Rose Parade

“I don’t want to measure,” Inch protested.

“But that’s what inchworms do,” her exasperated sister raised her tiny forelegs for emphasis.

“I want to be a doctor,” the girl complained. She slipped along the marigold with her half inch body thinking only of helping others get well. She was so short she had to double all her measurements, and she didn’t like math.

“Doctors measure,” said Loopsy hoping to re-focus her youngest sister to the job. “They measure newborn babies, they measure blood pressure, and they measure bone growth . . .”

“But they make the sick well, and that’s what I want to do,” the girl put on a pouty grimace.

“Aren’t these marigolds sunny? Here’s one your size,” said Loopsy.

“We always measure marigolds,” Inch grumbled. “Can’t I do a rose?”

“You know roses are dangerous,” said the older taller inchworm.

“I promise I won’t prick myself on a thorn,” the little one begged. “They smell so pretty.”

The wiser girl gazed at her little sister, wrinkles of worry on her brow. It wasn’t the pokey thorns that gave her concern. She understood that gardeners pick roses, not marigolds. Seeing the fidgety child wait for an answer she said, “Well, alright; just this one time.”

Inch stretched out her body across the gap between the short marigolds and the tall roses forgetting that she didn’t like to measure. She grabbed a thorny branch with her forelegs and let her body bunch to latch on with her hind legs. Then she looped along the plant until a shadow fell across it. Loopsy screeched in fright, “Inch, come back!”

It was too late. The rose Inch was on swayed and snapped as the gardener picked it from the bush. She clung to it shaking fearfully. When all was quiet again she couldn’t see the marigolds, and she couldn’t see her sister. So she cried herself to sleep.

The sound of voices woke the little inchworm. It was bright, but not from the sun, and she rubbed her eyes trying to see better.

“Nice rose,” said a voice.

“Got it from the garden,” said another.

The third member of the Rotary Club rolled his eyes and said, “Let’s get down to business.”

Papers lay on the table. Inch stared down at them but couldn’t read.

“Listen,” said Max, the club president. “We have to come up with the best float for the Parade of Roses.”

“It’s too hard to compete,” objected Will.

Art doodled on his clip-board brainstorming, but his face looked blank. Inch stretched down for a better view. She lost her grip on the slippery vase and fell on the paper. Standing up on her hind legs she tried to reach the vase with its rose.  

“Will you look at this,” said Art, his voice up a notch with excitement. “What an idea!” He started to sketch frantically, while Inch tried to make her way back to the rose. As soon as he had finished three drawings of the inchworm, he passed them to the club members.

“I like this one,” said Willy, his eyes dreamy over the picture that showed a worm wearing a princess crown.

“No, no! We’ve got to have a doctor, said the club president. “We’re raising two million dollars to help the sick.”

Art sketched again, so fast his pencil almost broke. He passed the new drawing back to President Max who said, “I think it will work.” 

Inch, already half way up to the rose squealed with delight. A doctor, she thought. “I’ll be a doctor!” because she could see that the picture Arthur had drawn looked just like her, except she was wearing a lab coat, had a doctor’s mirror strapped on her head, and stethoscope hanging  around her neck.

The club members said, “This is good.” They got up as the president suggested a motto, “Inching along?” Grinning, he mumbled, “Meeting adjourned.”

Art took the rose from the vase. “I’ll take the worm back to the garden,” he said, making sure the tiny inchworm was hanging on tight. “This is no place for her.” Everyone agreed.

Before she knew it, Inch found herself hanging above a marigold. She reached out to latch on as Art’s shadow faded. A familiar voice called, “Inch, you’re back.”

“Loopsy!” Inch said. Her excitement bubbled over. “I’m going to be a doctor in the parade.”

Her sister shook her head in despair. The youngster just didn’t understand the importance of measuring. “I have an idea little one,” said Loopsy, “Let's build a cocoon.”

Inch wasn’t sure what a cocoon was, but Loopsy showed her how to spin it. It was so warm, all wrapped up, that she fell asleep. When she finally awoke from what seemed like months of sleep, she crawled out of her silky bed feeling different. Above her fluttered a lovely moth with stripes and speckles on its wings. Somehow she knew she looked the same. “Loopsy?” she whispered in awe.

“Come with me, little girl,” said the moth. “I have a surprise for you.”

Inch stretched out her new wings. The air caught her and she followed her sister rising above the trees and houses. As her wings got stronger, she looked down on a street full of people. Bands marched, children waved, and she wondered whether this could be the Rose Parade? 
“Look there,” said Loopsy, flying toward the winning float of the Princess Trophy. She pointed down at a twenty two foot inchworm that looked just like her sibling once had.

“Oh Loopsy,” the little geometer moth buzzed, “It’s me; it’s me, and I’m a doctor.”

Inch’s sister hugged her in the air, two moths in a joyful embrace. Together, they drifted down to rest among the float’s flowers as an announcer boomed the Rotary Club motto, “Inching Towards the End of Polio.”

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