Wilted Flowers by C.L.Chick

Read time ~6 minutes

Troy pulled a lightweight coat out of his locker at the Princeville City Fire Training Depot and touched the edge of the old photo on its door before closing it. “Well, Dad, it’s a big day today. Wish you were here to give me advice. I sure could use it. It’s times like these, I miss you most.” He ran his calloused fingers along the photo’s edge before dropping them and closing his locker.  

He donned his cowboy hat, left work, and walked two blocks to the nearest bus stop as the clouds overhead darkened. He glanced at his watch: 5:02 p.m. Still two hours left. Plenty of time.

While he waited for the 5:15 bus, he pulled out his phone and ran an Internet search. “What to do to impress a girl on the first date?” The top result came from a well-known dating expert and he skimmed the advice. Of all the things listed, one was easy: bring roses. He glanced to his right, to several stands of flowers in front of the gift shop less than a block away. It would just be a quick in and out stop. He could make it.

When he arrived, there were three people in line and a white bin at the register containing two bouquets of red roses. Perfect. He continued to read the article on his phone as he waited. “Prepare some first date topics.” First date topics? She was an aspiring artist from the city and he was a farm boy training to be a firefighter. What were they going to talk about? What if they had nothing in common?

The cashier left the register to go check a price. Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me. He peered at his watch: 5:10. At this rate, he was going to miss his bus. But impressing Kalli was worth it. The cashier returned and finished with the first customer. Finally, things were moving along. He looked back down at his phone. “Don’t stress unnecessarily.” He grimaced. Easy for you to say.

The customer in front of him paid and he moved to the register. With some excitement, he reached to pick up the roses only to discover they were gone. When he asked if they had more, the cashier told him the gentleman in front of him had purchased the last bouquet. She suggested some carnations or lilies. “We have sunflowers too. They’re bright and cheery, and on sale.” Troy declined. The article said “roses” so roses would be what he’d get.

He exited the shop and pursed his lips as he watched the bus pull away. Shaking his head, he began walking to the train station ten blocks north as the rain started coming down, a drizzle at first, and then a full-blown downpour. By the time he arrived, his dripping clothing made him wish he brought a raincoat instead of his lightweight jacket.

While on the train, he checked the internet again. It reminded him of a little flower shop about a half dozen blocks from his house in the opposite direction. He was already drenched, so why not? He exited the station and checked his watch: 5:58. Time was getting tight. 

After a multi-block hike, he stood in front of Florence’s Flowers and stared at the vibrant roses in the window right next to the sign that said, “Closed due to a family emergency.” His shoulders slumped. But at least it had stopped raining. Still, he had to shower and put on something less soggy. He may not know much about dating, but he was pretty sure “soaked” wasn’t what the article was referring to when it said to “create a strong first impression.”

A bin with some sad-looking sunflowers hung from the front of the door. On it was a sign: “Free for your inconvenience.” He looked at the half-wilted flowers and frowned. He didn’t think those would “create a strong first impression” either. Maybe he could find a flower shop or stand on the way? There were usually quite a few street vendors on the avenue where Kalli’s rowhouse was located. Yes, that’s what he’d do; seek out one of the street vendors. But he had to get to his apartment to clean up first and time was running out.

A short while later, he left for Kalli’s, dry and wearing a pressed button-down and the only pair of slacks he owned. He hoped the outfit met the “dress to impress” advice in the article. He looked at his watch: 6:50. He’d just make it by 7:00. But he still had no roses and, though the late afternoon sun was now poking through the remaining clouds, it seemed the rain had driven most of the street vendors to close early. He’d nearly lost hope until, only a block from Kalli’s, he saw one remained, an old woman who was lowering the cloth over her stand. It was his last chance. He approached and asked if she had any roses. With a crooked finger, she pointed to three wilted sunflowers.

“But they’re nearly dead.”

“Take ‘em or leave ‘em, Sonny. That’s all I’ve got.”

He scowled as he pulled out his wallet. At this point, any flowers would do. Better than showing up empty-handed. Just a couple of minutes later, he stood at Kalli’s doorstep with three mostly wilted sunflowers. So much for “creating a strong first impression.”

He tipped his hat when Kalli opened the door wearing a pretty yellow sundress. She smiled, her blue eyes crinkling at the corners. Then she glanced at the sunflowers.

