【正文】 feel excited about for the next four weeks.4 我在女子學(xué)校學(xué)習(xí)，和男孩子交往的機會寥寥無幾，因此，我熱切地期待著我們學(xué)校和男子學(xué)校舉辦的交誼會。Being in an all girls39。但是，在那時，對我來說，沒有比戀愛更重要的事 了。年少時的愛慕，不會帶來傷害，如肥皂泡一樣轉(zhuǎn)瞬即逝。然而，此時我想知道：我們是否懂得愛到底有多么深刻。s son, my best friend39。Given the busy nature of our lives, it39。這種情感只能體會，無法用語言描述。t know1 有人認(rèn)為愛如浮云有人認(rèn)為愛堅強如鐵有人認(rèn)為愛是一種生活方式有人認(rèn)為愛是一種感覺有人說愛要執(zhí)著有人說愛不要約束有人說愛是生命的全部有人說不知道愛為何物At some stage or the other in our lives we experience an emotion which defies definition. It39。但是你知道此刻最有意思的是什么嗎?就在大家都忙著握手、擁抱的時候，史蒂維笑容綻放，正忙著清理桌上的杯盤 — 他真是我手下最好的員工。18 我轉(zhuǎn)身對他母親說：”這張桌上，有一萬多元現(xiàn)金和支票，是卡車司機、卡車公司聽說你們的家庭狀況后送來的。他拿起餐巾，兩張10元鈔票掉在桌子上。史蒂維看看我，又看看母親，從那堆餐巾紙中抽出一張。桌面上凌亂的咖啡杯、小碟、餐盤，橫七豎八地擺放在一堆折疊的紙餐巾上。我回頭望去，看見笑容滿面的卡車司機們走出一個個隔間，融入員工的隊伍中?！蔽?guī)麄兿虿蛷d后面角落里一個大隔間走去。我挽著他們母子的手臂說，”等會兒再開工。 他用力推開門，徑直走向工作間，他的圍裙和餐車正在那兒等著他呢。我們在停車場迎接他們，邀請母子二人一起慶祝他歸來。他在過去一周內(nèi)打了十次電話，確保我們知道他要回來了，擔(dān)心我們忘記他，擔(dān)心丟掉這份工作。他的就業(yè)顧問說，史蒂維一直數(shù)算著日子，直到醫(yī)生告訴他可以上班了?！?5 那是三個月前的事了。折疊的餐巾中夾著兩張50元的鈔票。皮特看看托尼，托尼看看皮特，他們最后把這個給了我。皮特也問我為何跳那支舞，”她說。紙巾外面工整地寫著：”送給史蒂維的一點心意”，字母很大很粗。她把那張餐巾遞給我。”在貝爾她手上拿著幾張紙餐巾，表情詭異。弗蘭妮匆匆離開，去招待其它桌的客人了?！?貝爾”唉!”弗蘭妮嘆息著說：”他平安無事，我很開心，但是我不知道他和他媽媽怎樣支付所有的費用?！北緛碛袀€笑話要講給他聽呢?！彼卮??！焙昧?，弗蘭妮，什么事那么高興啊?”他問。弗蘭妮窘得紅了臉，用手抹平圍裙，朝著貝爾狠狠地瞪了一眼。經(jīng)常光顧我們餐館的一位卡車司機貝爾員工當(dāng)中激動的情緒如漣漪蕩漾。社工人員說，有唐氏綜合癥的人常會在年輕時犯心臟病，所以史蒂維做手術(shù)不足為奇；幾個月后，他有望從手術(shù)中恢復(fù)健康，重返工作崗位。7 到了去年八月的一個早上，就是三年里史蒂維沒能來上班的第一個早上，整個餐館氣氛憂傷。社工人員偶爾登門看望，說他們母子生活著實艱辛貧困。他母親是個寡婦，因患癌癥多次經(jīng)歷手術(shù)而落下殘疾。他取悅面前的每一個人，那煞費苦心的勁頭真是惹人喜愛。若他覺得有顧客正在看他，他就會眉頭緊鎖，更加專注。他總是在不起眼的地方守候，左右腳替換著支撐體重，眼睛巡視整個餐廳。他收拾好一張餐桌后，鹽瓶和胡椒瓶歸于原位，絲毫不差，桌面不見一點面包屑、一滴咖啡液。自此以后，我不再介意其他顧客的看法了。 那些卡車司機們 190。第一周過后，史蒂維就抓住了我每位員工的心。我知道，史蒂維在這里工作，他們會感到別扭，所以開頭幾個星期我密切地關(guān)注著他。只要食物好，餡餅地道，他們基本不在乎誰收碗碟。史蒂維是個矮個兒，胖墩墩的，如其他唐氏綜合癥患者一樣，面部光滑，口齒不清。我從未雇過智障的員工，是否要招收一位，我舉棋不定。” and the pairs of whiteshirted businessmen on expense accounts who think every truckstop waitress wants to be flirted with. I knew those people would be unfortable around Stevie, so I closely watched him for the first few weeks.I shouldn’t have worried. After the first week, Stevie had my staff wrapped around his little finger. Within a month my trucker regulars had adopted him as their official truckstop mascot. After that I really didn’t care what the rest of the customers thought. He was a 21yearold in blue jeans and Nikes, eager to laugh and eager to please, but fierce in his attention to his duties. Every salt and pepper shaker was exactly in its place, not a bread crumb or coffee spill was visible when Stevie got done with the table. Our only problem was convincing him to wait to clean a table until after the customers were finished. He would hover in the background, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, scanning the dining room until a table was empty. Then he would hurry to the empty table and carefully bus the dishes and glasses onto the cart and meticulously wipe the table with a practiced flourish of his rag. If he thought a customer was watching, his brows would pucker with added concentration. He took pride in doing