I tore the ring off my finger and shoved it back in the velvet box. I didn’t bother rolling up the scroll or putting the ribbons back on, just tossed everything back on top of the blanket and thrust the whole thing under the bed.
I was right to avoid Gavin. One night with him alone and look what happened! I was so stupid. So stupid.
I crawled up on my bed and buried my face into the pillow, annoyed when I could smell him on the fabric. I pushed it off the edge and curled up in a ball, all the lights still on, and decided to hold my breath.
The minute I started I knew it was different. Hardly any time had passed when my chest started heaving, trying to make me take in a breath, the way it used to be before I worked so hard for control, to stay calm, to slide into the blackness with acceptance and peace.
My lungs felt like they would explode, my whole body trying to make me breathe. I pressed my face into the sheets, but it didn’t help, I rolled over and gulped in air. The tears came, streaming down my face in a hot rush. I needed this. I had to do it. I couldn’t handle thinking. I wanted oblivion.
I jumped up for the lights, dousing the room in darkness. This time when I held my breath, I let the void come over me, no thinking, no impulses, and when my body resisted, I exhaled into it, floating into the perfect stillness. This time, when the blackness descended, hopefully I would just stay asleep.
•*´`*•*´`*•
I woke up to the sun blasting through the window. My body ached from all the walking yesterday and chafed from sleeping in my clothes. I was tempted to see if Gavin had written me again, but then, my phone had gone all night without charging and was probably dead.
Just as well.
I heard people talking outside my window, a low murmur as though there was a small crowd. People here mostly just came and went, although an occasional party spilled out of someone’s door. The apartment buildings in this complex were small and placed between trees, a setup that always helped me feel like I wasn’t quite so hemmed in by neighbors.
My bedroom window faced another building, so I wandered to the living room. The blinds were closed, so I carefully pushed a couple of the slats aside.
Unbelievable. I stepped back a minute to blink, then looked again.
In the trees outside my door, hundreds of colored paper butterflies hung from the branches. Their wings glittered in the sunlight, winking, the wires so thin as to almost be invisible, as though an entire flock of them had chosen this moment to breeze by my window.
I ran to the front door and wrenched it open so I could see it better. That’s when I noticed the neighbors walking through the butterflies and touching their sparkling bodies.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” An older woman I’d seen a few times walking to her car cupped a bright blue one in her palm.
A younger girl in a red beret saw me and smiled. “They lead to your door.” She pointed behind her. “See, there’s just a few up there, and then they get thicker as we get closer to you.”
“Come see,” said the first women, her silver hair sparkling as she gestured for me to walk up the sidewalk. I stepped out carefully in bare feet, avoiding the bits of bramble and fallen acorns on the path. I saw what they were talking about. As I arrived at the street and turned around, I could see a clever progression of the butterflies in color, depth, and density.
The young girl held one close to her face. “These are all hand cut.” She glanced over at me. “Whoever did this for you spent a lot of time on it.”
I moved up the path again. White butterflies with iridescent sparkle gave way to pale blues, then pinks and gentle yellows, moving to minty greens and lavenders that shifted to plum and fuchsia and deep red and sapphire. I caught a movement at the corner of the building and we all turned to it. Gavin stepped out, as beautiful as I’d ever seen him, fresh and combed and wearing a crisp button-down shirt loose over khaki shorts.
My breath caught and the women murmured their appreciation as he came toward me, holding out his hands with another butterfly, a lovely, opulent eggshell blue. “One more,” he said and handed it to me by the slender wire. “For Finn.”
He held my hand as we both lifted it to the branch closest to the door and tied it around the slender limb. The other women moved away as I brought my palms to my hot cheeks. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Say you’ll spend the day with me.” He backed away, giving me space.
The setting was like a fairy tale, Gavin, looking so much like he had in high school, the trees and morning sun striking the glittering butterflies. A breeze wafted through, shifting the strings and making the bits of color dance among the falling leaves. I nodded; what else could I do? Each of these moments were new wonders, memories I could hold on to. Even if it all fell apart later, we would have this.
Chapter 27: Gavin
The sand packed beneath our feet as Corabelle and I walked along the shore at La Jolla. She’d refused to ride my motorcycle over, which made me laugh, but I climbed into her car and let her drive us.
My fingers were cut up and sore from all the butterflies, but making them half the night had been bittersweet, remembering doing it years ago for Finn’s crib. Corabelle had gotten the idea from some Etsy shop. I resisted, saying we should just buy a plastic one with a battery and music. But she had this vision for the nursery, all our hopes and dreams with the drawings we’d made of the sea.
So I dutifully cut butterflies from card stock, laying them out on newspaper to be spray-painted. Served me right to be making hundreds more years later, since I was pretty sure I grumbled and complained the whole time we did it the first time.