Tiger Lillies
The sun's summer warmth baked my body, against a doctor's request, as I stopped to stare at the wild orange flowers called Tiger Lillies. Instantly, I saw myself as a little girl swinging my legs freely from an old tree stump, surrounded by Tiger Lillies on a hot summer afternoon. The tree had been cut down when the road crew widened our tiny country road; a fact that did not bother me that day long ago as it does now. As I've grown older, I view each tree as a gift and each one cut down in the name of progress is a blight on the record of humanity.
A childhood friend was sitting nearby on the other side of the large stump. We laughed and the laughter was free flowing as we drank our Cokes, not diet, and ate oversized Hoagies. Yes, I said Hoagies. This was South Jersey where the sandwiches were bigger and the neighborhood was small and quiet for two little girls allowed to walk alone down a country road to a little grocery store. The short trip to the tiny neighborhood grocery store without parents was a right-of-passage and a sure way to wile away a hot summer afternoon.
The soda cost 50 cents and the sandwich, well, I can't remember. What I do remember is that is was large and I didn't have enough money left over for ice cream. That would not have mattered on this trip because I couldn't have eaten it before it melted through my fingers, attacked by both the suns direct rays and the humidity of July.
My friend was two years older than me. She would never be a lifelong friend, but she kept me company in my early years. She was my first playmate and more fearless than I. I was scared to cross the two-lane highway at the end of our road that was necessary in order to reach the store. I was relieved to finally get inside the tiny store with its' red Coca Cola soda case and as then relieved again on our return trip when we crossed the highway a second time as we tightly grasped our purchases.
It was a long walk for a little girl because the larger world did not yet exist for me. The paper bag had grown damp the closer we got to our homes when my companion suggested we sit on the tree stump to eat. I was anxious to get back to the confines of the wooded four and a half acres where my tiny home sat, but once I sat down on the stump next to her, I felt like a big kid.
The other big kids rode past us on their bikes, going God knows where. They ignored us. We were just little, after all. We laughed louder. It was burning hot that day, but the sun didn't bother us and suddenly I didn't want to go back inside, ever. I tried to keep the conversation going but eventually, my friend wanted to go home and we did.
I don't remember what we did after that, and I don't even remember the walk home. I remember the orange, wild, tiger lilies. Each summer, when I still lived on that little street, I would pass the tree stump with the lilies and think of that day. I don't know why. It was one day out of a thousand, but it made me happy. The stump was there for a long time.
When my life fell apart, in middle-age, I went back to the neighborhood. The four-and-a-half-acre property I grew up on was still intact, my childhood friend's parents still lived across the street, but there was a subdivision surrounding my original home. The woods had disappeared, the roadside stump had disappeared, replaced with carefully planted tiger lilies, manicured and maintained on someone's front lawn, but the little girl inside me still looked for them.
The pieces of my life came back together. It was a slow arduous process that is still ongoing. I have a lot to be grateful for. There is joy in my life that is new and joy that has returned from before. Tiger Lillies are everywhere in the seashore town where I live. They're gorgeous. The sun is still as hot as it always was, but I am wiser and no longer naïve. The beauty of the world never ceases and easily reminds me to enjoy it as children while we live as adults.
