Finding Marigold

Stella took the highway toward downtown Chicago, speeding around other vehicles and listening to music with enough bass to cause a second collapse of Tacoma Bridge. Speeding was not always reckless if you were experienced and focused, and for Stella, driving alone in her car was her way to vent, giving her time and space to calm her mind while focusing on the road.

She had not planned this trip. The first place she had thought about when she sat in her car that afternoon was the beach.

It was mid-October, and although driving on the highway didn’t quite give her those colorful fall views she craved, passing by open spaces of suburban houses and parks still gave her the impression of an earthy, cozy golden autumn stepping in. Gray clouds blanketed the sky and flashes of lightning struck here and there on the horizon. A storm was coming. Large raindrops started to drum on the car roof, and soon, it was hard to see through the heavy downpour. The traffic slowed considerably, and Stella began to thump her fingers nervously on the steering wheel.

She looked out her window, and an orange image on the door of the van beside her car grabbed her attention. At first, she couldn’t recognize what was printed as the rainy fog smudged the lines and colors, but when it all cleared out, she couldn’t stop gazing at the colorful floral print. A painting of a few big orange and red marigold flowers with their finely cut, fernlike leaves covered most of the van’s door. The flower company’s logo was printed across the top. Seeing marigold blossoms brought back burning memories of the deaths of her sister and father, and Stella felt that intense pain in her chest again. She remembered marigolds were planted on almost every grave in the cemetery in her birth town in Bulgaria, and that she used to wonder why vibrant flowers like these were picked for dead people. When she emigrated to the States many years ago, any time she went shopping for flowers in spring, she had purposely avoided buying these beautiful, sunny flowers because, even though they were expressing positive emotions and energy, they reminded her of death. However, the marigold could symbolize darker emotions like grief, despair, and mourning, Stella remembered reading in an article randomly spotted on the internet, and that had helped her understand why these flowers were preferred to grow on graves. Strange, how flowers too symbolize the dualistic nature of all living things, the light and the darkness, as part of the life cycle and that make us complete beings, perhaps, Stella thought, still looking at the van’s door print.

The traffic was still moving very slowly, and when the GPS announced that she was to take the next exit, Stella felt relieved and even smiled. October wasn’t the usual month to go to a beach, but she needed to see and hear the ramping waves crashing on the shore after a storm. Nothing was more relaxing and purifying than watching the waves breaking on the beach.

She took the next exit, and not long after, she parked close by Lake Michigan. The storm was moving away and the rain had stopped as she slowly walked toward the beach, breathing in the unique, earthy smell of petrichor. A few raindrops blown away from the nearest tree leaves sprinkled her face and brought back childhood memories of the excitement of jumping in the puddles right after it had rained. She spotted a big branch looking like a troll cartoon character and sat on it, watching the lake’s waves crash furiously on the shore in the distance. She could still smell the earthy scent associated with the rain and she felt as if she were in trance. Painful memories from her recent divorce were battling her effort to stay calm and joyful. The bitter feeling of the never-ending depression slowly prevailed, and she burst into tears. She never would have thought her marriage would end after twenty-two years of living together, until she realized that time did not matter when she had spent most of her marriage lonely, taking care of kids by herself, or walking alone at the park after a hard day at work. It had taken her years to admit that she was not happy in her marriage, and she was longing for a mutual relationship and shared moments. Now, more stressed than ever, worrying about how she would survive financially and emotionally all on her own, she finally felt free, something she could at least hold on to for a while.

It was getting darker and colder, and Stella headed to her car. She felt her stomach rumbling and remembered she had not eaten anything all day. She thought it would be better if she grabbed some food before driving back home. She searched in her phone for a nearby diner, and a local sports bar and eatery popped up as the closest location. Slowly driving down a one-way street, following the directions to the diner, she thought about the last time she had been to a place like this one. She could think of only one time, and she had had to ask multiple times before her ex-husband had finally agreed to go out and have some quality family time.

She stopped at the stop sign before turning into the parking lot, and to her surprise, the wall on the building next to the street had graffiti resembling marigolds. They looked more like a huge colorful mash of flowers of an unknown plant family, but Stella could still recognize the unique fernlike leaves starting from undefined points all over the wall. That must count for something. It seems like the Universe is trying to send me some clues I’m supposed to follow in finding my happiness, she thought, and a smile illuminated her gentle, beautiful face. She had never thought of herself as beautiful, but she could tell she was still an attractive woman for her forty-five years by the looks of other men while grocery shopping or hanging at the mall.

Usually on Friday night, the diner was full, but not that night when Stella walked in. Perhaps the past storm had interrupted the usual traffic of customers. She took a small table with high chairs close to the stage. Anyway, she was not expecting anyone to join her that night. She reached for the menu, hoping to find her favorite restaurant dish—grilled salmon and fries—and luckily, they offered it. She couldn’t believe her eyes when she read on the drink menu that there was a cocktail named “Marigold.” This time, Stella laughed out loud, and that drew some customers’ attention. Okay, I am finally convinced that it is time to plant marigolds in my garden next spring, she thought and couldn’t stop laughing, even though she knew she looked weird.

Stella couldn’t help herself and asked the waitress how they had come up with the name “Marigold” for a cocktail. The friendly waitress explained that, since October was the birth month of this vibrant flower, it only made sense to portray it in a recipe this month.

More people started to walk into the bar, and some of them were bringing bulky, heavy stuff, guitars, and amplifiers. This cheered her up so much, she could hardly hide her excitement. Stella loved live music and only hoped the band would play her favorite hard-rock or heavy-metal style.

In the dimmed atmosphere of the bar, she noticed the silhouette of a man holding a drink and facing her part of the room. She could only guess, trusting her instincts, that the man was watching her, though she could hardly meet his look. In a moment, he headed toward her table and stopped next to it.

“Marigold, I would guess by its vibrant orange color. Quite popular drink this month,” he said and raised a toast with his beer. “Cheers! Hope you enjoy the show as well.” He smiled. “I would offer you another drink after the show, if that wouldn’t be too forward of me?” he continued, talking like he had known her for a very long time.

Stella froze in an awkward pose, holding her glass of Marigold high. Her mind was racing trying to comprehend what was going on. She couldn’t remember the last time an attractive man had tried to have a conversation with her, let alone offer her a drink. At last, she smiled. His eyes spoke more than his words, and she could feel that this was something more than just a friendly, polite talk. She nodded in reply to his toast, raising her glass, and said with uncertainty, “Perhaps I could stay till the end of the show if the music is not too bad.” She smiled kindly. “As for the drink, I am driving, plus I’ve had enough of marigolds for today.” Stella smiled widely. “So, maybe we could only discuss gardening tips and flower choices for the next spring.” She could hardly hold her laugh in.

The man laughed loudly, not quite getting the meaning of what she had just said but not expecting an answer like that in a reply to an offer for a drink. They both felt comfortable with each other, and in the short, intense silence that filled the space between them, their eyes continued to speak to each other.

After all, seeing marigold images all day long had meant something, and if not happiness, at least they had brought her peace and given her hope for a new beginning.

The man hopped on stage, grabbing his guitar, and loud noise from the amplifiers filled the air. The cover band was ready for their first song, and the man announced on the microphone, “For the lady with Marigold, in anticipation of some gardening tips,” then hit the first couple of strings in a heavy-metal rhythm.

Stella recognized one of Metallica's songs and her face glowed with happiness. Now, she was certain, she wanted to meet this man again.