Short Story | New Friendship | Important Memories

An Act of Kindness for The Woodstock Flower Queen

No one should ever mess with Daisy! Being seventy-six doesn’t slow her down one bit. However, she does tend to forget things sometimes. When a young man performs a simple act of kindness, she finds there is one thing she will always remember.

If he rang the doorbell one more time, Daisy was going to rip it out and bash him over the head with it. This was the fifth time that ‘ding-dong’ rang out across her home to assault her ears. She wanted to break down the door and watch it clobber him as it fell. Or swing open one of the sidelights on either side and reach out just far enough to swat him like the annoying gnat he was.

Ding-dong. Ding-dong.

Six. Seven.

She stood up so fast her chair fell over. She was “a little old lady,” at about 4'11" in stature, with skin so thin it would break at a feather’s touch. But she didn’t care. Daisy had the same fire in her she had when she was 13, and her father told her she couldn’t drive the car.

She had taught him! She had driven that car so well that she’d invented a new parking spot for it. However, the neighbors hadn’t seemed quite so fond of the new addition to their pond.

Her tiny hand found the front door bolt after a minute. Daisy couldn’t see so well anymore. She pulled it and yanked the door open.

“Just what in tarnation is it you want sonny? I’m small, but I warn you — I know kung fu!” And she held her arms up in a creaking defensive stance to prove it.

“I just wanted -” the young man began. But she wasn’t having it.

“I’m not interested in buying anything, and I’m happily single!”

“That’s not what...”

“Do you have any idea how you’ve disturbed me? I was in the middle of my ty-die ritual!”

“You’re wallet, ma’am!” he squeaked, finally.

She adjusted her glasses. Darn, those things! Would her doctor ever give her a prescription that worked? Though, wait, when was the last time she saw her eye doctor? That was Dr. Henry . . . no, no, he had retired. Now, it was Dr. Macy. Yes, Dr. Tina Macy.

“Ma’am, are you okay?” the man asked and shuffled uncomfortably. When Daisy didn’t reply, he held out his hand and got to the point.

“Here’s your wallet, by the way.”

“You stole my wallet?”

“No! No, of course not. I found it.”

Found it? She had lost it? When had she seen it last? And yet, there it was, in his hand. Bright red-blue-purple gradients bleeding into each other across linen, under floral stickers. She accepted it from him and softened a bit.

“Where did you find this, young man?”

“It fell out of your mailbox.”

She squinted at it for a few more seconds, then faced him.

“What is your name?”

“Luis Abernathy. I moved in across the street about a month ago. I apologize; I should have introduced myself sooner. I run the new law practice in town.”

“A lawyer, huh?” She asked. A lawyer. Dear old Philip. He had been a lawyer. He had told her that night at Woodstock that he would marry her once he got out of law school.

“My name is Amelia, but I go by Daisy. You can say Ms. or Mrs. or whatever you want, but keep “Daisy.” Now, I have a six-pack of BudMight that won’t drink themselves. Are you old enough to drink?”

Luis chuckled. “I’m 33; I believe so, ma’am, er, Ms. Daisy.”

“Then get that rear end in here and help me drink it! I’m not getting any younger, you know.” She declared, turned, and walked away from the door.

He entered directly into her living room, a space with sparse furnishings but erupting in vibrant colors, dream catchers, and posters of the Beatles. In the center of the back wall was a brick fireplace, and on the mantle stood a single picture frame. The only plain, simple thing in the room. In it, a younger version of her, in a long white dress and with daisies in her long, thick black hair, stood next to a handsome young man in pink glasses.

“Ms. Daisy, can I ask about this photo?”

She entered, beer in hand, and smiled. “That was my husband. He was a lawyer himself! You know, ours is one heck of a story.” Daisy grabbed a bottle and popped the cap.

“Why is that?” Luis sat on the purple floral sofa. Curiosity gleamed in his blue eyes.

Philip, her Philip. He had blue eyes, which Daisy remembered clearly. And that was the only kind of memory that mattered now.

“My Philip proposed to me one hot night at the show to end all shows. He said nothing but the best for the Flower Queen of Woodstock, and he was the best. I didn’t question I would say yes to that sweet man. We had met just three days before, but I knew. I knew right after he returned my wallet to me. I dropped it in the parking lot. He had some nerve walking right up to me; yes, sir! Did I tell you I know kung fu?”

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed the story of Daisy and Luis. That Ms. Daisy is one of a kind, isn’t she? Thank you to everyone at The Fiction Writer’s Den for their kindness and patience. :)

If you are interested in my other stories, try out this fantasy: Her Blood Debt in the Forest of Lost Voices. I can also recommend this amazing short story from Determination, Deliberation, and Dragons: Seasons of Possibility. :)