Golden Years

The doorbell to Mr. Maxwell's Flower Shop chimes as another customer steps in to admire the beautiful flowers inside. Roses, tulips, and most importantly of all, a single marigold on the counter for the next buyer to have. "Ah, Jacob! Great to have you in my store again! Looking for your usual dozen?," Mr. Maxwell says to the man now in the shop. The man smiles and chuckles to himself as he says, "You know me too well, Mr. Maxwell." "Why, of course! This store is reaching almost 25 years in this business and I've been a part of it from day one. I've seen so many faces and every single one I remember as much as the last! I love everything about this job!," Mr. Maxwell exclaims in response. Jacob smiles at the enthusiastic shop owner and takes out a $20. "This should cover it, right?," he asks. "Actually, this one's on the house, because it's the last one I'm selling!," Mr. Maxwell says with a sincere look on his face. Despite the expression on the jolly old man's face, Jacob looks back in shock and despair at the news.

"What do you mean this is the last one? You're closing the shop down? Didn't you keep selling these flowers to honor your wife's contributions to your life?," the saddened customer asks, unsure of what Mr. Maxwell truly means. "Ah, but that's exactly the issue... You see, my wife and I opened this store because of our shared love of gardening and flowers in general. There's nothing more she loved than seeing a beautiful bouquet wrapped up tightly, with a pretty little marigold bunched in, being handed to the waiting arms of a customer. That brought her great joy, but I was never the main driver in the gardening itself. She had a green thumb that was irreplaceable. The marigolds that I attempted to grow never shined with a radiant glow like hers. You want to know why she cared for these marigolds so much?" Jacob nodded quickly, interested in what Mr. Maxwell would have to say next.

"Well, she was a believer in the idea that everything had a beauty to them, be it big or small, yellow or red or even the dullest gray. The fact that nature let the flowers she saw grow, made her so excited, she could hardly contain herself." Mr. Maxwell then pauses and tears up slightly before continuing. "The reason she chose marigolds to be that star of every night sky of colors within the bouquet was because she thought that they would help represent the smaller things in life. Whether the bouquet be for a significant other, a friend or a family member, inside the vibrant colors of the roses or orchids, would be a pristine marigold, as a reminder to appreciate the smaller things. The parts of one's life that mean so much, but are remembered so little. By making that tiny change to every bouquet, her story lives on, ensuring that it's never forgotten as long as there's still a marigold amongst the crowd."

Mr. Maxwell begins to stare off into the distance, past Jacob and the various arrangements of flowers, almost looking directly into the setting sun laying itself along the horizon. After a moment to reflect and wipe away the tears falling down his cheeks, he composes himself and looks back to Jacob. "After she passed away, it's almost like all the colors of the world to me began to fade. Nothing was the same without her..." Jacob notices Mr. Maxwell is almost unable to control his emotions, placing a hand on his shoulder. "It's alright, Mr. Maxwell. She meant a lot to you and us. Everyone enjoyed her presence and hopefully she can still live on even after this store is closed up." Mr. Maxwell's mouth musters a slight smile as he looks back up at Jacob. "Thank you, sonny. I know she will. Feel free to take the bouquet, I won't let you spend a dime on it."

Jacob, despite wanting to give Mr. Maxwell the money to pay for the flowers, he eventually gives in, thanking him and walking out of the store, waving goodbye. Mr. Maxwell keeps his teary eyes on the customer until he's out of sight before turning away to turn off the main light of the store. Taking a moment to stand and calm down, he then walks towards the back room of the shop. Inside, there are supplies and tools for the flowers, but most prominently, a big box full of dirt with the cut stems of marigolds barely jutting out. Mr. Maxwell slowly shuffles towards the box before looking down at the dirt and the few petals left from the marigolds. Placing a hand on the edge of the box, he begins to weep to himself again, leaving the tears to fall onto the soil below. Through his grief, he was able to muster the words, "Thank you for everything, Donna." as he looks down at his wife's skeleton within the dirt.