I held on to the wheel of my Candy Apple Red ’66 Chevy Chevelle as it swerved out of control. It was only the second blown out tire I’d ever had, but I was able to safely park the vehicle to the side of the lonely desert highway. 

You’ve got to be kidding me!”

I jumped out of the car, slamming the door in anger. I immediately walked around the car until I saw the right rear tire was the problem. It was completely destroyed. I opened the trunk and pulled out the spare. Fortunately, I was wearing blue jeans and a dark shirt. Hopefully, it wouldn’t later show any stains.

 

I made sure the car was on level ground and placed the jack in its proper place. I worked it to the up position and changed the tire out under the hot desert sun. When I finished, I threw the blown out tire in the trunk and pulled out a bottle of water and a roll of paper towels I had stored. I washed my hands. Then, I took the remaining water and poured it over my head and body to cool myself from the heat that must have been over 120 by then.

 

I bent down and checked the tire again before taking off. Then, something caught my eye. Just a few feet away, in the dry desolate desert ground was something so beautiful I thought I was imagining it. It was a flower. A single white flower growing out of the cracked dirt. I walked over to it, while checking to make sure I didn’t miss any restless snakes along my path. As I drew closer, I could see it wasn’t completely white. It was white with a blend of pink. I looked around as if I still couldn’t believe what I was seeing.

 

I ran back to the car and took out the small metal jack. Then, I took out a plastic grocery bag and poured the contents out. I ran back to the flower, kneeled down, and careful bored into the dirt around the roots. I took the flower out and put it in the bag. I returned to the car and put the bag on the front passenger floor. I drove off, hoping I could get it suitably potted before it died.

 

A few miles down the highway, I found a small store with a gas station. I could fill the car up, get something cold to drink, and a snack or two for the road. Perhaps I could also get something decent to store my little friend in.

 

I eased the car next to a pump, then grabbed the bag with the flower and heading into the store where I was greeted by a gray-haired man and woman.

 

“Hello, young man,” the man said from the behind the cash register.

 

“Hi,” I answered.

 

“Can we help you with anything special?” the woman asked. Her eyes were looking down at the bag I was clutching.

 

“Uh...maybe you can.” I walked toward her. “I found this flower planted on the side of the road.”

 

“Really?” she asked. “Wow!”

 

“I was surprised, too.”

 

“Young man,” the man said as he walked toward the back room, “today is your lucky day. My wife has a real green thumb.”

 

“Really?” I asked her. “Great! What is this?”

 

“Well, this is what’s called a Cornelia Rose.”

 

“A Cornelia Rose,” I answered. “I’ve never heard of it.”

 

“They’re very popular back East.”

 

“Can we save it?”

 

“Sure, my husband went to the back room to check for a pot and some soil.”

 

“Really? Did he now?”

 

“Of course,” she said with a chuckle. “Mr. Landers and I have been married for 40 years. He knew what I wanted the moment we knew what you had.”

 

“Oh.” That made me laughed.

 

“Yes, I haven’t seen one of these in a while. This is known as s hybrid. It was originally bred by a fellow named Pemberton in the UK back in the 1920’s.  Beautiful isn’t it?”

 

“Yes...very. I wonder how it got there.”

 

“That’s a very good question, young man.”

 

Mr. Landers returned with a pot and a bag of soil.  We all stepped out to the front of the store and we men watched Mrs. Landers as she skillfully potted the rose with the soil. She also poured in a liquid from a bottle, then soaked the soil with the nearby hose.

 

“That should help her get stable until you get where you’re going. How much longer do you have?”

 

“Not too much. A few hundred miles.”

 

“Ok,” Mrs. Landers said. “Just make sure you keep water in it until you get home. You can look up how to care for her on the Internet.”

 

I looked at her with an expression that must have been one of great surprise.

 

“Don’t look so surprised, young man,” Mr. Landers said. “We have the Internet, too. We’re not dead yet!”

 

Again I laughed. Then, I thanked Mrs. Landers for her great work. I was starting to really care about my little Cornelia Rose.

 

I returned to store and purchased a couple of bottles of green tea, chips, and a large bag of Gummi Bears. It would be great chewing food as I hit the highway. Once again, I thanked them both for their kindness.

 

“Take care of her,” Mrs. Landers said as I started out the door.

 

“Her?” I asked. “You keep referring to the rose as her.”

 

“Sorry,” Mr. Landers replied, “my wife thinks all flowers are like women.”

 

“Really?” I asked. “How so?”

 

“Well, young man, think about it,” she said with a warm smile, “if you give her the love and care she needs—in this case, give her the sunlight she requires and the water she needs—she’ll share her beauty with you and gently touch your heart every day. If not, well...”

 

“She’ll make your life a living hell,” Mr. Landers added.

 

“Stop it!” Mrs. Landers exclaimed. Then she continued...

 

“But this beauty...she must have survived the most brutal environment without that tender love or care, while still maintaining her beautiful dignity. It was almost like she had a strong spirit within and was just waiting for some sweet little soul like you to notice her and take her in your loving arms.”

 

“Forgive me, young man,” Mr. Landers interrupted again. “My wife’s a bit of a romantic. Too much for the likes of some folks around here.”

 

“No,” I said, “It’s kind of nice. Well, I’d better hit the road. You both take care.”

 

They bid me a safe farewell as I walked out. I put my bags on the front passenger seat, then returned to pick up my new companion. I sat her on the floor of the right rear passenger seat and moved the front seat back enough to secure her. I gassed up and climbed into the driver’s seat. I started the car, then I looked back at Cornelia, my name for her.

 

“Well, My Little Cornelia,” I said as my face grew warm with what I knew must have been a smile, “are you ready to make a new life with your Sweet Little Soul?”

 

With a laugh, I drove off and we both headed down the less lonely road.