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When I rounded the last corner, onto Cactus, I could see the studio, looking just as I remembered it. The parking lot in front was empty, the vertical blinds in all the windows drawn. I couldn't run anymore I couldn't breathe; exertion and fear had gotten the best of me. I thought of my mother to keep my feet moving, one in front of the other.
当我转过最后一个街角，冲进仙人掌街的时候，我能看到那间舞蹈教室了，它看上去依然是我记忆中的那个样子。教室门前的停车位是空的，屋里所有的竖式窗帘都拉了下来。我跑不动了我甚至没法呼吸，筋疲力尽和恐惧夺走了我的优势。我想着我的母亲，这才能让自己迈动步子，一步接一步地往前走。
As I got closer, I could see the sign inside the door. It was handwritten on hot pink paper; it said the dance studio was closed for spring break. I touched the handle, tugged on it cautiously. It was unlocked. I fought to catch my breath, and opened the door.
当我走得更近些的时候，我看到了门里贴着的那张告示。那是一张手写的，写在深粉红色的纸张上的告示，上面说舞蹈教室因为春假而暂时关闭。我伸手去摸扶手，警惕地拧动它。门没锁。我强迫自己稳住呼吸，然后打开了门。
The lobby was dark and empty, cool, the air conditioner thrumming. The plastic molded chairs were stacked along the walls, and the carpet smelled like shampoo. The west dance floor was dark, I could see through the open viewing window. The east dance floor, the bigger room, was lit. But the blinds were closed on the window.
大厅里阴暗又空旷，很是凉爽，空调嗡嗡响着。 那些塑料扶手椅靠墙叠放着，地毯闻起来像是洗发水的味道。西面的舞蹈室里很暗，我能从那扇敞开的观察窗里看到那整个房间。东边的那间更大的舞蹈室的灯亮着，但那边的窗子的帘子拉了下来。
Terror seized me so strongly that I was literally trapped by it. I couldn't make my feet move forward.
恐惧牢牢地抓住我，我简直要被困在其中了。我没法让自己迈动步子。
And then my mother's voice called.
然后，我妈妈的声音在大喊着。
Bella? Bella? That same tone of hysterical panic. I sprinted to the door, to the sound of her voice.
“贝拉？贝拉？”一模一样的充满了竭斯底里的恐惧的声音。我奋力冲向那扇门，冲向她的声音。
Bella, you scared me! Don't you ever do that to me again! Her voice continued as I ran into the long, high-ceilinged room.
“贝拉，你吓坏我了！你可不能再这样对我了！”当我奔进那间长长的，天花板很高的房间时，她的声音继续说着。
I stared around me, trying to find where her voice was coming from. I heard her laugh, and I whirled to the sound.
我环顾四周，试图找出她的声音是在哪里发出来的。我听到了她的笑声，急忙转过去面向她的声音。
There she was, on the TV screen, tousling my hair in relief. It was Thanksgiving, and I was twelve. We'd gone to see my grandmother in California, the last year before she died. We went to the beach one day, and I'd leaned too far over the edge of the pier. She'd seen my feet flailing, trying to reclaim my balance. Bella? Bella? she'd called to me in fear.
她在那里，在电视屏幕上，如释重负地抚弄着我的发。那是在感恩节，我那时十二岁。我们去看住在加利福尼亚的外祖母，那是在她去世的前一年。有一天我们去了海滩，我靠得离码头的边缘太远了。她看到我的脚有些不稳，试图抓住我让我保持平衡。“贝拉？贝拉？”她惊恐地冲我大喊。
