Butterfly

To do, or not to do. That was the question. Considering, of course, the shoes that showed her toes, and the old dress she wore, but! She could change, well, that was what Alex said, but that was so long ago… who was Alex? Well, oh! It had been so long since she had seen a butterfly. That one was very blue. Oh, it had landed! Well, now was a good time to use that eye-fone thing the lady gave her. Who was she? Red hair and green eyes were all she remembered. A wrinkled hand ran through gray hair, and the green eyes crinkled as the butterfly landed beside her. Now, how to use the eye-fone? Ah yes, the red-haired lady had told her… Olivia. Who was Olivia? Olivia… the memory was all fuzzy, oh dear. Well, there were those warm walks… in soft sun with chirping birds and rustling leaves and a gentle arm on her shoulders, and the fluttery soft flight of butterflies… oh! There was one right there! Well, now was a good time to use that eye-fone thing the lady gave her. Now, how to take a picture? What did the lady say, oh, the big white button, yes. Dear, the butterfly was gone! Where… oh yes, on the roof of the shed… why! That looked just like Alex’s shed, but no, the roof was different. Alex… Alex. No, the old shed had a brown roof, not blue like this one. And the only thing climbing that old shed was ivy, nothing so nice as those pink roses… perfume. Her hand fumbled at the locket she wore. “Vintage,” she remembered the lady saying. “Aromatic jewelry, I think she got it from a yard sale.” Well that part wasn’t true, no. She’d gotten it from Alex… an anniversary gift. She remembered sitting on that old rocker, watching his soft, calloused hands cut a piece of cloth to soak in perfume and put into the hollow. Then there was that one day, so warm and sunny she felt it would burst, watching those same hands grind their anniversary bouquet into a paste that turned her nails pink and her skin magenta. A splash of water, and there was suddenly perfume, turning the cloth a beautiful shade of rosy-pink. Her gnarled fingers fumbled with the clasp, before it all tumbled open and the fingers found that same pink cloth, lighter now, but still soaked with the smell of roses and sunshine. Oh, she did love that smell. Say, a butterfly! It must like those roses. She should take a picture, she could try out that eye-fone the lady gave her. But how to reach the butterfly? The two wrinkled hands struggled to push her up and half slipped, but they found the poles supporting the garden swing, and guided her to her feet. The sandaled toes shuffled through the grass, the cane left forgotten on the ground. The fingers found the rose trellis, unused, leaning against the shed’s dirty walls. Gripping the trellis, she found herself on the first rung of her makeshift ladder. Each step took an eternity, but the butterfly still waited, hovering tantalizing on the nearest rose. Two rungs, then three, then five. Suddenly she was on the edge of the roof, the butterfly just inches away. She huffed a breath and brushed hair out of her eyes, which suddenly crinkled in joy. Why, she hadn’t climbed in years! All the years blended together now, it was just her and Alex… Alex. She remembered kind blue eyes, a soft touch of her face, before everything blended together again. Where was she again? Everything spun for a moment, but one hand gripped the shingles and the whirlwind slowly stopped. Ah yes, the shed roof. She suddenly wobbled and tried to plant her feet more firmly before falling flat on her back, the roses dangling above her face. Then she laughed, the hoarse cackle rolling and tumbling before it became something warm and soft, gently whisking around her before dancing away with the breeze. Why, there was that butterfly! She reached toward it with a shaky hand, watching sadly as it twisted away, through the roses. She laid back again. Why, the sunset. So beautiful. She could almost hear his voice, low and rumbly in its lovely way. She could hear the way it twisted and echoed around the metal of the cruise ship, the way it was as warm as the pinks and oranges of the sunset. “You’re my sun, Eliza.” My sun. A cruise with Alex… Alex. Why, what a lovely evening! She reached out to the streaks of purple in the sky, swirling with the warm reds and pinks, and a half sigh slipped from her lips. Why, a blue butterfly! It lighted on the roses, so discreetly that she wouldn’t have noticed if it hadn’t fluttered around her first, soft and blue like his eyes. She picked up her eye-fone, the light painting a rich orange on the back of its case. She felt a strange need to press the little round button. Why, numbers! 1 through 9, each enclosed in it’s own little bubble. 1-9-3-2. Why, wasn’t that the year she was born? Well, who would have thought. “Press the little gray camera, mom.” Yes, that was what the lady had said. Wasn’t that nice? She pressed it. “Now, point it at whatever you want,” Well, that butterfly was certainly nice, wasn’t it! She pointed her eye-fone at it, smiling as it spread its blue wings, reflecting the rich reds and pinks and yellows like it was trying on a new dress. “Now press the big white button,” She remembered. She pressed it. “Then you press the little square in the corner.” There was a little click. Well! Wasn’t that a beautiful butterfly. Chuckling, she adjusted herself on the corner of the roof, watching the butterfly glide through a crimson and purple sky, shining like a blue gem in the night.

 Blue as his eyes.