栀子花开Mystery of the White Gardenia（1/2）

佚名/Anonyo

Every year on y birthday, fro the ti I turned 12, a white gardenia was delivered to y hoeBethesda, Md.No card or note ca with it.Calls to the florist were alwaysva—it was a cash purchase.After a while I sped tryg to disver the sender’s identity and jt delightedthe beauty and heady perfu of that one agical, perfect white flower ledsoft pk tissue paper.

But I never sped iagg who the anonyo giver ight be.So of y happiest onts were spent daydreag about soone wonderful ag but too shy or eentrics to ake known his or her identity.

My other ntributed to these iaggs.She’d askif there was soone for who I had done a special kdness who ight be shog appreciation.Perhaps the neighbor I’d help when she was unloadg a car full of groceries.Or aybe it was the old an across the street whose ail I retrieved durg the ter so he wouldn’t have to venture down his icy steps.As a teehough, I had ore fug that it ight be a boy I had a crh on or one who had noticedeven though I didn’t know hi.

When I was 17, a boy broke y heart.The night he called for the st ti, I cried yself to sleep.When I awokethe , there was a ssage scribbled on y irrorred lipstick:“Heartily know, when half-gods go, the gods arrive.”I thought about that quotation fro Erson for a long ti, and until y heart healed, I left it where y other had written it.When I fally went to get the gss er, y other knew everythg was all right aga.

I don’t reber ever sg y doora her and shoutg,“You jt don’t uand!”becae she did uand.

Oh before y high-school graduation, y father died of a heart attack.My feelgs ranged fro grief to abandonnt, fear and overwhelg ahat y dad was issg so of the ost iportasy life.I beca pletely uedy upg graduation, the senior-css py and the pro.But y other,the idst of her own grief, would not hear of y skippg any of those thgs.

The day before y father died, y other and I had gone shoppg for a pro dress.We’d found a spectacur one, with yards and yards of dotted Swissred white a adefeel like Scarlett O’Hara, but it was the wrong size.When y father died, I fot about the dress.

My other didn’t.The day before the pro, I found that dress— the right size—draped ajestially lovgly.I didn’t care if I had a new dress or not.But y other did.

She wanted her children to feel loved and lovable, creative and iagative, ibued with a sehat there was agicthe world ay eventhe face of adversity.In truth, y other wanted her children to see theselves uch like the gardenia—lovely, strong and perfect—with an aura of agid perhaps a bit of ystery.

My other died ten days after I arried.I was 22 years old.That was the year the gardenias sped g.

从我12岁那年起，每年都有人在我生日那天把一枝洁白的栀子花送到家里（马里兰州贝塞斯达镇上），没有卡片，也没有字条。我多次打电话到花店询问，但总问不出个所以然来——这些花都是用现金支付的。后来，我就不再追查送花人，只是尽情享受那枝神秘的、用粉红绢纸包扎的雪白花朵的瑰丽和浓郁芳香。

我还是不停地猜测这位匿名送花者。有时，我最喜欢做的事就是揣测这个人，或许他是一个无比优秀的人，但过于腼腆或者性格古怪，而不愿透露身份。

母亲也和我一起猜测，很多猜想还源于她的点拨。她会问我，是不是给谁做了件好事，所以人家用这种方式来答谢。或许是邻居吧，我曾帮她卸下满满一车杂货。也有可能是马路对面的那位老先生，寒冬时，我帮他取过邮件，这样他就不必冒着滑倒的危险去取了。然而，正值花季的我，宁愿相信这个人是我喜欢的男孩，或是暗恋我而我浑然不知的某个男生。

17岁那年，一个男生深深地伤害了我。他最后一次打电话给我的那晚，我失声痛哭，后来，就不知不觉地睡着了。第二天早上醒来时，我看见镜子上有一行潦草的字，是用红色唇膏写的——“切记：半仙离去，真神到来”。我一直没擦去这些字。爱默生的这句话，我想了很久，最后终于想通了。于是，在我去拿玻璃清洁剂时，母亲知道一切又恢复正常了。

记忆中，我从未冲母亲发过脾气，然后甩门而去，还吼道：“你根本不理解！”因为母亲太了解我了。

在我高中毕业的前一个月，父亲因心脏病离开了人世。我的情绪波动很大，时而悲痛哀伤、自暴自弃，时而恐惧胆怯、怨气冲天。我知道，父亲再也不能亲眼目睹我人生中的大事了。我沉浸在这种痛苦中不能自拔，对临近的毕业典礼、演出和舞会全然没有了兴趣。而母亲，虽然也承受着巨大的悲痛，但执意让我参与那些活动。

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