英语翻译In the evenings,they go to the mall.Once a week or more.

英语翻译
In the evenings,they go to the mall.Once a week or more.Sometimes,they even leave the dinner dishes in the sink so they will have enough time to finish all the errands.The father never comes -- he hates shopping,especially with his wife.Instead,he stays home to read the paper and putter around his study.To do things that the other dads must be doing in the evenings.To summon the sand to come rushing in and plug up his ears with its roaring silence.
Meanwhile,the mother arms herself with returns from the last trip.Her two young daughters forget games of flashlight tag or favorite TV shows and strap on tennis shoes and seatbelts:and they're off.On summer nights,when it's light until after the fireflies arrive,the air is heavy and moist.The daughters unroll their windows and stick the whole of their heads out into the slate blue sky,feeling full force the sweaty,honey suckle air.In the cold mall,their rubber soles squeak on shiny linoleum squares.The younger daughter tries not to step on any cracks.The older daughter keeps a straight-ahead gaze; her sullen eyes count down each errand as it's done.
It is not until the third or,on a good night,the fourth errand that the trouble begins.The girls have wandered over to examine rainbow beach towels,perhaps,or some kind of pink ruffled bedspread.The mother's voice finds them from a few aisles away."What do you mean you won't take it back?" "I don't want to talk to you.Where's your manager?"
Dinner squirms in the daughters' stomachs.Now comes that what-if-I-threw-up-right-this-second?or where-is-a-rabbit-hole-for-me-to-fall-into?feeling that they get around this time of evening,at the mall.The older one shakes her ponytails at the younger one.Her blue eyes hiss the careful-don't-cry warning,but the younger one's cheeks only get redder.Toe by toe,the daughters edge towards housewares where they finger lace placemats or trace patterns in the store carpet with sneakered soles.The mother's voice still finds them,shaking with rage.Finally,heels slapping in her sandals,she strides towards them and then keeps going.They follow,catching her word-trail,"Stupid people.Stupid,stupid,stupid.I HATE stupid people." It's the little skips between steps the younger one takes to keep up with her mother's long,angry legs.It's the car door slamming and the seat belt buckle yanked into place.It's those things that tell the daughters how the next few hours will go.

In The Evenings
by Melissa Checker
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