The Butterfly Garden

Jill lay in bed watching the clock slip past 2 a.m. for the eighth night in a row. Her only diversion from the monotony of the flashing green numbers was an occasional kaleidoscope of light that penetrated her bedroom from a passing motorist’s headlights. Some other person, awake, sharing the night with her. She wondered if they were alone in their cars as they passed her window. Did they feel the emptiness she felt in the dark hours. It was a loneliness that wrapped itself around her like a wool blanket in a warm summer, oppressive and close.

Tonight it sucked the breath from her, almost suffocating. It brought back a remembered time, when, as a child, she had almost drowned on the beach in Fort Lauderdale. She had been caught in the undertow. Her father had come running, and with his strong arms, freed her from the jealous waves. She still recalls those wonderful gasps of sweet air filling her lungs.

The undertow pulled at her once again, but her father had been dead for almost two years. There was no one to rescue her this time. Without knowing why, Jill rose from her bed and moved toward the large open window that faced toward the street four stories below. The chintz curtains hung limp with the humidity of the night. One dingy street lamp competed with a faded moon to cheer the night. She thought, “Just step off the window ledge, it is so easy.” Her body moved in response, one foot placing itself upon the sill. It felt cool, like marble, like death. She stepped up with her other foot.

“Now let go,” the voice inside her whispered.

She paused. A faint whisper spoke out of the night. Suddenly she was engulfed in a sea of gossamer wings; a wave of blue washing over her, catching the moonglow. The rush pulled her back from the edge. As her eyes focused she realized that she was encompassed by a whirling flock of butterflies. They clung to her nightgown, lighting like eider down upon her bare arms and resting on the wisps of her hair. She felt as though she was in the midst of a living colored cloud. In shock and wonder she let go of the sill. But instead of falling headlong into the night, her body was drawn back, gently down onto the soft carpet of the bedroom floor. The butterflies followed, filling her last memory before sleep with the rush of their blue wings.

Jill awoke to sunshine warming her face. She remembered butterflies and being pulled back from death. She sat up, looking for evidence to make her memory secure, but found nothing. Had she dreamed it all? For the first time in many days she felt truly awake, and her stomach reminded her that she was certainly alive. She rose and headed to the refrigerator. There was no milk or eggs and this morning was the first time that had mattered in days.

Hurriedly, she dressed and headed to the corner market. As she entered, the tinkle of the bell on the door caused Bev’s head to pop up from behind to counter.

“Good morning Jill,” she said. “If you didn’t look so happy, I would think you slept on the floor last night.”

“I did.” Jill replied with a smile.

“Are you ok? What happened?”

“I can’t explain it, but I remember butterflies. Isn’t that crazy?”

“Not totally,” said Bev. “Haven’t you ever met the butterfly man that lives in your building? Maybe not, he sort of keeps to himself.”

“The butterfly man?” Jill asked. “I didn’t know that. They must have been his butterflies. Where can I find him?”

“He lives in the back apartment that faces onto the green. I am not sure of the number. It is on the ground floor. Someone will know. Just start knocking.”

Jill, ready for a new adventure, could hardly wait to get back to her apartment, eat breakfast and get a shower. By nine, she was on the search for the butterfly man. After two false knocks, she tried the door of apartment 106. Warm brown eyes greeted her as a man opened the door. She knew she had found him.

“Are you the butterfly man?” she said. After the words escaped, she realized how silly they must have sounded.

“Actually, I am Tim.” He smiled. “But I have heard that people call me the butterfly man. Can I help you?”

“I am not sure,” she said. “My name is Jill and I live upstairs. I was wondering if I could talk to you about butterflies for a minute?”

“Sure,” he said, opening the door to let her into the small apartment. “I am always happy to talk to a fellow butterfly lover.”

Jill entered the room. While the furniture was ordinary, Jill noticed that every wall was covered with posters and photographs of butterflies. Swallowtails and Whites, Sulphers and Hairstreaks floated about the walls.

“Have a seat.” Tim said. “Can I get you some tea, some coffee?”

“No, thank you. I just had breakfast. I just want to talk about your butterflies. I assume you have live ones?”

“Oh yes, would you like to see them?”

“In a minute, but I need to ask you about something first.”

“Yes?” Tim looked at her like he was actually paying attention to her question. That was new to her.

“Are you missing any butterflies?”

“I don’t think so, why do you ask?”

“Last night, I was standing by my window and suddenly a flock of butterflies surrounded me, filling my room. It was the strangest and most exhilarating thing I have ever experienced.”

“What time did this happen?”

“About 2 a.m.”

Tim was silent. Jill could see confusion on his face but could not tell if it was about her or the story of the butterflies. Since he said nothing, she continued.

“So, I think you should check to see if you have lost some of your butterflies.”

“There is no need for that. I think your story is remarkable, but the fact is, butterflies never fly at night.”

Jill looked shocked. “But I know they were there. They were all around me.”

“Are you sure you saw them?”

“I thought I was sure. They seemed very real. They were large, with the most amazing blue wings. They glowed like a blue sapphire when sunlight shines through it.”