“Sorry, I tried to get roses, but…”

“No, no. Don’t be sorry.” Her smile grew. “They’re perfect.” She accepted them with enthusiasm he didn’t expect but was grateful for, then asked him to wait while she put them in water. A moment later, she returned wearing a delicate white shawl draped over her shoulders. He took her arm, and they descended her front steps and hailed a taxi.

Their conversation flowed easily on the way, so much more easily than he’d anticipated. He spoke about life on the farm and teaching horseback riding lessons, and she spoke about going to school for illustration, though oil painting was her real passion – which was why they were attending an art show that evening.

But it was no ordinary art show. When they arrived, they were given voting slips and told they’d have an hour to evaluate the artwork and vote for their favorite. While they were moving from painting to painting, Kalli explained how important the show was for debut artists as the winners often went on to become famous. He suggested it might be her one day and her face lit with joy at the prospect.

Shortly before voting closed, she went to the restroom and he stumbled upon a painting that made him pause, the first there that night. He was still standing in front of it when she returned.

“What do you think of this one?” he asked.

“What do you think? That’s more important.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re not an artist. So, why did you stop at this one?”

He smiled shyly. “Would it be silly to say it’s because the little girl is holding three wilted sunflowers?”

She returned his smile. “Not at all. Is this the one you’re voting for then?”

“I think so. I like how, though she’s holding the wilted flowers and looking down at the water, the sun is peaking through the trees in the back, and the dog next to her… he looks happy. So, it feels sad, but hopeful all at the same time, almost like a new beginning.” He shifted his gaze from the painting to her. “But I’m just a country boy. You’re the artist. What do you think?”

The announcement requesting final votes interrupted them. The crowd grew noisy and they were ushered in line to put their ballots in the box. Then they took their seats in the auditorium where the audience buzzed with excitement until the lights went down.

Third place went to an oil painting of three ballerinas, all in beautiful poses and wearing vibrant outfits. Second went to a moving scene with a lonely rowboat and moody clouds. Then first place was announced and went to the painting of the girl with the wilted sunflowers.

He whispered in Kalli’s ear. “It’s the one I picked!”

“I know!” She smiled brightly back at him.

“And now, for the winners of each of the paintings,” said the announcer.

He leaned toward Kalli. “What are they talking about?”

“You have a chance to win the painting you voted for,” she whispered back.

“As many of you know,” the announcer continued, “artists who win the Johnson Debut Gala Award often go on to be world renown and their paintings increase in value over time, sometimes into the hundreds of thousands or even millions.”

Troy’s eyes grew wide. “Are they serious?”

Her eyes shone as bright as her smile. “Oh, yes, very serious.”

“Well, if I win, I’ll give it to you.”

“No. It’ll be yours.”

“But you’re the artist. You should have it.”

The announcer called the winner of the third-place painting, and an older, heavyset woman lumbered onto the stage. A few moments later, he drew the name of the second-place winner, and a man in a suit and tie made his way through the auditorium with long strides. Once both were on stage, the announcer dipped his hand into the bowl with the vote slips one last time. “And now, ladies and gentleman, the winner of ‘Girl with Wilted Flowers,’ a painting that’s sure to skyrocket in value over time,” he peered at the name on the paper, “Mr. Troy Fotia.”

Troy’s mouth gaped and he froze.

Kalli patted his leg. “Go, go. You have to go on stage.”

He peered at her with wide eyes.

“Go!”

He rose with her prompting and made his way to the stage, the first he’d ever been on. He stood next to the painting and tried to peer into the audience to find Kalli, but the spotlights blinded him. Hopefully, she’d take photos.  

As they had done before, they began with the third-place painting, then moved onto the second-place artwork. Troy shuffled from foot to foot under the bright lights waiting for them to get to the painting he won and still trying to spot Kalli in the auditorium.

“Now,” the announcer began, “ladies and gentlemen, the moment you’ve all been waiting for: The artist of this year’s Johnson Debut Gala Award presenting an autographed certificate of authenticity for her masterpiece, “Girl with Wilted Flowers,” Ms. Kalli Solros.”

The audience erupted in applause as Kalli appeared from behind the curtain with the certificate in hand and the most radiant smile he’d ever seen. She leaned toward him and said, “I told you the flowers were perfect” then, not only gave him the certificate but his first kiss as well.

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