his job exactly right, and you had to love how hard he tried to please each and every person he met. Over time, we learned that he lived with his mother, a widow who was disabled after repeated surgeries for cancer. They lived on their Social Security benefits in public housing two miles from the truckstop. Their social worker, who stopped to check on him every so often, admitted they had fallen between the cracks. Money was tight, and what I paid him was probably the difference between them being able to live together and Stevie being sent to a group home.That’s why the restaurant was a gloomy place that morning last August, the first morning in three years that Stevie missed work. He was at the Mayo Clinic in Rochester getting a new valve or something put in his heart. His social worker said that people with Down’s syndrome often have heart problems at an early age, so this wasn’t unexpected. There was a good chance he would e through the surgery in good shape and be back at work in a few months. A ripple of excitement ran through the staff later that morning when word came that he was out of surgery, in recovery and doing fine. Frannie, my head waitress, let out a war whoop and did a little dance in the aisle when she heard the good news. Belle Ringer, one of our regular trucker customers, stared at the sight of this 50yearold grandmother of four doing a victory shimmy beside his table. Frannie blushed, smoothed her apron and shot Belle Ringer a withering look. 9 He grinned. “OK, Frannie, what was that all about?” he asked. 10 “We just got word that Stevie is out of surgery and going to be okay.” she responded. “I was wondering where he was,” said Belle. “I had a new joke to tell him. What was the surgery about?” 12 Frannie quickly told him and the other two drivers sitting at his booth about Stevie’s surgery, then sighed. “Yeah, I’m glad he is going to be okay,” she said, “but I don’t know how he and his mom are going to handle all the bills. From what I hear, they’re barely getting by as it is.” Belle Ringer nodded thoughtfully, and Frannie hurried off to wait on the rest of her tables.After the morning rush, Frannie walked into my office. She had a couple of paper napkins in her hand and a funny look on her face. “What’s up?” I asked. “That table where Belle Ringer and his friends were sitting,” she said, “this was folded and tucked under a coffee cup.” She handed the napkin to me, and three $20 bills fell onto my desk when I opened it. On the outside, in big, bold letters, was printed “Something For Stevie.”“Pony Pete also asked me what that dance was all about,” she said, “so I told him about Stevie and his mom and everything, and Pete looked at Tony and Tony looked at Pete, and they ended up giving me this.” She handed me another paper napkin that had “Something For Stevie” scrawled on its outside. Two $50 bills were tucked within its folds. Frannie looked at me with wet, shiny eyes, shook her head and said simply, “Truckers.”15 That was three months ago. Today is Th