Daffodils

She was first afraid they would forget her name, but now she fears they will forget her face, her voice, her whole being.  Caroline Finley’s life is not ending; however, she worries it will never begin.  The concerning thought wakes her night after night, an anxious ache growing deep in the pit of her stomach.

When this life is over, what will my loved ones remember me by?  Will my friends be proud of me when they think of me?  I feel as if I have nothing to offer, and nothing to reach for.

These thoughts are now burdens, weighing down Caroline’s shoulders as she trudges along day after day, meandering about her grandparents’ home in her worn floral slippers, burning with want but crippled by the fear of failure.  Job listings fill the tabs on Caroline’s laptop, offering hope and overwhelm; a degree she doesn’t use anymore hangs above her desk in a sleek black frame, an ever-present reminder of nostalgia and disappointment; her coffee and oatmeal are nestled on a shelf of her bookcase, growing cold and neglected.  Resting her face between clammy hands, Caroline stares at her computer screen, deciding whether to finally upload her resume or give up completely.  It is only 11:30 in the morning.  Caroline eyes her bed across the room, tempted to crawl back in.  A wave of emotion washes over her and tears threaten to fall onto her cheeks.

A gentle knock at the door redirects Caroline’s attention.  Her grandmother peeks in.  She wears a warm smile.

“Poppi just called.”  She says, “He wants you to meet him at the deli for his lunch break.  My book club is coming over early today, so I won’t be able to join.”

“Okay,” Caroline replies, trying to return the smile.  “I’ll get myself ready.”

“Maybe try wearing something that doesn’t include sweatpants.”  Her grandmother says encouragingly as her eyes dart up and down at Caroline’s burnt orange pajama set.

“Mhmm…” Caroline nods, trying to think of what’s hanging in her closet.

After the door shuts, she rises from her wobbly chair, pushes open the accordion door at the foot of her bed, and grabs the first pair of jeans she can spot.  Next, after a wrestling match with a stubborn hanger, Caroline pulls out an olive-green top with scalloped edges.  She quickly ties half her hair up in a bun, and after a few seconds of checking her work in the mirror, she offers herself a lopsided grin.  Then, with sandals on her feet and a purse draped over her shoulder, Caroline makes herself stand up straight before walk-jogging through the house and out the front door.

The deli is only two blocks away, so a short walk should do her mind some good.  The fresh air fills her lungs as she crosses the street.  

It’s all going to be okay.  Right?

During her journey, Caroline passes several shopfronts, their window displays both enticing and impressive.  One in particular–a wedding dress shop–showcases a beautiful gown with intricate lace on the bodice and fluffy tulle cascading down from the waist.  The sparkles strewn throughout it glisten as sunbeams hit the fabric just right.  

I wonder if they’re hiring.

And as Caroline finishes the thought, her eyes gravitate toward a small sign taped to the front door’s window, which reads in big swirly letters: no longer hiring.

It’s as if the fresh air is sucked right back out of her lungs, and Caroline’s face falls before she quickens her pace.

The deli is twenty degrees cooler than outside but the pleasant aromas wafting through the small space distracts Caroline from the chilliness on her skin.  

“Hey Caroline,” Chelsea, the owner’s daughter, waves as she passes through the kitchen doors. 

Caroline waves back before politely pushing through the long line.  She spots her grandfather at the back of the restaurant, unwrapping his sub sandwich.  Turkey with provolone cheese, tomatoes, lettuce, and lots of banana peppers.  An identical one waits for her, and upon noticing, Caroline smiles to herself out of delight. 

“Carrie!”  Poppi waves her over and greets her with a kiss on the cheek.  Though nearing his mid-seventies, Bruce Finley has the sharpest mind and the sharpest wardrobe.  He never leaves the house without shined shoes and ironed trousers.

“Thanks for the sandwich.”  Caroline says.

“Of course.  It’s an easy order to remember.”  Poppi chuckles, adjusting his glasses.  He proceeds to cover his green cardigan with an unfolded napkin.

Caroline gives her grandfather a smile before inhaling a first bite.

Stuffed and satisfied, Caroline and her grandfather both lean back in their seats, crunching up their wrappers into small balls.  

“Why don’t you try to get hired here?”  Poppi suggests.  “You know the staff, some of the customers, and you practically got the whole menu memorized.”

“I already asked them…last week.  They’re actually overstaffed.”

“Ah, I’m sorry, kid.”  Poppi’s face falls, feeling helpless for his granddaughter.

“It’s okay.  I just wish Bentley’s didn’t have to close down.”

Bentley’s was the crown jewel of the downtown area—a historic site that brought many faithful and enthusiastic tourists from all over the country—and Caroline’s life.  She loved that victorian house on the corner of Royer Avenue.  It sat there, semi-concealed by tall poplar trees, standing out among the rest of the more modern homes in the neighborhood.  Its cerulean shutters and dark purple front door that popped against the bright white siding was beautiful and inviting.  

