起来。过了一会儿，我看到她坐在位子上转过身来，盯着我看。
我最终决定点一份早餐和一杯不含咖啡因的咖啡。我坐在那绞尽脑汁，想这个托尼是谁。
我一定认识他，我自言自语。因为某种原因，他认出了我。我端起咖啡杯喝了一口，突然像有一道闪电闪过，我想起来了。
托尼，托尼是那个坏小子吗？我嘀咕着，突然转过身朝着他的方向望去。他是七年级地理班上的那个小坏蛋？
好多次这个坏小子在班上女生面前取笑我的大耳朵，好多次这个可恶的小子因为我没有父母，不得不生活在孤儿院而嘲笑我，好多次这个大混小子把我撞在门厅的橱柜上，仅仅是为了在其他同学面前显示他像个男子汉。
他抬起手挥了挥，我笑了笑，也朝他挥了挥手，转回身来开始吃我的早餐。
上帝！他现在太瘦了，不是我记忆中1957年那个强壮的小伙子了。我对自己说。
突然我听到盘子打碎的声音，于是马上转身去看发生了什么事。原来，托尼和他的妻子吃饭的时候，把他的轮椅停在了通往洗手间的走廊里，饭后托尼想往轮椅上坐时，碰掉了桌上的几个盘子。服务生跑过来开始捡地上的碎片。我听到托尼和他的妻子的道歉声。
托尼坐在轮椅上，由妻子推着。经过我身边时，他看到我，挪了挪身子。我抬眼看了一下，笑了。
“罗杰。”他边说边点头。
“托尼。”我也点头说。
我目送着他们走出门，慢慢走向大货车，货车的门旁边有可以装轮椅的地方。
我坐下来，看着他的妻子想把斜板弄下来，但她试了一次又一次都不行。最后我站起来，付了钱，走向大货车。
“怎么了？”
“老是被烦人的东西粘住。”托尼说。
“你能帮我把他抬进货车吗？”他妻子问。
“可以。”我说。我抓住轮椅，把托尼推到门边。
我打开门，把轮椅的闸挂上。
“好，用胳膊抱住我的脖子，老兄。”说着我俯下身抱住他的腰，小心地把他放到副驾驶座上。
托尼的胳膊松开了，我伸过手把他麻木而毫无知觉的腿挪进车里，放在他前面。
“你记得，是吗？”他直视着我的眼睛说。
“是的，托尼。”
“我猜你在想，这是报应！”他轻声说道。
“我从来没那样想过，托尼。”我说，脸显得很严肃。
他伸过手来抓住了我的双手，紧紧地握着。
“我坐在轮椅上的感觉和你当时在孤儿院的感受一样。”
“差不多吧，托尼。但是你是幸运的，你有爱你的人推你四处走走，但是我身边却一个人都没有。”
我把手伸进口袋，掏出一张名片递给他：“给我打电话，我们一起吃顿午饭。”
我们都笑了。我站在那儿看他们向另一个州驶去，最后消失在南行的斜坡上。我希望他能够找个时间给我打电话，因为他将是我惟一的高中时代的朋友。