Three Butterflies and a Bike

Three Butterflies and a Bike

           The weather forecast had been for clear skies but another rumble of thunder rattles your dormitory’s walls. That’s okay.You like rain.

It being Friday, your college has completed its weekend transformation into a deserted island. Your roommate was part of the exodus (what was his name again?). You’ve been playing too much Halo and have a computer-screen-induced headache. You could go for a bike ride or take some pills.

This moment, this mundane choice will be the first flap of the butterfly’s wings. There will be two more.  

You pick the bike. It’s what you’ve done every weekend at this pointless school, and you do like the rain. Your bike tires make a squishing zipper sound as they cut through the rainwater on the sidewalk.

You take a deep breath of the wet air. It doesn’t help. California rain doesn’t flavor the air as well as Arizona rain. Or maybe it’s you. The whole world had been steadily bleeding color since you turned fifteen.

How many laps you do of your empty campus you don’t know, or care. When your dorm comes back around you start to slow. Should you keep riding or be done?

This choice will be the butterfly’s second flap. But to you, it’s only a dumb bike ride.You don’t know she has just returned to campus. All you know is your legs are heavy and there is a cold soda in your fridge. But if you’re going to have caffeine this late you might as well get tired. One more lap as fast as possible should do the trick.

A group of three people coming through the campus’s front archway; that’s all you have time to notice as you zip by. But she notices you. Why she calls out to you is a question you will never get to ask. Her voice yanks on your bike and you have no choice but to steer back to her. From this moment on, every road you travel will be slanted towards her.

           “You were at the pick-up soccer game, right?” She asks. “I’m Sarah, if you don’t remember.”

You absolutely remember. An angel with wings made of amethyst would have stood out less. In fact, when you start writing a novel based on her, that’s how you’ll describe her.

But right now, all you can do is say yes and smile.

     “Nice to get to meet you,” she says. “These are my roommates, Jenna, and Sara. The no “H” Sara. Mine has one.”

You lean your bike against the short wall you’re all standing next to, then shakes hands. You’ll come back to this little wall many times. To write. To think. To cry. But never with her.

“Were going to start a movie at my apartment. You’re welcome to join,” Sarah says.

You hope you’re not too enthusiastic with your agreement.

Sarah’s soccer friend Sydney, along with Sydney’s roommate Christin and a guy named Collin who, wonderfully, turns out to be Sydney’s boyfriend, arrive after you do.

 Sydney and Collin take the couch, and Christin and the H-less Sara share the lone armchair. You and Sarah sit on the floor with your backs against the couch. By movie’s end, the room is hot and your hips and shoulders lightly press against hers.

The next movie you watch in this room will be just with her. You’ll snuggle much closer by movie’s end and for the first time, hold a girl’s hand. It will be the best chance you’ll ever get to kiss her.

But right now, its past curfew and you have to leave. You dare a hug before heading back to your apartment.

Tomorrow, the butterfly’s final flap will come down.   

            Tomorrow it all seems too good to be true. Sarah hadn’t moved closer to you during the movie. She hadn’t leaned into you during your goodbye hug and you didn’t smell the lilac in her hair.

           If all of that was true, you shouldn’t feel guilty about the cam-girl site you’re about to open. But you do. There’s a real girl a few hundred yards away, go see her, your conscience shouts.

Once outside Sarah’s door, you can’t find the courage to knock. Only once you hear her talking inside, does courage find you. You knock as the third butterfly flap its wings.

Sarah greets you with a smile as bright as the ruby satin dress she’s wearing. You probably gawked a little because Sarah blushes and its Sydney that invites you in.

“Glad you remembered where I live and as you can see, we went shopping this morning,” Sarah says.  

You’ll never forget where she lived: Lancer Arms Apartment. Room 44. You’ll come back to it long after she has moved out. Even after it's gutted and turned into admin offices you’ll come back. The railing you yanked on while unable to knock will be the same. So will the outside of the door. The little sapphire rhinestone you’ll glue to the lip of the door frame won’t be there though. All three of the jewels you’ll hide at special places around campus will be lost. You’ll include the gems locations in your book and stoke the foolish idea that you and Sarah will one day come back and find them together.

But right now, you haven’t learned her birthstone is a sapphire nor will you start calling her “Sapphire” for several months. Plus, she looks more like a ruby at the moment.

“Your timing is good”, she says. “We’re about to go Halloween shopping. Want to join us?”

 “Certainly,” you say.

 “Sweet, give us a moment to change.”

You ease into a deep wicker chair. It will become your spot in the apartment but right now it's not the most comfortable. Sarah’s bright eyes, cleavage, and the adorable way she skipped down the hall to change have already made the room warm.

