Love in Bloom　爱如鲜花盛开

　　Love in Bloom　爱如鲜花盛开

　　◎?Judy Coulter

　　I was nine when my father first sent me flowers. I had been taking tap-dancing lessons for sixmonths, and the school was giving its yearly recital¹. As an excited member of the beginners’

　　chorus line, I was aware of my lowly status.

　　So it was a surprise to have my name called out at the end of the show along with the lead dancersand to find my arms full of long-stemmed red roses. I can still feel myself standing² on that stage,blushing furiously and gazing over the footlights to see my father’s grin as he applauded loudly.

　　Those roses were the first in a series of large bouquets⁴ that accompanied all the milestones⁵ in mylife. They brought a sense of embarrassment⁶. I enjoyed them, but was flustered⁷ by theextravagance.

　　Not my father. He did everything in a big way. If you sent him to the bakery for a cake, he cameback with three. Once, when Mother told him I needed a new party dress, he brought home adozen.

　　His behavior often left us without funds for other more important things. After the dress incident,there was no money for the winter coat I really needed—or the new ice skates I wanted.

　　Sometimes I would be angry with him, but not for long. Inevitably⁸ he would buy me something tomake up with me. The gift was so apparently⁹ an offering of love he could not verbalize that Iwould throw my arms around him and kiss him — an act that undoubtedly¹⁰ perpetuated¹¹ hisbehavior.

　　Then came my 16th birthday. It was not a happy occasion. I was fat and had no boyfriend. Andmy well-meaning parents furthered my misery¹² by giving me a party. As I entered the dining room,there on the table next to my cake was a huge bouquet³ of flowers, bigger than any before.

　　I wanted to hide. Now everyone would think my father had sent flowers because I had noboyfriend to do it. Sweet 16, and I felt like crying. I probably would have, but my best friend,Phyllis, whispered, “Boy, you’re lucky to have a father like that.”

　　As the years passed, other occasion—birthdays, recitals¹³, awards, graduations—were marked withDad’s flowers. My emotions continued to seesaw¹⁴ between pleasure and embarrassment.”

　　When I graduated from college, though, my days of ambivalence¹⁵ were over. I was embarking¹⁶ on anew career and was engaged to be married. Dad’s flowers symbolized¹⁷ his pride, and my triumph.

　　They evoked¹⁸ only great pleasure.

　　Now there were bright-orange mums for Thanksgiving and a huge pink poinsettia at Christmas.

　　White lilies at Easter, and velvety¹⁹ red roses for birthdays. Seasonal²⁰ flowers in mixed bouquetscelebrated the births of my children and the move to our first house.

　　As my fortunes grew, my father’s waned²¹, but his gifts of flowers continued until he died of a heartattack a few months before his 70th birthday. Without embarrassment, I covered his coffin²² withthe largest, reddest roses I could find.

　　Often in the dozen years since, I felt an urge to go out and buy a big bouquet to fill the livingroom, but I never did. I knew it would not be the same.

　　Then one birthday, the doorbell rang. I was feeling blue because I was alone. My husband wasplaying golf, and my two daughters were away. My 13-year-old son, Matt, had run out earlier witha “see you later”, never mentioning my birthday. So I was surprised to see his large frame at thedoor. “Forgot my key.” he said, shrugging. “Forgot your birthday too. Well, I hope you likeflowers, Mum.” He pulled a bunch of daisies from behind his back.

　　“Oh, Matt,” I cried, hugging him hard, “I love flowers!”

　　我9岁那年，父亲第一次送花给我。当时，我加入学校踢踏舞班才六个月，正逢学校举办一年一度的演出。我只能加入新学员合唱队，却依然兴致勃勃。不过我清楚自己只是个不起眼的小角色。

　　令人惊喜的是，演出一结束，我竟被叫到前台，双手捧着一束枝繁叶茂的红玫瑰与主舞的演员站在一起。我至今还感到自己像是站在舞台上，双颊绯红。我越过绚丽的脚灯光线向下张望，看见父亲的笑脸。他一面使劲地鼓掌，一面快活地笑着。

　　这束鲜花是第一束，往后，每逢我人生的一个里程碑，父亲都要送我一大束鲜花。可我的心情总是有些矛盾：既高兴，又有些尴尬。我喜爱鲜花，可又为这种奢侈而不安。

　　父亲却从不会觉得不安。他做什么事都特别大方。如果你让他去面包房买一块蛋糕，他一定会买回来三块。一次，母亲对他说我需要一件新的派对礼服，他竟买回来一打。

　　他的做法总是让我们没有钱再去添置其他更需要的东西。那次礼服事件后，家里就再也没钱去买我真正急需的冬大衣——或者我一直向往的新溜冰鞋。

　　有时我会为这些事跟父亲赌气，但时间都不会长。他照例会买些礼物与我和好。这些礼物如此真切地传达着他不善用言辞表达的爱。这时，我便会搂住他，亲吻他——这亲昵的行为，无疑会使他再度大方。

　　之后迎来了我16岁生日，可这并不是个快乐的时刻。我长得很胖，还没有男朋友。好心的父母为我准备了生日晚会，可这更让我觉得痛苦。我走进餐厅，看见餐桌上生日蛋糕旁边，摆着很大一束鲜花，比以往的任何一束都要大。

　　我真想躲起来。现在谁都会以为我没有男朋友送花，只好由父亲来送了。16岁该是最美好的，而我却只想哭。或许当时我的确哭了，但我最好的朋友，菲利斯，在我耳边小声说：“嘿，孩子，你有这样的父亲可真幸运。”

　　随着光阴的流逝，许多特别的日子——生日、演出、获奖、毕业——都会伴有父亲的鲜花。我的心情也依然在快乐与尴尬之间徘徊不定。

　　可我从大学毕业时，那种矛盾的心情消失了。我开始了新的事业，也订了婚。父亲的鲜花代表了他的骄傲和我的胜利。它们带来的只有极大的喜悦。

　　后来，每逢感恩节，我们都会收到父亲的一捧黄灿灿的菊花；圣诞节会有一大束粉红的一品红；复活节是洁白的百合花；生日里会有天鹅绒般的红玫瑰；孩子出世或逢乔迁之喜，父亲会送来那个季节里盛开的许多种鲜花混合扎成的花束。

 

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