“Well that could be one of several species, but I have never heard of a butterfly that flies at night, and I don’t have any like that. I do have something that might help us identify what you saw though.”

Tim went into the other room giving Jill another chance to look about the living room. She hadn’t noticed the photograph that sat on the side table. It was of a pretty woman in a field of wildflowers. The air about her was filled with gliding monarchs. While Jill was staring at the picture, Tim returned with a thick book.

“This might help us figure out what kind they were. It has pictures of every known species.”

He sat the book on the table in front of her. When she looked closer, the title jumped off the page and smacked her in the face. The Complete Field Guide to Lediodoptera by Nathan Lane, Ph.D. She found it hard to speak.

“Why can’t I just tell you what they looked like and you can look it up, since you know the book so well.” She forced the words out. They seemed heavy, like bricks.

“Is something wrong?” Tim asked.

“No, I am just tired. To much excitement I guess.”

Tim flipped through the book with practiced eyes, knowing where to look for every blue butterfly. He held up a couple of pages to Jill and she shook her head. “No, I remember them as being almost transparent.”

“Actually, if you look at them right, all butterflies look transparent. Their wings are made up of many small scales. The light passes through these scales, almost like a prism, and gives off the brilliant colors we see.” Tim talked as he continued to search the guide. He found what he was looking for and turned the page to Jill. “Is this what you saw?”

Beside a picture of a large bright blue butterfly was the caption:

Morpho

Morpho Butterflies live in the rain forests of Central and South America. There are currently 17 known species. This Morpho lives in Venezuela, the Guyanas and southern Brazil. Although some species have tan and white wings, most have wings that are colored a beautiful, iridescent blue. The coloring is the result of thousands of microscopic scales on the wings. These scales can be brushed off with rough handling and for a time served as a component used to make currency by the French government.

“Yes, that looks like what I saw”

“Well, they are remarkable. I have seen a few of them, but I don’t keep them. They don’t do well in this climate.”

“So you are saying that I really didn’t see what I saw?”

“I am not sure what you saw Jill.” Tim was too kind to say more, but she could see the questions in his eyes.

Jill felt like a fool and just wanted to leave. “I have to go. You are very kind, I am sorry to have bothered you.”

“Are you alright?”

“I am fine. I just need to go.”

Tim followed Jill as she rose and headed toward the door.

“Please come back and see my butterfly garden sometime.”

“Thanks.”

Maybe she just dreamed it in her head. Maybe it was some sort of twisted illusion that came from some buried feeling she carried for Nathan. She was so confused. And she had just embarrassed herself in front of the first man who ever seemed to pay any real attention to her. When Jill got back to her apartment, she locked the door, threw herself on the bed and cried herself to sleep; a long needed sleep, where no confusion or pain could intrude.

The next morning Jill was awakened to a soft knock on her front door. Opening the door, she saw no one, just a small box. Bending down to pick it up, she saw it was a handmade cage enclosing a small branch. On the branch hung a delicate chrysalis. She had never seen the tiny home in which a butterfly transformed itself from a wormlike creature into the graceful winged beauty it would become.

With the cage was an envelope. She brought them in and sat down at the table. Opening the note she read:

Jill,

In this cage is something beautiful. Nature gave it the ability to believe in itself enough to change and grow. And when it comes out of its darkness, it will rise, gazing down on where it used to be, and looking up, catch a sunbeam.

Enjoy the transformation.

Tim

She had said so little to him. How could he know her like this? She didn’t want this to happen. Yes she was lonely, but she could not let anyone into her life. The solitude of the little creature locked in the chrysalis suited her. In some ways she felt as though she had grown such a skin about herself.

Over the next week Jill kept a close watch on the tiny chrysalis sitting on her shelf. She avoided seeing Tim, thinking he must think her unstable. For all she knew, he was probably right.

Nine days after her mysterious visitation in the night, Jill again hosted a butterfly. It looked fragile emerging from its hiding place. She put her face close to the cage and watched it spread its tiny wings for the first time. Not yet ready to fly, it still possessed the grace of a full grown butterfly.

What should she do with it? Should she let it out? Should she feed it? Working up her courage, she picked up the tiny cage and headed back to apartment 106 for a second visit. Tim opened the door with a big smile.

“Nice to see you Jill. Somehow I expected this visit. I have been counting the days.” He chuckled.

“I see, so this was all a trick?” she joked back. “Well it worked. I am fascinated by this little thing, but I don’t know how to take care of it.”

“I have a great idea. Why don’t you and your new friend join me in the butterfly garden.”

Tim led her to the back of his apartment. They stepped out onto a small terrace full of the scent of pungent flowers. Tall bushes, dotted with small yellow and blue blossom, bloomed all about the terrace. The air was alive with the graceful dance of hundreds of butterflies. It seemed as though all the colors of the rainbow had unleashed their wings and suddenly taken flight. Above the terrace was a net that kept the butterflies from straying.

“It’s amazing Tim. I love it. I never knew one could do so much in such a space.”

“Why don’t you sit and enjoy while I make us some tea.”

Jill sat on a stone bench and watched the afternoon sun cast its soft rays across the terrace. It was hard to imagine how the tiny creature inside the shell she had been tending could emerge and become the graceful creatures she saw floating about her. She wished she had let Tim show her his garden sooner.

