The Butterfly Child

Chapter Seven

Staying beside her was like drowning oneself purposefully, deliberately and helplessly. She had —in the days that followed — become a shadow of the Annie that I knew. Of the Annie that had brought so much light. She dimmed —drastically. She said she was getting better, but the more I came to visit, the more I saw that the truth was she wasn't.

On Monday her nose ran nonstop and she joked about rain falling from her body. On Tuesday she went stiff for a whole hour and I was screaming like a mad woman. On Wednesday she tried to stand up from bed to go to the bathroom alone but she fell face flat on the floor and laughed that the floor wasn't so bad. "Maybe I'd start using mat," she said.

On Thursday she peed on her body and Celine rushed in, sniffling and crying. On Friday she talked about how going to Paris alone was more fitting for someone like me. "So no one would have to disturb you. You know?"

On Saturday she said she saw the stars. There was a solid roof over their head. And on Sunday she joked about how Aunt Nancy would burst through the gates of space and see her flying like an angel. And the while she had me crying beside her, because I didn't want to lose her.

I wiped my tears, stopping them from falling off. Then I dragged my hands across my face countless times in hopes that they'd stop coming. Her skin was all wrinkled now, wrinkled and dry.

"Sincerely if you're crying, I'd stand up and strangely you." She spoke weakly.

I shook my head, still wiping my eyes. "Of course not. Nella doesn't cry."

She laughed, lowly and painfully then moved her body a little. "Atta Girl. Tell me a story Nella. Tell me come on, how did you... see the butterflies."

Her eyes were closed. Dark wrinkles settled at its corner and her brown curls pulled up in a rough bun. I slapped my hands against my face to wipe more tears that fell. If I had known, I'd not have let her run to save the butterflies if it meant she'd die. I'd have gone. Because my immune system was not weak as hers.

"I thought I've told you that before."

"I wanna hear it again... Again... Please."

"Fine. My grandma died. We decided to bury her behind the field. As a sign of her contribution to it despite her being a lady. She was the only lady who worked on the field. Who wanted to do so willingly. Because her husband had died so early and she was left to train my mother and two of her other sisters — who have been married off to other towns..."

"Hmm... married off?"

"Yes. You know I told you that here, the men would go out and seek the women they want as a wife. Then they'd report back to their people and go on to seek her hand in marriage."

"Oh... Yes..." She winced as she made to turn. "Ouch."

"Sorry. So, she worked hard for all of them. And all her children being girls, she decided to work on the farm. So during the funeral. We had already lowered her. But they were still covering the sand —she wasn't buried so far from where the tree was. I think that was why I could feel the butterflies that day. Because that tree was close by. So anyways, I was standing on my own and crying. Then something perched on my shoulders and spoke. And I just felt like a huge weight had been lifted off my shoulders. Although I was still sad, I didn't feel helpless or alone. Not anymore. You know she was the only one who didn't treat me so badly. She was always so good to me. She was the best."

"What if," She sat up and smiled at me. "What if your grandma sent those butterflies? What if she did?!"

I raised my brows at her. "What?! You think my grand MA in her grave would just send me butterflies?!"