Dear Camilla,

10: Butterflies

Sweetest Camilla,

Do you remember our cuffed jeans, the ripe cherries, and wading up the cedar-lined stream with me? It was butterfly season, then, and the milkweed flowers were in bloom, their pink and orange cones pointing like arrows to a sky dotted with cotton clouds. Tennessee is bashfully beautiful, like you.

We had walked this path a thousand times before, humming that tune from our small chorus class.

White coral bells upon a slender stalk

Lilies of the valley line my garden walk.

Oh, don't you wish that you could hear them ring?

That will happen only when the fairies sing.

Though we were aware of each other's presence, we relaxed enough that conversation wasn't always necessary. In the quiet, we let the birds and bees join our chorus, performing for mother earth. The ripples from our toes entering the water sparkled in the sunlight softly. It never ceased to amaze me that this place continued to exist in such a regal, beautiful way— even when we weren't there to experience it, when no one was watching. Paradise doesn't die. A metamorphous, maybe, but never death; like the butterflies emerging from their shells.

Around us, they take flight once again, now as magnificent, vibrant creatures. They looked so joyful and free, almost like a Klimt countryside painting, too fragile and pure for this violent world. Their wings were as thin as a solitary rose petal balancing delicately above the rapids for a moment in time, as ephemeral as pleasure. Their yellow wings were like the color of your aura, Camilla. I can still picture it.

"I seriously can't believe I only got an eighty-three on that Calc test," you ranted mindlessly, "it's not even like any of the other students in that class pay attention besides me. I just think Mr. Jackson doesn't like me. It's so fucking frustrating."

I was only in Geometry, so I had nothing to say on the matter.

"I can't wait to graduate, everything in this town sucks. Except for you Maxine, you're the best thing to have come out of this hellscape."

I splashed you gently.

"Hey—"

"It's not all that bad, Camilla."

"Yes, it is! Come on, don't go crazy on me, now, Maxie. I know you hate it too. They're so cruel to us here, I'm sick of being ridiculed— threatened, even— for who I am. It's bull shit. Like the Mr. Jackson situation, tell me that would've still happened if I wasn't out. "

You prodded the mud angrily with a stick and there was a silence, an uncomfortable one this time.

"Wait— shh. Do you see that?" I whispered.

"No, where? What is it?"

"It's the biggest toad I've ever seen, right over there!" I pointed, "don't you see it?"

"I hope you don't mean Mr. Jackson, and no I don't see it."

"Just ahead! On that boulder in the sun... Do you really not see it?"

"No... sorry."

"You never see anything cool here, that's why you want to leave so badly," I said in a huff, frustrated.

"You know that's not true..."

I felt my cheeks flush. Her hand grazed mine lightly.

Camilla, I know you are not dead. You're too much like paradise for that, I'm positive. New York is your metamorphosis. I wish you'd let me see you.

Come with me on a stroll, again, please. Follow me down to the valley stream and lay under our favorite willow. Let days pass us by in flashes because we are immortal, you and I. Verdant blues, chilled ankles submerged in biting, still water, soft gravel beneath our toes, the wind in our ears, bitten lip— colors, colors, colors. Sharp fingernails on soft palms,a shrill shriek slices the misty forest? Too, far too, human and hungry. My desires are not normal, only sacrificial, esoteric, and sadistic— but never carnal.

Let there never be light again Camilla, because it's so hard being awake, though I can't sleep. I can't do either with full bellied tenacity, so I'd rather do neither. I just ache.

With undying love,

Maxine