A cloud of jealousy hung over my once peaceful heart. I muddled through each day by sharing all I had previously had enjoyed alone. And all I had to cling to was to hit her and shout at her on our parents”back.
My sister was so scared of me that each time when she was left alone with me， I could notice her trembling---- and that pleased me even for years. But， I also knew that she re spect ed me from the bottom of her heart---- though I nev er ad mit ted that until that day when I par tic i pat ed the examination. My par ents as well as my sister all came to bolster morale for me outside the school gate. I passed the line that separated the examinees and the supporters， and walked on nearly 100 meters， I suddenly heard my sister’s voice：
“Your pen-box！ Sister， you forget your pen-box！”
Turning back， I saw my sister’s little body rushing past the security guards all the way towards me.
When she run up to me， what she heard was my sneer， "Pen-box are not allowed. I’ve picked out the pens.”
Then she answered breathlessly， “Oh...” daring not to look into my eyes.
Seeing my sister walk out with a dis ap point ing back， I suddenly realized that she was always waiting for an opportunity to do some thing for me.
Later， when I went to university in California， I tast ed the ache of loneliness. Furthermore， two shocks in quick suc ces sion allowed me to learn that my sister’s really means a great deal to me.
The first thing was that， as Mother told me， after my leaving， my sister in sist ed on not mov ing any of my things. She even put my towel be sides hers. She said， whenever she entered the bathroom， that would remind her of my smiles， my jokes， my being a patient listener.
Then came the second shock： I could not remember when I gave her a smile， when I ever told her jokes. As for "a patient listener” all that came to my mind was that my sister kept telling some trivial2 incidents in her school day， but I put none of them into my heart， only minding my own business. Yet as long as I felt sad， it was my sister who would sit by my side， watching over me.
Then I had to accept that， as the time went by， my sister had grown up much more independent， being able to manage many things all by herself. But still she followed me step by step， imitated whatever I did， convinced3each of her class mates that I was the best sister in the world. I knew that she tried her best to let me know that： she loved me.
Now I once again complained in her arms， asking for her comfort. Thinking of the past 13 years with a sister， tears of happiness poured down my cheeks. I had always felt my sister’s presence. I was lucky， so lucky， for my parents had given me a gift more precious than doting on me； a gift that helps me know what love is and how to treasure it.
She is the angel in my house.
当我因为突然的懊恼哭泣流泪的时候，妹妹正同情地注视着我，她紧紧抓着我的手，坐在我身旁一言不发。
不管乐意不乐意，我已经当了她17年的姐姐，她出生时我刚好七岁，从此我幼稚地认为我被抛进了一个黑暗、愤怒、失望和自怜的世界。我觉得自己的命运经历了突然的转变——所有人的宠爱都给了这个新生儿，他们完全忽略了我的存在。
嫉妒的阴云将我曾经平静的心灵肆意地笼罩，我每天都得和她分享原本属于我一个人的东西，于是我总会背着父母欺负她。
妹妹特别害怕和我独处，我能感觉得到她的战栗——那是我多年来的乐趣。但是我也深知她对我的尊敬，那是发自内心的——尽管我从不承认，直到那次我参加考试时，父母和妹妹来到校门外为我加油。当我走过考生和家长分离线100米的时候，我突然听到妹妹的声音。
“你的铅笔盒，姐姐，你忘记了铅笔盒！”
我转过身去，发现她正朝着我，用瘦小的身体挣脱着警卫。
当她跑向我的时候，我冷笑着哼了一声：“不能带铅笔盒，我已经拿了钢笔。”
她气喘吁吁地嗫嚅着：“噢……”不敢看我的眼睛。
看着妹妹失望地转身回去，我突然意识到她总是在等待为我做事的机会。
后来，我去加利福尼亚上大学了，那时才品尝到了孤独寂寞的滋味。同时，有两件事情让我感受到了妹妹对我真挚的感情。
母亲告诉我，在我离开后，妹妹坚持不动我的任何东西，她甚至把我们的毛巾放在一起，她说，无论什么时候，她都会回忆起我的微笑、我跟她开的玩笑，会想起我这个耐心的听众。
让我震动的是，我并不记得曾给过她微笑，和她开玩笑，更别说是一个耐心的听众了。在我的记忆里，妹妹经常告诉我一些她们学校发生的事情，但是我从来没有把它们放在心上，我只记得属于我自己的事情。倒是只要我感到伤心，她就会坐在我身旁，静静地注视着我。
我必须承认，随着时间的流逝，妹妹已经长大并学会了自立，能够自己处理很多事情。但她仍跟随着我，效仿着我。她告诉她的同学我是世界上最好的姐姐。我知道她在尽自己最大的努力告诉我：她爱我！
现在我又一次在她的怀抱里抱怨，寻求安慰。回忆和妹妹在一起的13年，幸福的泪水滑落在我的脸庞，因为她的存在让我感到幸福。我是如此幸运，因为父母带给我这份比宠爱我还要珍贵的礼物。这份礼物让我懂得了什么是爱，如何珍惜爱。
她就是那个一直守护在我房间里的天使。
Butterfly
蝴蝶
“Mum， I’m back，”I called as I stepped into our flat after school. Usually Mum would reply， urging me to take my bath， eat and then do my school work. But this day－March 1， 1961 —— there was silence.
I walked into the bedroom the entire family shared. Mum was sitting at her dressing table， tears streaming down her cheeks. She looked up and said， “Your sister died this morning.”I just stood there， not knowing what to say. I was ten years old and the concept of death had no real meaning to me.
I was trying to make sense of the situation when I found Elizabeth’s school bag， sitting on a small table in the corner of the bedroom. The rectangular brown hard-case bag looked as if it was waiting to be claimed by its owner.
That evening I stood on the balcony， watching every bus that pulled up at the stop opposite our building.
“Is she coming back？”I kept asking my mother.“Why can’t she come back？ Why did she have to die？”Mum could offer neither comfort nor meaningful answers to my ceaseless1 queries2.
At about nine olock that evening， a black butterfly flew into the kitchen. It fluttered around the hall and landed high on a wall.“Don’t chase it away，”mum said.
When I turned in for the night， the butterfly was perched3 in the same place， but by next morning itgone. Only then did I remember what had happened two days previously.
That evening， as usual， I had watched out for bus No. 2， which brought my sister home from school. Several buses came and went， but there was no sign of her. I began to worry. Finally， I saw her step off a bus just as the streetlights were flickering on.
I ran to the door because my sister sometimes gave me sweets when she got home. Not that evening—she was in a hurry. She explained that she had forgotten to complete an art project that was due the next day.
Right after her bath and dinner， my sister sat down at our round dining table. She divided a rectangular piece of drawing paper into twelve equal boxes. In each box， she painted the same butterfly in a bold black outline.She allowed me to help color in the background of each box.
Now， the day after my sister’death， I remembered that the butterfly that had flown into our flat looked a lot like the ones in her painting.
I believe the butterfly that flew into our flat was actually her returning to pay us a final visit before moving on to the next life. One day I too will make this journey， and I will finally see her again.
“妈妈，我回来了。”我放学后回到家时总这样叫。通常妈妈总是一边答应，一边催我赶快洗澡、吃饭，然后做家庭作业。但是今天——1961年3月1日——整个房间都被寂静笼罩着。
