晚安心语
Nowadays people seem to know how to play，but do not know what is happiness.
如今的人似乎只知道怎么娱乐，却不知道什么是快乐。
By Karen Taylor
Wrinkles of confusion rippled across Holly's forehead as she unwrapped the gift from her best friend，Susan.
“I...I thought you could use it for something.”Susan's stammered explanation did nothing to help us understand why a twelve-by-eighteen-inch dark blue carpet remnant was being presented as a birthday gift.
Starting out at a new school during her freshman year had been a difficult adjustment.
Until she met Susan，Holly had experienced little success making new friends.
The murmured“thanks”was barely audible as Holly tried valiantly not to allow her disappointment to show.The extent of Holly's disappointment over the incident didn't become evident until the following evening when she came downstairs to say good night.“Well，I guess we know how much my best friend thinks of me，huh，Mom？”Her attempt at a breezy tone failed miserably.
The next morning，I saw Susan's carpet lying among the other discarded items.Hesitating a moment，I reached in and plucked it from amid the debris.After giving it a light brushing，I brought it into the house and tucked it away in the hall closet.Overshadowed by the business of daily living，the carpet was soon forgotten.
Prior to Holly's birthday，Susan had been a regular visitor in our home.The girls did their homework together and went to bed at a reasonable hour.Now I realized it had been nearly three weeks since we'd even heard mention of Susan's name.I missed her warm smile and eager-to-please ways.
A rustle at the front door told me Holly had arrived home from school.“Susan invited me to come over to her house after school tomorrow，”she announced as she plunked her books down on the kitchen table.Although her voice carried a so-what attitude，I sensed she was pleased by the invitation.
“She wants you to come，too，so you can meet her foster mom.”The words“foster mom”dangled in the air like a spent birthday balloon.Susan never talked about her home life，and we didn't find it necessary to pry.
Arrangements were made.As I negotiated the winding country road that led to her house，Susan babbled nervously about her foster mom and the seventeen cats she had taken in and cared for with Susan's help.Several of these foster kitties scattered as we pulled into the gravel driveway.
A tall angular woman stood in the doorway to greet us as we approached the small farmhouse.“Excuse the mess，”she apologized while we threaded our way through stuff that seemed to be everywhere.
Susan ushered us through the house.It seemed to be alive with four-legged fur balls roaming underfoot and sprawling across the backs of the dingy sofa and chairs.
She proudly showed us her room，which was sparsely but neat.A tarnished picture frame sitting on a crate beside the bed contained pictures of Susan's parents and siblings from whom，we later learned，she had long since been separated.