Ten minutes later, the three of you head off to Michaels, and its assortment of pungent craft supplies and vinyl flowers. Sarah is so easy to walk and talk with. Even when their is silence, it isn’t awkward and the little whitecaps of conversation that do crest are fun and lighthearted.

With a basket of rubber spiders, bats, and assorted spooky tableware you, Sarah, and Sydney head out. Two years from now, you’ll see what you and Sarah bought as darkly prophetic, and every Michaels store will be haunted year-round.

But right now, you wonder how you’ve never had a day like this with a girl before. You botched your last pursuit of a girl one girl so badly it’s a wonder she didn’t mace you. Parents, who probably had you and your siblings special ordered so they wouldn’t have to touch each other and a poisonous book about kissing dating goodbye didn’t help.  All the paranoia and stress and flat-out lies generated by those two anchors are strangely absent next to Sarah.

The Fates continue to pave your way as the evening turns into dinner with Sarah, Sydney, and her boyfriend. In the first version of your books, (yes you will write more than one) magic will happen here. You’ll include your trip to the bathroom where you grab the “you” in the mirror by the scruff of his neck and make him promise to not chicken out. When you come back, Sarah’s radiance will inspire an enchanted scene. The silhouette of a woman with emerald eyes will call to you, imploring you to seek her with all your heart.  

You will.

She won't.

But that won’t happen for a long time. In two months, she’ll call you to her room. She’ll be alone, trembling, holding a note. The night before you will have asked her to be your girlfriend. That will also be the night you don’t kiss her. She’ll have balked at the idea then confessed a past boyfriend that was still raw. She’ll start reading from that prepared note. It will begin with how she truly likes you and wants to keep the friendship going. You’ll cut her off with well-meant reassurance that you want the same thing. What else she had written on that note you’ll never know.

But right now, you’re leaving the restaurant and all is well. The following morning you find an envelope with your name on it, taped to your dorm’s door. It has a note from Sarah thanking you for your company and apologizing for not giving you her number last night. You are blown away. A girl thought of you when you weren’t physically in front of her? Hell can freeze over.

Two weeks later, you’re hip to hip with Sarah again. She screams and grabs your hand. The scary part of the movie passes and she dares a peek back at the TV. She leaves her head resting on your shoulder. The sheer outer skirt of her Fairy costume is coarse against the side of your hand but the snug velvet top is almost as soft as her skin.

The party winds down until its only you, Sarah, Sydney, Collin, and Jenna playing karaoke on a PlayStation. It’s the stupidest thing ever but you’d play all night if it meant more time with Sarah. By curfew time, you walk a sleepy Sarah back to her room. Outside her door, you wrap her in your arms. Only cool velvet and her warm skin touch your arms. The smell of lilac and the rhythm of her breathing take center stage. You glide your cheek in circles against the top of her head. If she fell asleep standing up, you’d hold her all night. The pounding of footsteps break the moment. The offending group of other students push past on the narrow balcony and separate you two. Sarah gives you the happiest smile you’ve ever seen as she takes her time closing her door behind her.

You’ve known her three months now. It feels like three years. You’ve started creating stories together. Fantasy tales that give Sarah magical mermaid seashells, that are also mood rings, and her own pet dragon. Your powers let your see her mermaid form, understand her shells, and control a great leviathan as your companion creature. Your books will use every bit of these stories.  

Christmas Break arrives. You’ll leave in the morning. Sarah has read you her note and your almost-romantic friendship remains intact. You’ve both agreed to revisit the question of being together in January.

The cafeteria is mostly empty. Only a few late dinner goers occupy the tables around you. Sarah comes in with someone. A guy you don’t recognize. They get two pre-bagged meals and leave.

You’ll add him to Book 3; a pseudo-villain not worth the ink it takes to write his name. Sarah will almost kill herself because of what he’ll do to her. You’ll almost kill yourself because of what she’ll do to you because of him. In three years, you’ll come back to this school to “try again”. Sarah will be long gone but you’ll convince yourself some of her magic remains.

A street a few hundred yards from where you’re currently sitting is where you’ll end up when your rope runs out. A street common with cement trucks. You’ll want to step in front of one so badly but Sarah will stop you, well, Sarah’s character, Sapphire, will stop you. The real Sarah will not lift a finger. You’ll have pleaded for her help with a handwritten letter. Each time you check your mailbox and its full of nothing but her silence, you’ll walk to your dorm a little closer to the street. You’ll stop and watch the trucks roar by but you won’t take the irrevocable step. Sapphire’s voice will call to you each time you lift your foot to do it. Your life is her life and she will plead with you to save her.

