Unique

In her hands, she held a delicate lily, its pink petals silken and soft. Around her feet, more lovely lilies swayed in the breeze, dancing under the sun.

She lifted her head, soaking in the sunshine and fresh air. It felt good to breathe in deeply, the crisp and clear oxygen filling her lungs. Across the meadow of flowers she walked, bathing in the sunshine’s warmth. Even when a few clouds filtered in, she knew the yellow beams would always return.

Smiling, she twirled the pink-hued lily. She was happy.

But she had not always been so cheerful.

On the day she was born, the nurse looked at her mother, surprise in her eyes as the rain pelted the window.

“She isn’t crying.”

“No?”

“She is very, very quiet.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing…it’s just…different.”

No tears mixed in with the deluge outside the white wall as she curled up, sleeping.

She liked to read. Her first book was of ABCs. By three, she was reading picture books, novels by five. Her little mind was filled with dreams, alive and flourishing.

The first day of school brought a different world to her. Before her a small bookcase beckoned, as if calling her name. She reached for a book, but a hand stopped her.

“No, not that one. We all do it together. The same.”

Rules were new to her. Do 1, 2, 3, in this order. Sit here. Stand there. Don’t be so different.

She tried to fit in. Wanted to fit into their world.

But one day, she heard a whispered conversation in the bathroom. “She’s not very pretty, you know.”

“Poor thing. She will never be beautiful.”

That night, she visited her grandparents’ home. While putting up her jacket, she noticed a small, dusty suitcase in the closet, next to a cardboard box. She reached up, knocking the box to the floor as she took the luggage down. She opened up the old suitcase. Empty.

The girls’ words echoed in her mind as she prepared for bed. With a frown, she stared at her collection of brushes and combs, shampoos and creams. What good were they?

In frustration, she tried to shove them all into the suitcase, but there were too many; they overflowed.

Lying in bed, her eyes drifted to the floor, the cardboard box’s lid open wide. Inside lay a machine. She pulled it out. A funny little object.

“Shrink Machine?” She read the label. Then she had an idea.

Gathering the combs and toiletries again, she set them in front of the lens, then pressed the front button. It took a few minutes, but she found them on the carpet. One by one she put the miniatures in the suitcase.

The years passed by.

As a child, she spent her time on the bench at recess, watching her athletic peers score goals and win points. She was used to being picked last, leaning against the chain fence as the team captains evaded her. She was not fast or strong. Not good enough.

The words were clear. “She has no sports skills.”

One night, she took her soccer balls, her bats, her gloves to the machine and shrunk them, stuffing them into the small suitcase. She was not an athlete.

Music class, if possible, was even worse. All the notes sounded the same, blended together. She struggled to keep in tune with everyone.

“She has no ear,” she ironically heard.

Her music books and violin, all shrunk, went into the suitcase. She was not as good as others in singing and playing.

Teenage years brought more comparisons.

The popularity contest would never be won by her. Sideswept by her social peers, she stepped back. Into the suitcase went her fashion dresses and shoes.

These were followed by necklaces and jewelry, and a homecoming gown she had worn for a date who had never shown. All into the suitcase.

Before graduation, she sat in the auditorium, watching the honors students proudly march forward, accepting their awards. Recognized for their brilliant achievements at school and beyond.

She, herself, finally collected some of her own. ‘Participation Award,’ they all read. Nothing spectacular.

That night, she pulled out the Shrink Machine. Into the suitcase those trophies went.

After graduation, she sent out resume after resume in job applications. Two interviews. No offers.

Just not good enough. Too different.

One day, she sat at the window, staring out into the rain, her grandparents’ home now empty. Who would really notice if she were to disappear? She felt she didn’t fit into this world.

Gathering her books and a few supplies she inhaled deeply, then stood in front of the little machine. Tentatively, she reached out and pressed the button.

Somehow, the world grew even larger than it had been before, but she managed to struggle through the suitcase’s keyhole, settling down into a corner. She curled up and slept. There she stayed for months. A few times she peeked out, watching as cobwebs decorated the room’s furniture.

Inside the dusty suitcase, it was dark and muggy. For the first weeks, she sat in silence, feeling empty. Then, sorry for herself. Then…a tiny bit bored.

Eventually she pulled out one of her books. Munching on a miniature apple, she read about a hero from yore, a mighty figure.

Not like me, she thought. But she kept reading.

The weeks drifted by until she came across her final book. She ate her last apple as she opened the first page, her eyes falling on a dust-covered quote.

“To be yourself in a world that is constantly trying to make you something else is the greatest accomplishment.”

She paused…deep in thought.

Perhaps…the author had a point.

As she reached out the keyhole to toss away the apple’s core, she stopped in shock. Her eyes met a pair peering at her.

“Who are you?”

“My name is Hope.”

“What are you doing in my home?”

“I thought it was empty. I’m moving in.”

No, no, no that wouldn’t do. Seeing the cobwebs covering the corners, she climbed out of the keyhole, standing and looking up at Hope. In Hope’s hand was a beautiful pink lily that matched her lovely smile.

Suddenly, she was tall again, staring downwards at the suitcase covered in dust. Hope handed her the blossom, then picked up the suitcase.

Going outside into the sunshine, Hope opened it up, pulling out a baseball. She tossed it to the ground. Up sprouted a beautiful lily.

One by one, Hope did the same to everything, until the suitcase was empty and the soil covered in lilies.

Gazing around, the young woman blinked against the sunshine. The air felt good in her lungs, the beams warm against her skin.

Through the field of lilies she walked. Coming up to Hope, she paused, smelling the blossom in her hand. “What flower did you give me?”

Hope smiled, then said, “Lycoris squamigera.”

“What?”

A soft breeze flowed along with Hope’s words as she slipped inside with a smile. “Resurrection lily.”

In the sunshine surged her hopes and dreams once more as she strolled among the boundless field of lilies, staring at the old blossoms as new ones sprouted as far as the eye could see.