Finding Marigold

Maura never asked for an adventure. In fact, she avoided any deviation from her perfectly crafted schedule with the zeal of someone determined to hold her world together. Every Monday at 7:00 a.m., she'd hop on the 542 bus on Melville Avenue, laptop in tow, ready to dive into a world of spreadsheets and data analysis until precisely 5:30 p.m. But on this particular Monday, as Maura adjusted her thick glasses and settled into her usual seat, her scrolling was disrupted by the appearance of a very small foot tapping her shin. Subtle but persistent. Peeking over her screen, Maura was met with the steadfast gaze of a little girl. She had the kind of curly hair that seemed to humor only tangles and her eyes were like twin pools of hazel mischief. “Hi,” the girl said. "I'm Marigold." Maura was inclined to say nothing, but the depth of Marigold's tiny stare extracted an involuntary reply. “Hello,” she managed, “Where's your...?” She barely managed to finish the question before the girl plopped down beside her, evident in the way she made herself at home amidst the sensible clutter of Maura’s work bag. “I’m all by myself,” Marigold volunteered as if this detail was no more alarming than saying it might rain. Maura frowned. "All by yourself? That’s..." "Not normal, I know," Marigold agreed with a sigh that belied her four or so years. "It’s just today, okay? We can share." With that inexplicable stamp of finality, something shifted in Maura. She sat with Marigold through the ruckus downtown and beyond the murmurs of commuters preoccupied with their world. At the bus terminal, Maura and her unexpected charge disembarked. “You should probably—” Maura started, but Marigold merely squeezed her hand, casting a spell that drew Maura into a day unlike any other. Their first stop was a corner café. Maura ordered an espresso, balancing it between trying not to spill it and managing her tots’ apple juice box. Then they strolled through the city park, where Marigold ‘spotted’ a dog walker's extra leash, persuading the owner to let her hold 'Falco' and why not, have Maura pay for it in polite gratitude. By the afternoon, between spontaneous visits to ice cream shops and a museum art gala they crashed just by smelling like cotton candy, Maura found herself laughing at Marigold’s quips and impossible questions — the kind she’d characterized as ‘whimsical nonsense’ in her more stringent days. It dawned upon Maura amidst Marigold's impromptu speeches that her structured life, though secure, lacked color, much like an immaculate white wall before splashed with daring brushstrokes. Suddenly, as the sun wore an afternoon yawn, Maura hesitated. "Marigold, where do you live? We should..." Marigold grinned, a wide, trusting smile that pinned a string back to Maura’s heart. "Follow me," she chirped, tugging her along with a confident tangling of fingers. Minutes later, they arrived at a quaint townhouse, its door crowned with a cheerful wreath. Marigold let go of Maura’s hand, prancing up the stairs and ringing the bell. An older woman with Marigold’s curls but a touch of winter frosting greeted them with arms spread. "Maura, is it? Thank heavens. I’m Irene," she said. "Seems Marigold couldn’t miss *Monday Park Day.*" Understanding washed over Maura like warmth from a sudden shaft of sunlight. They spoke briefly before Irene swept Marigold into her arms, but the girl peered back over her grandmother's shoulder. “'Till next time!” Maura’s walk homeway felt unusual yet welcome. The monotony of her evening routine was gently nudged aside by the spirited interlude with Marigold. In the solitude of her apartment, Maura glanced at her reflection, now adorned with a hopeful spark she hadn’t realized was missing. After switching off the lights, she dreamt of marigold fields spanning endless horizons. She'd awaken a different Maura. A Maura who, come Monday morning, would catch the 542 bus wondering where life might lead if she simply opened her heart a little wider.