But right now, you have a delicious bowl of tomato soup and grilled cheese to finish and a text from her that says: Off to Church with a friend from out of town, see you tomorrow. xoxo

You share a long hug with Sarah at the airport. Touching her makes the word stop. She has to be the one. You want to tell her then and there that you can’t wait another minute to be more than friends. It feels so right to hold her in front of the hundreds of people.

You kiss the top of her head instead. Saying the big three would break the agreement you made before and what harm would hesitating a little longer do?

Optimism reigns. 2009 will be the year you’ve waited for. You’ll have your first ever Valentine, you’ll have a hug whenever you need one or want one. You’ll kiss the girl that makes time stop. Together, you’ll write the greatest love story the world has ever seen. You’ve already told her you’ve started putting together a bigger story based on the little ones you tell each other. She is thrilled. All of that and more will happen when the year turns over.    

    But right now, it’s the day after Christmas and you’re with your family in Sedona. Your flip-phone rings. “Sapphire” flashes on the screen. Your heart jumps, then stops, when her voice cracks. You excuse yourself from your family and step outside into the frozen pine forest.

Sarah’s father has lost his job.

“I don’t know if I can come back to school,” she cries. “We may have to sell our house. My mom has a daycare service she runs out of our house so if we’re forced to move, we lose everything…I don’t know what is going to happen. We really might be homeless. I so scared.”

Your heart breaks. She has to come back to school. She can make time stop. What other girl in the world can do that? You fake a cough to make sure your voice is strong, then try to comfort her.

The fear slowly fades from her voice as your conversation moves from the darkness of her family’s danger to her confessing she still watches Tinker Bell movies when she gets sad, to what her pet dragon is doing and the color of her shells.  

“Thank you so much for talking to me. I don’t think I’d have slept at all tonight if you hadn’t picked up. But I think I can now,” she eventually says.

 The fates allow your phone’s battery to last long enough her to send you a picture of her curled up in bed, blowing you a kiss.  

The next few days are torturous for you. You wan’t to call her every minute but resist. She needs space, not smothering. She does start texting you updates and as the days pass, her doomsday predictions grow less and less likely.

Your doomsday, however, is coalescing offshore. It will impact on February 19, precisely because Sarah returns.

It’s cold and windy the night you return to school. You fling your bags into your room, whip the blanket off your bed, and run to meet Sarah. She’s already waiting at a little gazebo by the basketball courts. The concrete picnic table you two sit on might as well be an ice sculpture. Damn the ridiculous “visiting hours” rules your school has.

Your blanket is a godsend for Sarah who’s only in a thin cardigan and yoga pants. You pull her onto your lap and wrap her in your arms. Her warmth flows into you through her thin cloths despite all of the coldness clawing at you both. You rest your cheek against her hair and draw in deep breaths of her familiar scent. It will be the last time you do so.

February 19 makes landfall. You and Sarah are back at the same gazebo on the same picnic table. Days after your re-connection with her under the blanket, she went silent. It took you weeks to get her to meet. It’s a muggy smoggy day. Sunglasses barricade Sarah’s eyes. She’s now made of ice, sitting on the table of stone.

“I love him and he loves me,” a voice says.

It has to be Sarah’s, but it was so empty.

 You think you nod because the statue that looks like Sarah moves. In this part of your books, she will be an angel whose power has held back a demon. Voluntarily, the angel will remove her protection from you. As the real Sarah abandons you without a goodbye, she affects time once more. She doesn’t stop it, she warps it—warps it into an infinite loop. A loop that will trap you for at least the next ten years.

Writing your books will promise to break the loop and you’ll write with fierce desperation. You’ll write three books and wait for the glorious release.

It won’t come.

You’ll write a 4^th book with a new angel named Sagira..

It won’t work.

You’ll write a prequel, then a behind-the-scenes-special-features-companion-book.

 It won’t work.

You’ll try a short story about a butterfly and a bike.

That might work. You don’t know because you’re still writing it, right now, sitting on the porch of your old dorm. The weatherman predicted sun, but a steady drizzle has blackened the sidewalk. Some stray drops stain your notepad like tears.

You have no faith it will help because the sharp truth is this; the time loop you’re in has become your friend. It has robbed you of a third of your life and counting, but within its confines, you’ve created your life’s work. It has driven you to the edge of suicide but your still alive. You want to curse those three butterflies that sent this fate your way but you can’t. What would you be without the hurricane they spawned?

Oh look, the rain has stopped. Maybe you’ll take a break from writing. You could play some Xbox—or go for a bike ride?