The house was built by the Bentley family in 1920, and its grandeur was more practical than luxurious.  It had to be able to hold seven children, two sets of grandparents, and three dogs.  After it was completed, it was the talk of the town.  But it became historic, as well as famous, not because of who lived there, but rather because of those who stopped by—well-renowned artists, authors, and politicians, namely President Calvin Coolidge.  

Coolidge was apparently a childhood friend of the Mr. Hugh Bentley, and made sure to keep in touch long after they had grown up and gone separate ways.  Before, during, and after his presidency, Coolidge made yearly trips to the Bentley residence, and every time, bringing with him generous gifts.  One of those gifts was a grand piano made especially for the Bentley’s oddly shaped living room.  He also left behind little humorous notes for the children, hiding them in books and cracks in the walls, or under rugs and floorboards.  As the house was passed down, it was eventually purchased by the local historical society in the early 2000’s, and Coolidge’s notes were soon found during some repair work.  It wasn’t long until the Bentley’s home became a museum and tourist attraction for history lovers, much like Caroline herself.  She began a summer internship there during her senior year where she helped man the gift shop, but she soon graduated to tour guide.  Then a few years later, assistant curator.

Up until four months ago, Caroline’s life was simple yet satisfied.  She loved going to work five days out of the week, where the staff and the visitors were as equally pleasant as the job itself.  It was rewarding and inspiring.  Caroline felt as if she was truly giving back to the community and uniting the past with the present for the future generations of her town.  She felt proud of her accomplishments and found a purpose, even in the mundane tasks.  The Bentley Museum was her second home.  She didn’t want to be anywhere else, and there was no need to be.

Until there was.

Before the end of spring, as the crowds died down for a few weeks, Caroline noticed her boss acting differently—nervous, quiet, and distracted.  She had believed something was going on in his personal life until he unexpectedly, and quickly, resigned from his position.  It was soon discovered that he had been stealing from the museum for years in order to settle on-going gambling debts, and finally got caught.  But he was broke and the museum apparently was, too, so the Bentley house shut down.  Everyone lost their jobs, and the town lost its crown jewel.  The house still sits on the corner of Royer Avenue, but remains empty and lifeless.  When the news broke, Caroline felt like the rug was yanked out from under her feet and she had nowhere else to land.  Today, she still feels as if she’s flailing mid-air, trying to find some stable ground.  The job hunt quickly became exhausting and discouraging, and continues to be so.  Her degree in Twentieth Century American History seems meaningless, and her bank account is painful to look at these days.  Caroline’s sense of purpose and satisfaction has dwindled, and she fears she won’t amount to anything else…ever.

Poppi watches as Caroline inspects her fingernails, lost in thought and near-hopelessness.  

“Why was Bentley’s so special to you?”  He asks her curiously. 

Caroline looks up at her grandfather, pulled out of her daze.  She turns her attention to the picture-filled wall on her right, searching for an answer.

“Bentley’s…made me feel like me.”  Caroline begins.  “And it gave me room to grow, and I was able to use my giftings.”  A smile grows onto her face.  “I wasn’t left wondering or wandering after high school.  Bentley’s made me feel even more proud to be from here, to live that close to really neat history.  It made me feel fulfilled and accomplished.  I was doing good work there, and it made me feel good.  It gave me a purpose that I really, really loved.  It made me feel seen.”

Poppi looks at Caroline with a tender gaze, “And now you’re afraid you’ll never get that back, no matter what your next job may be.”

“I’m afraid I’ll never get that next job, period.”  Caroline sighs.

“What do you want, Carrie?”

“A well-paying, stable job.”  Caroline answers, surprised by the question.

“That’s not what I meant…what do you really want?  From life.”

“That seems like a loaded question, even for you, Mr. Philosophy Major.”

Poppi stares Caroline down, eyebrows lifted high, glasses balancing on the tip of his nose.

Caroline’s eyes well up, and it catches her off guard.  “I want to be remembered.  I want to be someone, someone great who does great things; meaningful things that others see as meaningful and lasting.  I want to be proud of myself and for the people I love to be proud of me, too.  That’s what I want, Poppi.”

“So…you’re afraid of being forgotten?  Of being a failure?  Is that it?”

“Yeah…”  Caroline says softly.

“Oh, kiddo.”  Poppi reaches over and squeezes her hand. 

“And I know what you and Mami, and Mom and Dad, would tell me when I was younger–that ‘it’s not what you do, but who you are, that matters’–but…it’s really hard to believe and focus on that sometimes.  Especially right now.”  Caroline quickly wipes her eyes.  The thought of her parents fills her with both comfort and sadness.  They never got to see her grow up and flourish.  But they also never got to see her be brought so low, and for that, Caroline is grateful.

“I felt the same way when my parents offered me those words.”  Poppi says, remembering how his mother and father leaned in close over the dinner table the night before he left for university and instilled their words of wisdom and encouragement to his young and naive self.

“How did you live it out?”

“I didn’t…” Poppi replies, “for a long time.”

