宋艳云

Every year on my birthday， from the time I turned twelve， a white gardenia was delivered to my house. No card or note came with it. Calls to the flower shop were always useless—it was a cash deal. After a while I stopped trying to discover who the sender was and was just delighted in the beauty and perfume of the white flower. But I never stopped imagining who the sender might be. Some of my happiest moments were spent daydreaming about it.

My mother asked me whether there was someone for whom I had done a special kindness who might be showing appreciation. Perhaps the neighbor I helped when she was repairing the car out of order. Or maybe it was the old man across the street whose mails I helped to get during the winter so he wouldn't have to venture down his icy steps. As a teenager， I had more fun guessing that it might be a boy who had noticed me even though I didn't know him.

One month before my high school graduation， my father died of a heart attack. He was missing some of the most important events in my life. I became completely uninterested in my upcoming graduation and the dance. I forgot the dance and the dress prepared for the dance. The day before the dance， I found one dress in sofa. I didn't care whether I had a new dress or not， but my mother did.

She wanted her children to feel loved and lovable， imaginative， believing that there was magic in the world and beauty in the face of hard times. Actually my mother wanted her children to see themselves much like the gardenia—lovable， strong and perfect. The gardenia stopped coming when my mother died.

從12岁起，在我每年的生日那一天，一朵白色的栀子花就送到我的家。没有贺卡或便条随花而来。给花店打电话也总是徒劳的——它是用现金交易的。过了一段时间，我不再设法去打听送花人是谁，只是愉快地享受那朵白花的美丽的芳香。从早到晚，我从没有停止想象送花人可能是谁。我最愉快的一些时刻在想象中度过了。

我的母亲问我是否为某人做了一件特别的好事，而他可能想表达他的感激之情。可能是邻居。她的车坏了。当她修车时，我帮了忙。也有可能是那个过马路的老头。那时是冬天，我帮他去取邮件，他就不必冒险下覆盖着冰的台阶去取。然而，作为一个少女，我更开心猜想他可能是一个关注我的男孩，尽管我并不认识他。

在我高中毕业的前一个月，我的父亲死于心脏病。他不能参加我一生中最重要的一些仪式了。我对即将到来的毕业典礼和舞会漠不关心。甚至忘记了舞会和为舞会准备的衣服。舞会的前一天，我在沙发上发现了一件衣服。我不在意是否有新衣服，而我的母亲在意。

她希望她的孩子感受到爱，也相信自己是可爱的、富于想象力的，相信世上有奇迹，相信艰难时期脸上也会绽放美丽。事实上，我的母亲希望她的孩子把自己看作栀子花——可爱的、坚强的、完美无暇的栀子花。妈妈去世后，我就再也没有收到栀子花了。