The Flower in Her Hair
貝蒂·Ｂ.楊斯 / Bettie B. Youngs
She always wore a flower in her hair. Always. Mostly I thought it looked strange. A flower in midday？ To work？ To professional meetings？ She was an aspiring graphic designer in the large， busy office where I worked. Every day she’d sail into the office with its extra-modern crisp décor ， wearing a flower in her shoulder-length hair. Usually color—coordinated with her otherwise suitable attire， it bloomed， a small parasol of vivid color， pinned to the large backdrop of dark brunette waves. There were times， like at the company Christmas party， where the flower added a touch of festivity and seemed appropriate. But to work， it just seemed out of place. Some of the more “professionally-minded” women in the office were practically indignant about it， and thought someone ought to take her aside and inform her of the “rules” in being “taken seriously” in the business world. Others among us， myself included， thought it just an odd quirk.
To my knowledge no one had questioned the young woman as to why a flower accompanied her to work each day. In fact， we probably would have been more inclined to question her had she shown up without it.
Which she did one day. When she delivered a project to my office， I queried. “I noticed there is no flower in your hair today，” I said casually， “I’m so used to seeing you wear one that it almost seems as if something is missing.”
“Oh， yes，” she replied quietly， in a rather sober tone. This was a departure from her usual bright and perky personality. The following pregnant pause prompted me to ask， “Are you okey？” Though I was hoping for a “Yes， I’m fine.” response， intuitively， I knew I had treaded onto something bigger than a missing flower.
“Oh，” she said softly， with an expression encumbered with recollection and sorrow. “Today is the anniversary of my mother’s death. I miss her so much. I guess I’m a bit blue.”