Tim returned carrying a tray with a china pot and two cups. He poured a cup for her and they drank it English style, with milk and sugar. It was the best cup Jill could remember.

As a butterfly would hover near them, Tim would reach out his hand. The butterfly would light upon it and Tim would smile. He would tell her all about it with the wonder of a school child.

After the pot was empty and Tim had introduced her to just about every species in the garden, Jill worked up the courage to speak.

“I have to tell you something about myself.” Jill began. “The first day we met, when you brought out your butterfly book, it was very hard for me to look at it. You see, Nathan Lane was my husband.”

Tim turned to her with surprise.

“Nathan Lane was your husband? The renowned naturalist? And you come to me asking about butterflies? I feel so stupid all of a sudden.”

“You should never feel stupid Tim. There is a big difference between you and Nathan. It is true that Nathan knows a lot about butterflies. He can quote statistics about their migration patterns, how fast they travel, the intricacies of their color and pattern. But I never saw Nathan hold a butterfly in his hand with the look of awe you possess. You seem to be able to listen to their silent language. Nathan knows about butterflies, you know butterflies. Nathan loves that he knows so much about them, you love them.”

There was a break in the conversation. Jill and Tim watched as golden butterflies fluttered about the garden. The scene was peaceful.

Finally Tim spoke, “So, did you love him?”

“I am not sure anymore. He was handsome and smart and I thought I needed someone to take care of me. I fell in love with him for that I guess.” said Jill. “I still have great affection for him, but love him? I just don't know.”

“I tried to open my heart to him, but I ended up being like one of his butterflies. He knew all about me, where I was born, where I went to school, my dress size, shoe size, all the facts. But I don’t think he ever knew me. It is not his fault. It is just the way he is. Nathan knew about me. That is all.”

“Think you could fall in love again?” Tim asked.

“I would be afraid to fall in love. I don't want to be that vulnerable again.”

“I remember when I was just a kid,” said Tim. “My dad took me to the city pool. It seemed so big. I worked up my courage and climbed to the top of the diving platform with him. As I got to the edge, I froze. The water seemed so far down. Finally, I closed my eyes and jumped off. It seemed forever until I hit the water. But when I did, and sunk down into the cool water it felt so good.”

“I think love can be sort of like that.” he continued. “It is like standing on the edge of that diving platform. You want to jump, but it sure is scary. Finally, you work up the courage to do it and leap off.”

“That sounds good,” said Jill. “But what if you find the pool is empty?”

“That hurts. Unlike diving, sometimes you don't know if someone's heart is empty or full until you jump. It's a big risk.”

“I don't think I want to take that risk.”

“It's hard alright. A heart of stone can be a pretty painful thing to fall upon. But when you find someone who loves you back with all their heart...” Tim stopped and looked at the butterflies again.

“I had someone who loved me very much. Sherry was the sun, moon, and stars to me. When she died, I didn’t see any reason to go on. I felt I had lost her forever. Then a wise friend said to me, 'You haven't lost her, she is still alive in the things she loved most. Seek the things she loved, and you will find her.'”

“She had always loved butterflies. My best memory of her is seeing her standing in a field of wildflowers, the sun at her back, lighting up her hair, as butterflies float about her. Sometimes I feel her spirit in this garden.”

The next few weeks Jill found herself drawn to the butterfly garden and the butterfly man everyday. In the company of their winged and elegant friends their hearts warmed to one another. Like that tiny chrysalis, Jill found herself opening up to the world. What had he written to her? “When it comes out of its darkness, it will rise, gazing down on where it used to be, and looking up, catch a sunbeam.” That is how she felt.

Before they realized, Autumn had crept upon them. Tim and Jill spent many hours collecting the butterflies and bringing them indoors for the winter. To reward themselves for their efforts, they dined at Jill’s favorite bistro. After dinner, they walked home through the park enjoying the coolness of the fall evening. At their favorite spot, beside the fountain, Tim pulled her to a bench.

“Jill, I told you once that the reason I started to keep butterflies was to feel closer to Sherry. Since you have come into my life, I find that my reason for keeping them is to feel closer to you. Sometimes I have wondered if the butterflies you saw that night were sent by her to lead us to one another. I have not talked to you much about my feelings, but I want you to know that I have come to love you more than I can say. I know that is scary for you, but I have to tell you.”

“I have thought about the night the butterflies visited me a lot as well” said Jill. “I never told you the whole story about them. I was ready to end my life that night. I had stepped to the window preparing to jump, when they appeared and somehow pushed me back into my room, back into the world, and eventually, to you. You have helped me look up and catch a sunbeam, and I love you too.”

Tim held her close and they kissed. Jill felt her heart soar, free as never before.

In the spring Jill and Tim were married. They found the perfect house, with room for a special butterfly garden. As they moved the hutch from the living room of Jill’s apartment, a wafer thin shape fell to the floor. Jill picked it up, dropping it into her pocket. Now, that tiny piece sits in a gilded frame on the night stand beside their bed. It is the wing of a blue morpho butterfly.