The Butterfly and The Moth

33

Sterling looked down at me, peering at me gently like he had been since last night, when he had finally learned, or perhaps the right word is guessed, my secret.

He looked like the words were turning around in his head, but he couldn't quite make meaning of them.

"What do you mean?" He asked me, after a minute of nothing but the waves crashing against the rocky shores sounding.

I sighed, just a small one. I looked away from him, looking back out over the ocean water that laid just before us.

I was performing a balancing act, again. Just like I have been since my mom started using drugs, and I had to lie about everything. A delicate balancing act inside my head. How much to say, and how much I wanted to give away.

But, then I remembered Sterling's words from earlier. I remember the entire reason I was here, standing beside him on the beach. I told him, and myself, that I would trust him, just for today.

"It's something my mom used to say," I finally answered him, elaborating on the riddle that had made complete sense to me, but seemed to be a mystery to him.

"When I was little, we used to go to this pond by our house. It was just a small pound, tiny in comparison to this," I nodded towards the bay of water infront of us. "But, it was pretty. There were milkweed plants all around it, and there were always tons of butterflies there."

I glanced at Sterling, meeting his eyes just momentarily. He was listening to me with his undivided attention, like nothing else was entering his mind besides the words I was speaking.

"We would get close enough, lay down a blanket and just sit there, without moving a muscle. If we were still enough, eventually the butterflies would land on our arms, or our legs. They were so beautiful."

I could see the scene I was describing so vividly in my mind. The butterflies were beautiful, like I said. But so was my mother. It was before the drugs had changed her completely. I felt like I had so few moments of her like that. I was robbed of those moments. I should have had more.

"But one day, I remember one landed right on her hand. She brought it so close to her face, like she was memorizing every detail of its existence. Then she looked at me, and she said — I wonder if the butteflies know how lucky they are."

"And, I was so young, of course I didn't know what she meant. So I asked her. She was quiet, still in her mind before she answered. She said — everyone loves butterflies. To see one flying through the sky will catch anyone's attention. A symbol of freedom and beauty, and hope. They get to fly around in the sun, flashing their beautiful colours around."

"And then she got this sad look in her eyes. She said — but a moth, well, no one likes a moth. Yet, they are so similar, aren't they? So much alike that they could be sisters. A butterfly gets to fly around in the sun, but a moth is left to come out at night, drawn to any light they see, just trying to find something."

I finished, pulling back from my own memories. My mothers smiling, youthful and beautiful face fading from my mind.

"Some people get to be butterflies. Other people get to be moths. You got to be the butterfly." I finished, shrugging my shoulders and suddenly feeling vulnerable.

I bit down on my lip, bracing myself for Sterling's response. Would he understand? Or would he wish I had kept my thoughts to myself?

"Well," Sterling finally spoke, after what felt like an hour of holding my breath. It wasn't really an hour though, of course. I wasn't sure if it had even been a minute.

"I guess I wish that August could have been a butterfly, too. Or maybe," he paused, letting a breath out. "Or maybe, I wish I could trade places with him, sometimes. Maybe I wish that he could be the butterfly, and I could be the moth."