Wounded Butterflies

“Elior?” A petite dark-haired Lisa approached my father’s new ‘75 SS Chevelle. “I thought your mom was coming.” Thunder rumbled across the sky like bowling pins clattering loudly as angry droplets fell. 

“She’s outta town,” I leaned over and unlocked her door. “Get in before you’re all soaked.” 

Her backpack went in the backseat and she climbed in the front.

“Sorry. I’m a bit wet.” 

“No kidding,” I muttered. Why did my cranky neighbor have to ask me to pick up her thirteen year-old daughter? 

“This is your dad’s car, isn’t it?” her words were shy as we drove off. 

I grunted in answer. “Yeah, it’s the Man’s. My Pinto got a flat. Drove over a beer bottle in the driveway.” The windshield wipers picked up. “The car jack broke. I was gonna walk to town to buy another but your mama said to come pick you up.” 

“Oh. Sorry about that.” 

I shrugged. “It’s fine.” There was a silence I attempted to fill in hastily as he glanced over at the girl. “So, the party was a fail, huh?” 

She shifted restlessly. “Yeah.” 

More thunder growled. “What happened?” 

“The parents started fighting. It got bad,” she was biting her lip. “The police came. They said we all had to go home.” 

“Man. Sorry to hear that. That sucks.” 

There was no answer. 

When I glanced at her, her cheeks were wet with tears. “Lisa— you okay?” 

Silence. 

The windshield wipers fought fiercely against the rain. I eased the car onto the rough shoulder and we came to a stop. 

“Lisa?” I slid the Chevelle into park. “What’s wrong?” 

She shook her head. 

“Lisa,” my voice was uncertain. I tugged off my seatbelt, facing her. My voice softened. “Something bad happened? At the party?” 

More tears ran down the curve of her cheek and wiping them away hastily, she half-turned away. 

“Kid,” my heart pounded. “You can tell me. Did something happen at the party? Someone hurt you?” 

She shook her head and shifted uncomfortably on the seat.

“Hey,” I reached out and touched her arm awkwardly. “What happened?” 

“It’s bad!” she blurted out tearfully. 

“Look, I’m trying to help—” 

“I’m going to get in so much trouble!” her teary eyes were red and her chin wobbled. 

Lightning flashed outside blindingly. My words were soft. “It’s okay. What did you do?” 

“I…I think I ruined your car,” she was sobbing again. 

My palms were sweaty. “What do you mean?” 

“I started... I’m bleeding. Mama’s going to be so mad.” her shoulders shook. 

“What? Where?” 

She shook her head frantically. 

“Oh,” I looked out the window uncomfortably, suddenly understanding. My breath was shaky. “Oh.” 

She sniffed and sobbed quietly. 

I swallowed. “Let’s...just get home, okay?” I didn’t know what else to say. We started driving again, the short drive back only sounded by Lisa’s occasional hiccup and sharp intake of breath. I rolled the car to a stop in front of her house and stepped out to open the door for her. She squinted up at me, droplets peppering her flushed cheeks. 

“I’m really sorry, Elior,” she was rambling again. “I didn’t mean to. I’ll help you clean—” 

“I’ll fix it,” my ears felt hot and I rubbed my neck. “You’d better get inside before I get drenched.” 

My eyes averted as she climbed out and took her backpack from my hand. 

“Look,” I stopped her and went around to the trunk and popped it open. I picked up my sweater that I’d thrown in there before the ride and handed it to her. “Take this, okay?” 

“Thanks,” her words were very quiet as she accepted the sweater, her neck flushed with embarrassment. There were other things I wanted to say that were stuck inside of me, things that perhaps didn’t have words to say them. For the first time in my life, I felt stuck and dumb. I may have flashed her an assuring smile at her or a “see you later”, I’m not sure. All I remember was after I settled behind the wheel and heard the usual yelling of her mother after the front door to her house closed behind her, I felt that I had missed something. Something important. The guilt rode with me all the way until I rolled up the driveway and stopped behind my Pinto. 

My father was standing on the side when I pulled up, bald head shining with rain. He wrenched open the door. “Boy, what the hell were you thinking?” 

“I didn’t want to—” I didn’t get far as his gaze dropped upon the stained seat. The insides of my stomach twisted into something awful. 

He said nothing, only left for the shed and returned with the our rusted axe. 

“Dad—” 

The blade hacked into the middle of my Pinto’s windshield with a sickened, violent crunch. 

“Dad!” I leapt out of his car. 

“That’ll teach you to touch my car,” he called over his shoulder and left without another word. 

I stood there for a long time in the drizzling rain. I stared at my beautiful Pinto. I thought about Lisa. I felt sick. My chest was heavy as I began cleaning the seat. Half an hour passed before the stain faded. My arms ached. I could hear Lisa’s mother’s voice screeching loudly from next door. Then distant crying. I took a deep breath and thought some more about my car. And then Lisa. 

“Elior,” Mr. Teller greeted me an hour later when I entered his jewelry shop. “Here to buy for the sweetheart?” 

I fingered the cash in my pocket, all the money I’d been saving for two months for the Pinto’s new paint job. 

“Nah. You have something for gir—for ladies? Something that'll last her a long time?" 

He pointed to the far corner of the store. "Over there.” 

I walked over to the glass case he gestured to and squinted through the glass. My eyes fell upon a silver necklace that dangled a shimmering white butterfly. “How much for this one?"

“I’ll give you a discount for it. The wing is slightly chipped.” 

“I’ll take it.” 

“It’s for your sweetheart?” 

“No,” my voice was quick, and then softened. “Someone else.” I handed over my crumpled cash. He handed four cents back. 

Standing outside, I unboxed the necklace again. The white butterfly had carefully indented wings and a shimmering silver body. The chipped wing made me smile.

It began to drizzle as I started walking on the lane home.