The Forgotten Flower

It was a calm Monday morning as the sun rose over the knoll and warmed my petals. I began my morning stretches, extending my leaves towards the sun, and opening my head of petals deftly, but it wasn’t just any normal Monday, no. It was the annual Monday that Mr. Larry opened his sunflower farm, Sun-Kissed Acres, to the public for picking. Every year around mid-September, Mr. Larry would open Sun-Kissed Acres for all to admire, smell, and pick flowers. My closest friend, Penny, was telling me the other day that his farm has always been the busiest on opening day, attracting hundreds of tourists and their families. 

“I am so excited,” I called to Penny.

“Me too!” She replied. “Wouldn’t it be splendid if we got picked together?”

“What’s that?” I asked. I always have the hardest time hearing her. She’s so soft spoken, and we’re planted fifteen feet across from each other, which doesn’t help one bit.

“I said I hope we get picked together!”

“Oh, yes! That would be grand… But what if we don’t get pi–”

“Sprout! Don’t think like that. We’re going to get picked, I’m more than confident about it,” she snapped.

“I’m sorry, Penny. I just thought that–”

“Don’t apologize. It’s okay. Just stay hopeful, will you?” She said this so supportingly that I just glanced at her and smiled.

I didn’t mean to upset Penny like that; I just have this enormous fear of not getting picked. I feel that my differences might draw people away from me. I don’t stand as tall as the others and I just recently lost a few petals because of the rough winds the previous night. 

The sun has now reached the top of the knoll and is fully visible to the whole field of flowers. Seconds later, I hear a car drive up Mr. Larry’s dirt driveway. I turn to my right and spy a red van parked in the grass not far off of the driveway. I watch intently as all doors open, almost in unison. Two girls, one wearing a blue floral dress and the other wearing a pastel pink dress lined with a white lacy fabric, not much taller than four feet, run out of the backseat giggling with one another. Two adults, I assume their mom and dad, promptly followed them. The two girls continued to gallop their way around the new sites as their parents tried to stay caught up with their curiosity.

The girls ran around a tall pine tree, then held each other’s hands on top of a rock path, trying to stay balanced. Eventually the girls made their way to the flowers. The shorter one of the two locked eyes with me and didn’t look away. It seemed as if she was drawn right in, like I was hypnotic. Ever so gently, she began to grasp my head and tilted me towards her nose. She then closed her eyes- which to me looked as if she were an angel falling asleep. The little blonde girl took a deep breath in and began to smile softly.

“Haha,” I said. Boy, did that tickle.

“Daddy! Daddy! Daddy! I want this one!” She exclaimed, pointing directly at me.

“Honey, we just got here. Don’t you want to look around a little more? Look, there’s a really tall flower over there.”

“But Daddyyy,” she begged.

“Come along, now,” he replied, grabbing her hand, leading her towards the opposite direction of me. She threw her shoulders down and crossed her arms in aggravation.

“That was close! Holy cow! You almost got picked,” shouted Penny.

“Yeah. Almost,” I said quietly to no one.

Just then, while wallowing in my despair, I happen to notice a quiver of movement underneath a pile of decaying leaves. A petite field mouse popped out of his hiding spot and stood up on his hind legs. He wiggled his nose up high and twitched his whiskers. He then proceeded to gaze up and down the row of flowers, brought his paws to his furry face, and rubbed his eyes like mice do. All of the sudden, I heard a faint whoosh behind me. I turned my head swiftly, but saw nothing. I spun back to marvel at the mouse again, just to catch him scurrying away from the strange noise, in the direction of Penny. This brought my immediate attention to Penny, who was getting picked by the family of four that arrived.

“Sprout! I’m getting picked! Isn’t this wonderful?” hollered Penny.

“Yay! I’m so happy for you, Penny.” I retorted back, whole-heartedly. “But, will you do something for me? Don’t forget to bring lots of joy to that family, especially the littlest girl, she’s something special!”

“Of course! And, will you do me one favor?” She asked.

“Yes?”

“Don’t ever forget me!” She stated firmly.

“I won’t. I promise.” And I meant it. If there's a moment where I've ever been truly, one hundred percent honest, it was in that moment.

We shared one last glimpse of each other before she was hoisted over the dad’s shoulder and placed lightly into their car.

Hours pass and many cars drive in, bundling dozens of sunflowers into their cars, leaving with nothing but smiles on their faces. Time flew and most of the once beautiful flowers were uprooted and missing from their natural homes. Minutes went and there stood only a few stragglers, undesired flowers- like me. 

I knew this was going to happen. I had a sinking feeling weeks before Mr. Larry opened his farm, that I was going to be one of the last flowers to get picked. Out of all of my brothers and sisters, I was always the slowest to grow. In the span of one night, my eldest sister grew a whole foot and a half. Over one night! I’ve struggled to grow a foot in the span of a week. My dad always told me that my day would come, but I never believed him. Still don’t. 

The last person, a stout young man, probably around the age of a twenty-something years old, opened his driver’s door, and was stopped by Mr. Larry. They seemed to have a short conversation. One part of their minuscule conversation consisted of Mr. Larry gesturing towards the whole horizon of the gone flowers and the handful that was left. He then pointed directly at me with his thick, callused hand. He actually pointed at me! The young man just looked at him, chuckled, and walked towards the last of the flowers, gathering all but one. That one flower was me. Maybe he’d just not seen me. I’m so confused. Why would he clean the rest of the flower field but leave me behind. Had he forgotten me? Why hadn’t Mr. Larry come to stop him from leaving? He forgot one.

“You forgot me!” I yelled. “Hey! Over here!” Of course he wouldn’t hear me. It was downright foolish to think that a human could hear me, a flower. 

The man left and Mr. Larry was closing his gate minutes after. The sun had now become barely visible, but it painted a warm, comforting yellow portrait in the sky. I took one last good look at the sky and hung my head low, preparing for next year's picking.

Moments later, I was stunned to find myself being uprooted by Mr. Larry. I hadn’t been forgotten. He clenched my thick stem and began to yank me out of the ground. Once he got me out of the ground, he began sauntering towards his house, carrying me underneath his big arm. He opened his door and set me on the counter facing the kitchen. I keenly watched him as he grabbed a tall, white colored vase from a cabinet beneath his sink full of dishes. He cleaned me up, shortened my stem, and gently set me into the vase. Mr. Larry then took three short steps back and eyed me with pure admiration, smiling brightly. I began to open my pedals with bliss. My disquietude had forever lifted and I was at peace knowing I wasn’t forgotten.