Petals of Problems
A short story.
The girl sat on the rickety old swing. It was one of those metal framed patio swings, and the cushions on it were vinyl with a floral orange pattern that resembled something from the 70’s. There was a tear in one spot, and the cushion was poking through. Despite the beautiful view of the lake, she sat absentmindedly pulling petals from the daisy she was spinning in her fingers. She watched as one-by-one they fell to packed dirt below.
Each petal represented a problem. They were accumulating at a rapid rate but no matter how many petals she pulled off the daisy, it never became empty. Almost like a new petal would pop up to take the place of the one just plucked.
She sighed, and pulled another petal off. As she watched it spin down to the ground a man walked up and gently lowered himself to sit next to her. He considered the daisy in her fingers, the solemn expression on her face, and the pile of petals on the ground. He leaned into the back of the swing and began to rock it gently back and forth as he observed her for a few minutes.
“Playing ‘he-love-me-he-loves-me-not’?” he asked.
“No,” she said, shaking her head slightly.
He nodded, giving her space with her reflections.
After a few minutes she looked over at him. “No matter how many times I pull these petals off, they just keep coming back. Another one grows in its place! I can’t get ahead of them. They just keep coming.”
“Hmm,” he responded thoughtfully, “what does it remind you of?”
“It reminds me of all the things I worry about… all the problems I have. When I get one figured out, another is there waiting to take it’s place,” she said. “They just keep piling up, but never going away.”
The man leaned forward, and placed his hand over the daisy. All the petals from the ground swirled up to the daisy, reattaching themselves to the flower causing it to be bursting with petals. She marveled at the tiny flower in her hands. It was full, lush, and breathtakingly beautiful, but the stem started to bend under the weight of the petals.
“Why are you holding the flower all by yourself?” he asked her, plucking it from her fingers.
She dropped her hands between her knees. “Because I feel like I have to,” she replied. “Because someone has to.”
The man spun the flower in his fingers sending petals off in all directions, not a single one was left.
She watched as petals rained down around her, falling softly to the ground. She pondered this for a moment, as she looked out over the still water of the lake.
“What should I do?” she asked.
He was quiet for a moment, then smiled, “Just sit with me. Stay for a while... and perhaps stop attacking foliage. I don’t think it’s ever helped anyone in the past.”
He looked over at her and winked, causing her to laugh. She nodded, and leaned back against the swing enjoying the moment as he gently rocked them back and forth.
To ponder…
What did this story bring to mind?