Caroline straightens her shoulders, stunned by her grandfather’s answer.  To her, he seemed to always have walked through each day, unburdened and with a sort of reckless abandon, fully surrendered to whatever might happen next, in his work and personal life.  

“What changed?” Caroline asks, leaning in.

Poppi smiles, looking down at the cream-colored table.  “Your grandmother.”

After noting the time on his watch, Poppi stretches out his hands on the smooth surface of the table and begins to tell Caroline about one of his last days at school, how frightened he was feeling, and how a certain redhead turned his whole world upside down.

Poppi was twenty-two years old and three days before graduation, he found himself walking the grounds of the university.  Then, he found himself wandering in the park nearby, completely overwhelmed by the reality set in front of him.  It was so close, so tangible.  He had four years to prepare for it, but now that it stared him in the face, young Bruce had no clue how he would handle it all, how he would take the next step forward.  Where would it lead?  Would all of his hopes shatter on the ground just inches from his feet?  What if his degree became meaningless?  What if there was nothing out there for him after all?  He feared everything he had worked so hard for would come to nothing, that he’d fail and fall before he could truly begin to run the race of his life.

These worries tormented him as his feet carried him along the cracked pavement.  He nearly pulled out his own hair when another wandering soul came close by.  She almost glowed as the sun reached its brightest point behind her.  And her hair was the color of a burning sunset, but her eyes were green like the trees that were swaying around them.  Bruce almost missed it if it weren’t for the girl tripping into him.  

The girl’s name was Renee, and for a moment, Bruce forgot why he was even in the park that day.

After their awkward introduction, Renee told Bruce that she had been picking flowers and though she couldn’t explain it, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she needed to give her handful of daffodils to the next person she came across.  She handed Bruce her small bouquet of the white and yellow flower with a shy smile.

“They signify hope for the future.”  Renee told him.

Bruce was speechless.  Was he dreaming?

Soon, they found themselves deep in conversation, exchanging perspectives on everything from the superior ice cream flavor to the origins of the universe.  Bruce’s worries spilled out between them and Renee offered him refreshing encouragement.

“Don’t think of it as the rest of your life being a black hole, sucking you in and taking you where you don’t want to go, but as a blank canvas.  No matter what colors happen to be splashed on the board, you can make something beautiful out of it.  Yes, your life is just now beginning again…but in order to enjoy it, you must let go of your expectations for it.  Simply, ‘go with the flow, just don’t let the flow drown you,’ as my father says.”  Renee chuckled at her own remarks.

Bruce again was speechless, and the worries that tormented him seemed to have vanished.  He felt light and tall, eased.

“You’re very wise, you know that?”  He said to Renee, looking straight into her forest green eyes.

“I take that as a high compliment coming from a philosophy major.”

Bruce and Renee continued their dialogue, walking in tandem as the sun was setting in front of them.  As the yellows changed into fiery oranges and reds, the two suddenly became silent, enamored by the sight.  Bruce turned his attention to Renee, who was smiling in awe, and he realized that she reflected the colors in the sky in her person, the only difference being that her beauty wouldn’t fade into the night.

“And that was it.”  Poppi sighs.  “That day, that conversation, changed everything for me.  My heart was suddenly at ease, and suddenly in love.”

Caroline looked at her grandfather with admiration and a deeper love than before.  She had heard the story of how he met Mami more than a dozen times, but never told like this, never this full or vulnerable.

“Your grandmother…she was my daffodil.”  Poppi continues, placing his hand over his heart.  “She still is.  The hope Mami gave me, it was her in all her fullness, but it was also more.  Despite all that could happen or would happen, no matter what job I ended up with, there would be hope.  Tomorrow could turn out a thousand different ways, but that’s the spectacular mystery of life, Caroline…” He leans in close again to his granddaughter, almost hovering over the table, and looks into her eyes with tender seriousness, “where there is hope, there is possibility…for anything.”

Now, Caroline is speechless, and she realizes she doesn’t need to give a reply but instead sit with the words her grandfather had spoken, and actually, wholeheartedly believe them.

“It really will be okay, Carrie.  Maybe not today or even tomorrow, but one day.  Hope will keep you alive until you see it, and it will keep you going long past it.”

Caroline feels a tear slip down her cheek, but she doesn’t wipe it away because it isn’t a tear of sadness, but relief and wonder.

“Now, how about you and I go to the local library and peruse their goodies.”  Poppi stands up and rubs his hands together excitedly.

“Don’t you have to get back to work?”  Caroline gives him a curious look.

“Oh no, I took the day off.  I had this feeling that you and I could use the time together.”

“Thanks, Poppi.”  Caroline gets up and wraps her arms around her grandfather.  “For everything.”

“Always.”

As the duo leave the deli arm in arm, something on the pavement catches Caroline’s eye–a planter full of yellow and white daffodils.  

Hope.

Smiling to herself, Caroline suddenly feels light and tall, eased.  The worries that tormented her for so long seem to vanish as she peers down at the small fragile flowers.  

With her head held high, Caroline breathes the fresh air into her lungs, feeling that for the first time in months, she is standing once again on stable ground.