13 Years in America(英文原版)

　　“That’s Canada there,” Scott says, pointing.

　　“Where? There?” There’s an island right in front of us, and beyond there’s open water and then another island. He’s pointing to the other island. “But there’s no marker or anything.”

　　“There are some markers, here and there,” he says.

　　I look out at the two different countries that make up this beautiful, serene landscape, and I’m struck for some reason that the two sides look exactly the same. Two different countries, but water just flows into water, and one island looks exactly the same as the other. Someone at some point just drew a line on a map and called one side one thing and the other side another.

　　But at the same time, I know there is a difference between my home country and America. I can’t see it, but I know it’s there. I’ve caught glimpses of it, and I’ve seen it manifested on TV my whole life. It’s something intangible yet prevalent, underlying everything, giving it an air of expectance and importance. It’s the promise of the American Dream. The good life. It’s the sense that anything is possible here. I wonder if that’s true.

　　“How do you like it here?” Scott asks, pulling me from my thoughts.

　　“Where?”

　　“Here.” He motions to the view in front of us.

　　“It’s beautiful.”

　　“I think so too. I come here a lot.”

　　“It reminds me of this place on Salt Spring,” I say. “Only there it looks out on the ocean. And the trees are different.”

　　“Why’d you leave Salt Spring?”

　　“My friend Sophie—the one you met when she crossed the border—her parents were coming back, so we all had to move out of their house. I don’t know, I wasn’t sure what to do. I thought about maybe going to university because I’ve already been out of school for three years. Maybe it’s time to do something more serious. So I guess I’m going to go to university in Victoria. It’s about an hour plus a ferry ride from Salt Spring. I’ll go back and forth, maybe on the weekends or something, and stay with friends.”

　　“You guess?”

　　“What?”

　　“You said you guess you’re going to school. Do you want to?”

　　I consider his question. It’s a good one. “I don’t know,” I finally say. “I only know what I don’t want. I don’t want to be trapped. I’ve seen so many people who go through life and they’re not really living, and I don't want to let that happen to me. I’ll always try new things, push myself, experience.” I laugh. “Does that sound weird?”

　　“Not at all. I know what you mean. I’m only twenty-one and I already feel trapped in some ways. Preparing for Customs, going to school for a criminal justice degree. I’ve already spent like three years of my life preparing for this job that I don’t even want.”

　　“So why are you doing it?”

　　He shrugs. “It just happened. It sounded like a good idea, and then it turned into what I was going to do, and then it somehow became my whole life.”

　　“Well it’s not. It’s just a job. That’s where people go wrong. They place too much importance on it. They forget to keep it in perspective, and they lose their balance.”

　　He’s quiet.

　　“Does that make sense?” I ask after a minute goes by.

　　“Yeah, it does. It makes a lot of sense. That’s really cool, that you have that perspective.” He gets up and offers me his hand. “I want to show you something,” he says.

　　I follow behind him, holding his hand, down a softly worn trail over mossy rock to a clearing covered with wild blueberry bushes. Dark blue berries are scattered on the plants. Scott kneels down, picks a handful, and offers them to me. Their flavour is deep and rich, and it seems to me that there could be nothing better in the world than the sweet, tangy, natural taste of these small fresh berries growing wild around us. And, as we sit together on a fallen pine tree eating wild blueberries, talking, and swatting mosquitoes, it seems for this moment that there could be nowhere in the world I’d rather be than right here, experiencing this.

　　Summer

　　On Saturday, Pat wakes me up at nine o’clock.

　　“There’s a collect call from Sophie,” she says.