The Butterfly with the Artificial Wing

I sit here in silence as I watch my mother go through the ceremonial lighting of the candle. This is not something bad; it is the norm for our family. Once a year, we all, the female patriarchy of the family, would gather around and remember those who had passed.

I watch everyone perform their ceremonial prayers, and some just sit silently with their eyes closed and a tear dropping down their face. I feel like I should say or do more, but the problem is I can’t.

I am remembering someone who should not have been taken away so early. This is someone who made plans with me to grow up and go to the same schools and get married at the same time. This someone could have been considered a family member by the way we were stuck to each other’s hips since we met.

She’s gone now, and with her my voice left too. Maybe it would have been different if I had not discovered it. Or the fact that I knew who caused my loss? In my silence, I replay every second that led up to….

“Lily, honey you should have something to eat. We are almost done with the ceremony, and you can go and rest.” That came from my aunt Thelma. My mother called her the minute she found me kneeling beside…. beside Jess.

I was holding and rocking back and forth, not realizing that I was screaming so loud and for so long that I could be heard all the way down the block.

It is one year to the day that Jess has been taken away from me. From that moment on I had not spoken one word. I have been seeing several specialists, and they all said that it’s trauma from the shock of what I witnessed and that my voice can come back at any time.

I could talk, the sounds started to return but I find it hard to convey the right words. In my silence, I realized that people talk too much to cover up what they really feel and what they think. If we were just silent and just listened closely. Unravel what is truly being said when it’s hidden behind a smile or a giggle.

Once the ceremony was done, I went up to my room and looked outside the window. Right across from my house is where it happened. I remember when Jess tried to tell me something was happening but she never just said it. It was always hidden behind her smiles, and she would make up these fantastical stories. I had to admit I was jealous that she can make up these things off the top of her head.

I think the officer said that she even wrote down some fairy tale stories and they were good. Well, when the psychologists read it and the tears started flowing, we knew that Jess was trying to tell us what was going on in her own way.

As I look out of the window, I remember the last story that she told me. She had come over for a sleepover and we were bored scrolling social media and there was nothing new to watch in the movies, so she decided to tell me a story. That was typical Jess wanting to fill the silence. I never understood why she didn’t like the silence.

“OK, Lily, this story is called the butterfly with the artificial wing.” She said it so matter-of-factly that I could not help but laugh. Could you imagine a butterfly with an artificial wing?

“Remember you have to keep your eyes closed while I tell you the story, ” she said. I guess that was our ritual, which we made up a long time ago. She would tell the stories, and I had to keep my eyes closed.

It wasn’t always a take without a given. Usually, after stories, I sing a song to soothe her to sleep.

“Once upon a time, there was a newly hatched butterfly. Now, when all the butterflies are hatching, there is a beautiful celebration upon their arrival. You see, if a butterfly has a specific color and pattern, it would be deemed the next queen for the summer.

Now this butterfly hatched with one full wing and the other halved. All of the other butterflies were in shock at what they’d seen. Surely this had to be an abomination because this butterfly will die without being able to fly to save itself.

As the other butterflies continued to mumble and stare at the newly hatched butterfly, a professor stepped forward. This professor butterfly had created a new invention for just this situation. The problem is that the newly hatched butterfly would have to come to his home to have a perfect fit.

All the other butterflies were clapping and cheering for the professor, offering his expertise. The newly hatched butterfly thought they knew better and went along with the professor to his home. But once inside, the newly hatched butterfly did not feel so reassured of her decision.

The professor, with all his knowledge knew exactly what to do to put her at ease and in a state of complete calmness. He did not lie to the other butterflies about what he created but he omitted the fact of how it would have to be attached.

The newly hatched butterfly left the professor’s house with an artificial wing and the look on her face was not of a new butterfly anymore. Everyone praised the professor and everyone gave the new butterfly hugs and compliments.

The professor announced that the new butterfly would have to see him for maintenance and everyone accepted what he said. The new butterfly wanted to tell someone of the experience but no one would accept anything but praise about the professor.

On the third trip to the professor’s home, the butterfly was not new anymore and decided to tell the professor that she would no longer need the wing. Instead, she decided that going on with this artificial wing to cover up its deformity was not what she would do anymore.”

I lay there with my eyes closed, waiting for the rest of the story, but Jess never gave it. This was the first story that didn’t have an ending, and I had to admit I was confused. Why would the butterfly not want the wing to fly?

Jess lay down and turned her back to me. I opened my eyes to look at her, but it looked like she didn’t want to tell any more of the story.  I decided to sing a song to her very softly so she could go to sleep.

Fast forward a week, and the memory played out.

Jessica would go next door to be tutored in the violin. The problem with that is Jessica was tone deaf, and her parents did not want to hear that. They hired the tutor who used to live next door to us to train her. After school, I had my own musical lessons with Miss Eloise.

I don’t know if it was the butterfly’s story or if I just had a funny feeling that I needed to see Jess that day instead of having my music lessons. But I went to the tutor’s house and knocked on the door.  I’ve waited a while for someone to answer, but no one did. I did find it odd that I didn’t even hear a violin being played.

I walked inside, looking around to see where Jess and the tutor were. What I found was the tutor face down and not moving. I ran over to Jess because she was not that far away from him, and that’s when I saw it. The deep self-inflicted wound. I grabbed hold, hoping to save her life, and I tried to start screaming, but she whispered something. I leaned over to hear her.

“Now I can go with my deformity, and the professor will never put the artificial wing on someone else.”

Realizing that she was ending the butterfly story, I cried and screamed like I never screamed before.

My peace was taken away from me, and so has my voice. I cannot sing for joy, and I cannot talk about happiness when my heart is still broken. Jessica’s family moved away, and mine chose to remember her once a year.

This is just my first year without her. I can talk, but now I choose to listen more.