我从17年前在佛罗里达被归档的一份警方报告里，发现了那个司机的名字。报告破破烂烂、皱皱巴巴，而且错漏百出。
It said, “A boy was crossing the street on his bicycle.” But there had been two boys in the road that day and no bike.
它说，“一个男孩骑着自行车过马路。”但当天，路上有两个男孩，没有自行车。
It said, “The boy was hit and his body was thrown 19 yards.” But he wasn’t thrown; he was dragged that far, caught in the dangling chains of the landscaping trailer hitched to the truck.
它说，“男孩被撞了，身体被撞飞到19码开外，”但他没有被撞飞;他是卡进挂在卡车上的那辆园林绿化拖车的悬挂链，被拖了那么远。
It said someone fled the scene, but that someone was my older brother, Alex, and he didn’t flee. He dropped the bucket of fish he and Jonathan had caught and rushed over to his friend, but the boy was already dead.
它说某个人逃离了现场，但所谓的某个人是我哥哥亚历克斯，他并未逃离。他丢下自己和乔纳森(Jonathan)捕的一桶鱼，冲到朋友身边，但那个男孩已经死了。
Alex had just turned 15. This is the day we never spoke about.
亚历克斯当时刚过完15岁生日。我们从未谈论过这一天。
We were born one year and three months apart but looked like twins with our rosebud lips and Irish blue eyes.
我比他晚出生一年零三个月，但我们看上去就像双胞胎，都有着玫瑰花蕾般的嘴唇和爱尔兰人的蓝眼睛。
Before the accident, we were inseparable. We had our own rooms but often shared my bed when we were little. When we got too big for that, Alex started sleeping on my bedroom floor. In the dark, we’d joke about all of the things we could buy if someday we won the lottery (a house made of pizza for him and an island full of monkeys for me).
事故发生前，我们总是形影不离。我们有各自的房间，但小时候常常在我的床上一同入睡。等到我们长大一些，没法挤在同一张床上了，亚历克斯便开始睡在我卧室的地板上。黑暗中，我们会拿一旦中了彩票要买的各种东西开玩笑(给他买一栋用披萨建造的房子，给我买个满是猴子的小岛)。
Alex told me ghost stories until I was too scared to fall asleep. He would reach up from the floor to hold my hand, letting go somewhere between midnight and morning.
亚历克斯会给我讲鬼故事，直到我因为太害怕而睡意全无。躺在地板上的他会伸出手来，握住我的手，在午夜到清晨的某一刻才会放开。
After the accident, Alex never slept in my room again.
事故发生后，亚历克斯再也没睡在我的卧室里。
On the way to the funeral, our parents told him that what had happened was God’s will, that this was part of a much bigger plan. On the way home, as Alex slept, they told me that maybe it was better if we didn’t bring it up again.
去参加葬礼的路上，我的父母告诉他，之前发生的一切是上帝的旨意，只是一个更宏大的规划的组成部分。回家的路上，趁亚历克斯睡着的时候，他们告诉我，如果我们再也不提及此事，或许会好些。
So when I heard Alex crying in his room at night, I stayed where I was, wrapped in my comforter, and I didn’t bring it up.
因此，当我听到亚历克斯晚上在他的房间里哭泣时，我留在原处，躲在被子里。我没有提及此事。
When Alex was 19, he dropped out of college — even though he had always been the smart one, the honor roll son — and I didn’t bring it up. At 23, when he was first arrested on charges of driving under the influence, and at 24, when he went to jail for reckless driving, and at 25, 26 and 27, when he was getting high in the morning and drunk at night, I never brought it up.
亚历克斯19岁那年从大学辍学了，尽管他一直是我们中更聪明的那一个，常常上光荣榜，而我没有提及此事。当他在23岁那年因为醉驾第一次被捕，在24岁那年因为鲁莽驾驶进监狱，在25岁、26岁和27岁的年纪早上吸毒夜里买醉的时候，我从未提及此事。
Instead, my parents posted his bail, I paid off his credit cards, and if he needed a ride or rent money, one of us came through. When none of that worked to change him, I took a different tack.
但我的父母为他了交保释金，我为他还了卡债，每当他需要搭便车或者付租金，我们三个中的一个便会现身。发现这样做无法改变他以后，我换了方法。
I started yelling at him to grow up, take responsibility, stop drinking, start working and go back to school. Then I would soften and say how much I loved him and how proud of him I was when he got a job waiting tables, and, yes, I would help pay for culinary school and, yes, he and his new girlfriend could stay with me whenever they visited New York City and, no, there was nothing I wanted more than to see him happy again.
