Sandra and Glen were always together. Whether they were crawling over pebbles or climbing tall flower stems, the two moved along side by side or one right behind the other.
It had been that way ever since the early spring when Sandra and Glen had wriggled from their shells and emerged as living, crawling larvae . . . creatures looking nothing like their ladybug parents and more like children of caterpillars.
Their companionship was unique among the ladybug larvae colony to which they belonged. While the others seemed to ignore each other, Glen and Sandra thoroughly enjoyed one another’s company.
One day when Sandra and Glen had been listening to a wise old ladybug talk about “growing up”, they became frightened by what he said.
“Before you become a full-fledged ladybug you will go through a stage of ‘Frozen Forgetfulness.’ There is no warning … it just happens … you can’t crawl anymore … your tail is stuck … the more you try to move, the more a wall builds around you … and it becomes very dark.”
The larvae who had gathered around asked many questions, but the old ladybug answered most of them the same way, saying: “I don’t remember … that is why it is called ‘Frozen Forgetfulness’—‘Frozen’ because you cannot move and ‘Forgetfulness’ because you cannot remember anything of the past … all you know is that when the wall breaks down you emerge as a full-fledged ladybug.”
Sandra and Glen feared ‘Frozen Forgetfulness’ more than the other ladybugs and for good reason. They feared that it might separate them and they might never see the other again, or worse, they might never remember each other. So, they always stayed together.
It happened on a clear sunny day while Sandra and Glen sat together on the tallest rose in the garden, tucked between two rose petals, with only their tiny heads sticking out.
It was a magnificent view they had of a grand mountain that poked its top over the trees in the distance; a picture they stared at for a long, long while until, they said at the same time, “I will never forget this moment with you and the mountaintop”.
Sandra nudged Glen, who had not stirred since arriving, and asked him to follow her back down the rose. Glen liked following Sandra in order to protect her from enemy insects that usually attacked from the rear.
Maybe that habit is why Sandra became a little careless this day as she climbed off the rose and began her descent down the stem. Not until she had crawled farther down the stem did she sense the absence of Glen. When she turned her head she discovered he was not behind her.
Meanwhile, Glen was where Sandra had left him, quivering and wriggling to free his tail from the rose petal. A wall was spinning its way up his body, but the harder he pulled, the more he spun a case around himself. He didn’t know it was only nature spreading a hard shell over him for the same reason a mother lays a blanket over her sleeping child. Only this was called by all the ladybugs, “Frozen Forgetfulness”.
Sandra sped up the rose stem faster than she ever had before when she and Glen raced playfully up stems in the past; but she did not finish this race.
Fate could not have been more unkind than it was that day in the rose garden, for at that moment a little girl was passing through and spotted the tallest rose. She bent over the rose upon which Glen clung, unnoticed. She sniffed the rose and said, “You are the loveliest rose in the garden. I’m going to take you to my grandmother.”
Sandra had made a valiant effort to reach Glen but as she climbed the stem, a huge roadblock suddenly appeared above her. A shiny, silver beak snapped around the stem … and suddenly the flower disappeared.
When Sandra stopped swaying with the stem’s rhythm, she climbed a little higher to the top of the decapitated stem … just in time to see the rose being carried off by a little girl.
In desperation, Sandra yelled with all her heart, “COME BACK TO ME, GLEN! COME BACK TO ME!”
Sandra did not know then that Glen would be taken to a world far away on the other side of the mountain. She was left alone in the garden on a stem without a flower … without Glen.