Val was quite young at that time. How young exactly? Maybe five, give or take. She was playing in the garden and had seen a bright flower she hadn’t noticed before. An iris, she later learned. She saw it standing proud among a sea of dandelions. Val loved that flower. She’d come out every day and look at it. One time though, Val noticed the iris didn’t look as bright as it used to. It seemed to be more dull than usual. Val was worried about the iris. She continued to check on it day after day. It seemed to get duller and duller as time passed. The dandelions, on the other hand, had spread out more and more.

“Papa, papa,” Val had tugged her father out to the garden, “I think the flower is upset.”

Val’s father took a look at the flower, “This flower’s an iris, Val.”

“Ooh, that’s a pretty name.” Val liked pretty things.

“Haha, it sure is,” Val’s father pushed about the soil on the ground, rubbing it between his fingers, “I think I know what’s going on.”

“Is the iris upset?”

“I think the iris feels out of place. Look,” Val’s father motioned to all the dandelions, “It’s the only iris in a field of dandelions. It’s probably worried that it doesn’t fit in.” Of course, that wasn’t why the iris was growing dull. Val’s father knew it was because the dandelions were taking all the nutrients in the soil. But he believed the explanation he came up with would make more sense to young Val.

“Can we help it, papa? Please?”

“Haha, of course we can, Val. Grab that pot over there, would you?”

Val ran over and grabbed a red clay pot, “Here, papa. Now help the iris!”

Val’s father grabbed a spade and dug the iris out of the soil, trying to keep all of its roots intact. He placed the iris in the pot with its soil. “There we go, now the iris has a place for itself.”

“Will it get lonely?” Val asked.

“I think it will be fine, Val.”

Val wasn’t convinced, “I think the iris will get lonely. We should find it a friend.” Val looked around the garden for another iris, though there were no other irises in the garden. Val became upset, and started to cry.

“Don’t worry, Val,” her father said. He crouched down and put his hand on her back. It was warm. “I’m sure we’ll find a place for this iris to fit in. Everyone has a place they can fit in, you just have to find it.”

Val and her father went back inside. Her mother had made them something to eat, though she can’t remember what. Val doesn’t want to remember what. That would do more harm than good.

Val had that iris up until she left. It still sat in that pot, somewhere on the windowsill.