我开始朝他大喊大叫，让他快点长大，负起责任，停止喝酒，开始工作，回学校上学。然后我会软化自己的态度，告诉他我有多爱他，当他在餐厅当服务生时我有多以他为傲，而且没错，我会帮他出烹饪学校的学费，没错，他和他的新女朋友无论何时来纽约市都可以住在我那里，没错，我最大的愿望就是看到他重新快乐起来。
When none of that worked, I still didn’t bring it up.
当所有这些都不管用的时候，我仍然没有提及此事。
Until one night, when we were 30 and 31, and I offhandedly (and uncomfortably) asked over dinner if he ever thought about the day Jonathan died.
直到我们分别进入人生的第30和31个年头，一天晚上，共进晚餐时我随口(不甚自在地)问道，他可曾想起过乔纳森去世的那天。
“Oh, now you want to talk about that?” he shot back with a laugh. And in that moment, I felt his fury over our silence. “You don’t need to worry about it now.”
“哦，你现在想谈论这个了?”他笑着回击了我一句。那一刻，我感受到了我们的沉默在他内心点燃的怒火。“你现在没必要为此费心了。”
We had been communicating before we could even speak, but this conversation we didn’t have words for.
从前，我们在还不会说话时就会彼此沟通。但此刻，我们却无话可说。
“Do you remember,” I asked him, “when you were 7 and you got that awful haircut and then I begged Mom for a matching mullet?” He smiled but said nothing. “And how much you liked swing dancing when we were kids so I let you practice all those dips and throws on me even though I knew I would end up on the ground?”
“你记得吗，”我问他，“你7岁那年剪了那个糟糕的发型，然后我央求妈妈给我也弄个一模一样前短后长的发型。”他笑了笑，没说话。“还有，我们小时候那会儿，你多喜欢摇摆舞啊，所以我让你拿我练下倾和抛掷动作，虽然我知道自己最后一定会跌倒在地上。”
“I did that for you,” he said. “You liked swing, not me.”
“我是为了你才那样做的，”他说。“喜欢摇摆舞的是你，不是我。”
The point I wanted to make, but didn’t know how, was that I missed sharing a life with him.
我想要表达但却不知如何表达的意思是，我怀念跟他分享生活点滴的日子。
Later we both went home and let the silence continue to grow.
后来我们各自回家，让沉默继续发酵。
I was desperate to reconnect and convinced that the only way to do so was to get as close as I could to the moment when his life split into a before and an after. I needed to talk to someone who knew what Alex knew, who had seen what Alex had seen.
我极度渴望弥合我们之间的疏离，并且确信唯一方法是尽我所能地靠近把他的生活劈成两半的那一刻。我需要找到某个知道亚历克斯所知道的情形，看过亚历克斯所看过的场面的人。
I searched the online archives of our hometown newspaper and scrolled for hours until I found Jonathan’s name in a write-up about the accident. After a dozen phone calls, I tracked down the police report. They couldn’t mail me a copy but said I was welcome to come to the station and see it for myself.
我上网搜索家乡报纸的网络档案，翻看了很多个小时，终于在关于那场事故的一篇报道里发现了乔纳森的名字。打了十几个电话以后，我追查到了警方的那份报告。他们不能邮寄一份副本给我，但表示欢迎我去警局亲眼看一看。
So not long after, I flew to Florida and did just that.
因此没过多久，我就登上飞机，去佛罗里达看报告了。
Sitting on a swivel chair in the police station’s cramped archives office, I ran my finger over my brother’s sloppy teenage script, his signature underneath his witness statement.
警局的档案馆颇为逼仄，我坐在一把转椅里，用手指抚过我哥哥少年时潦草的字迹，还有证词下他的签名。
As I read, I could almost hear his voice: “Traffic was speeding up, there wasn’t enough time. I reached the sidewalk first and when I turned around, Jonathan was still in the middle of the road. I saw him get hit. When the ambulance came, I had to go across the street and tell his mother.”
阅读证词时，我仿佛能听到他的声音：“车在加速，没有足够的时间。我先到了人行道那里，回过头去发现乔纳森还站在路中间。我看到他被撞了。救护车赶到的时候，我不得不穿过马路去通知他妈妈。”
I wrote down the driver’s name and later found his phone number listed online. By the time I was back in New York, I had thought of a hundred reasons not to call but I had to: He knew what Alex had been through. On the sixth ring, he picked up. “Yeah, hello?”
我用笔记下司机的名字，随后找到了登记在网上的他的电话号码。等到返回纽约的时候，我的脑海中已经略过了一百个不给他打电话的理由，但我必须打：他知道亚历克斯经历了什么。电话铃响到第六声，他接起了电话。“喂，喂?”
“Please don’t hang up,” I said.
“请别挂断，”我说。
I told him my name and explained that I wanted to know about an accident he was involved in back in 1999; two boys were crossing the street and I was the sister of the boy who lived.
我报上了自己的名字，跟他解释说，我想知道与他在1999年卷入的一场事故有关的消息;当时有两个男孩正在过马路，我是活下来的那一个的妹妹。
“That choice was the hardest I ever made in my life,” he said.
“那是我一生中最艰难的选择，”他说。
He told me that by the time he saw both boys in the road he was already too close. If he swerved onto the sidewalk, he would hit Alex; if he didn’t, he would hit Jonathan.
他告诉我，当他看到路中间有两个男孩的时候，离得已经太近了。如果他转而开上人行道，他会撞到亚历克斯;如果不那样做，他会撞到乔纳森。
“All I know is there were two boys in front of me,” he said. “I had to decide in that very moment, and it was so fast. I chose not to hit your brother that day. What kind of a choice is that?”
“我只知道眼前有两个男孩，”他说。“我必须在那个时刻作出决定，一切都太快了。我那天选择不撞向你哥哥。那是个什么样的选择啊。”
I pinched the place between my forefinger and thumb, a trick I’d picked up in college to keep from crying.
我掐了掐自己食指和拇指之间的地方，那是我上大时学会的防止哭出来的小窍门。
I said there were questions I wanted to ask but it was all right if he didn’t remember every detail; it was a long time ago.
我说我想问一些问题，不过如果他记不得太多细节也没关系;毕竟已经过去太长时间了。
“Not for me,” he said. “对我来说并没有过去，”他说。
For three hours, he spoke about his pain, his frustrations with his family when they didn’t understand. About his lost jobs and addictions. About how he had never married or had children. Talking to him felt like the closest I could come to holding Alex’s hand again.
整整三个小时，他诉说着他的痛苦，以及得不到家人理解时的沮丧。他提到了他丢掉的工作和染上的这样那样的瘾。提到了他如何从未结婚，从未育有子女。和他交谈就仿佛是再度握住亚历克斯的手。
I told him I wanted to find a way to take away my brother’s pain.
我告诉他我想要找到一种方法，驱散我哥哥的痛苦。
“You can’t,” he said. “But if you want to lessen it, you’ve got to listen.”
“你做不到，”他说。“不过如果你想要减轻他的痛苦，就得倾听。”
“What if he won’t talk to me?”
“如果他不跟我谈呢?”
“Ask again,” he said. “He’ll come around, and once those words start coming, you’ll realize that asking was the easy part. Listening is the hard part and that’s what you have to do.”
“那就再问，”他说。“他会改变态度的，一旦话匣子打开，你就会知道发问很简单。倾听才是最难的，也是你必须要做的。”
I hung up the phone but didn’t stop there. I tracked down the witnesses who testified in court, the on-scene paramedic, the emergency room doctor, and the nurse who sat with Jonathan’s mother at the hospital. And the more I heard, the more Alex’s story became defanged.
我挂了电话，但并未就此罢手。我开始查访在法庭上做证的证人，事故现场的护理人员，急诊室的医生，以及在医院里和乔纳森的妈妈坐在一起的护士。我听说的信息越多，亚历克斯的故事就越是少了可怕意味。
A year after that first phone call, I met with my brother and told him about the people I had spoken to and what they had said, and his instinct was to confirm and correct each detail. That was my opening, and his. Later I was able to ask what no one in our family ever had: “Could you just start at the beginning and tell me everything?”
打出第一个电话的一年后，我和哥哥见了面，说起了与我交谈过的那些人以及他们说过的话，他的第一反应就是确认和纠正每一个细节。那是我的第一步，也是他的第一步。后来，我终于能够问出我们家的人从未问出口的问题：“你能把一切从头跟我讲一遍吗?”
And he did.
他照做了。
When I see Alex today, at 33, I no longer see someone who is stuck in one memory. I see a father to two beautiful little boys and a committed partner to the woman he will one day marry. I see a man who works harder than anyone I know, waking up to go into the restaurant on holidays and weekends, because he no longer needs or wants the kind of help I offered before I learned that asking and listening are the most valuable of all.
如今，我看到33岁的亚历克斯的时候，看到的不再是一个困在回忆里的人。我眼前的他是两个可爱的小男孩的父亲，是他有一天会迎娶的女子的忠诚伴侣。我眼前的他工作起来比我认识的其他任何人都更勤奋，假日和周末一起床，便会一头扎进餐厅里，因为他不再需要也不想要我以前提供的那种帮助——那时候我不知道最可贵的帮助是发问和倾听。
