Dad paid the admission fee at the zoo kiosk and I pushed through the door of the butterfly habitat. Holding back my excitement, I tried not to rush through the secondary door, scared I might disturb any insect resting on it. But when I entered, I had nothing to worry about. This sanctuary was nothing like the swarms I was used to, and I got a sinking feeling in my chest, remembering the miles of wildflowers along the freeway that attracted way more butterflies. But I had to admit there were a lot more variety here. The zoo housed an adequate amount of species, but the aviary seemed to have more people and plants than butterflies.
A small yellow butterfly flitted past me and landed on a birdbath scattered with cut fruit. I reached out to touch it and watched it fly up and land again.
I felt a hand on my shoulder and looked up at Dad who smiled. “I thought you’d like it here,” he said just as the yellow butterfly took off again. My eyes followed it to join a bunch of other butterflies lounging on purple fluff balls on long green stalks. They were different colors and sizes, more types than I could identify. Not all of them were native to this area.
I watched a giant blue one float by me, elegant and graceful. Blue swallowtails were my favorite. I felt a little envious as it landed on a teenage boy’s pant leg.
The boy’s eyes grew big and he froze. The butterfly remained, opening and closing its wings once like it was winking, then stayed closed.
“Get ‘em off me!” he scream. “Get ‘em off! Get ‘em off!”
The boy was right in front of me, backing up now. He had his arms up like he was protecting himself from a bully coming at him. His eyes were glued to the blue wings perched on his leg. Beads of sweat were running down his ashen face.
I couldn’t move, I didn’t understand. His terrified screams continued. Everyone in the sanctuary stood motionless.
Then Dad ran past me and shooed the creature off the boy. The boy tripped backwards and landed on his butt. As the heavenly demon fluttered up, the boy looked up at my dad like he’d saved him from a rattlesnake.
“I’ve got you,” Dad said. He offered him his hand and the boy took it and stood up. “Let’s get you a drink of water…”
A woman rushed over, dropping her purse, and put her arm around the boy. He jumped, and looked around him as if there hadn’t been any people in the room before.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine mom.”
She looked at the man and told him “Thanks, we’re fine.”
I stared as they walked past Dad and me.
“Why were you scared of a beautiful butterfly? Did you think it was going to bite you?” I heard the mom say.
I was thinking the same thing, but I saw the teenager’s shoulders slump and his eyes fall to his feet as he exited the door his mom held open. I heard the mom’s same words echoed by several people around me. More people started laughing. “What a weirdo.”
My stomach clenched. I felt claustrophobic and hot. I wanted to cry. I looked at Dad but he wasn’t paying attention to me, must not have heard the other people talking.
“Bonnie, look at this one,” he said, still looking away from me, now pointing to the brown butterfly on the red bud of Turk’s Cap. “It has little circles on both its wings so when it opens, it looks like eyes!”
I turned my attention to what he was pointing to. “I know that one!” I said. “It’s a buckeye!”
But when I got down on my knees to look at it, both wings folded back, I was staring at a miniature bat. Its buggy eyes stuck out of its head connected to a grotesque thorax. Is this little monster what the teenage boy saw on his leg?
* * *
The day was warm, a perfect picture of spring. The Bluebonnet Festival was held in Burnet every year in April, as the blooms were in full force in the Hill Country. I’d gone as a little girl with my Dad, and I could name all the planes in the air show. Dad could identify them just by their sound.
Now I was bringing my little boy Topher, only 6 years old. His favorite part was the car show, and he had wandered through the displays with Chris, both starry-eyed like kids on Christmas morning. Chris could have walked through the restored classics all day, but the air show was starting soon and I wanted a lemonade before making our way to the runway.
I stood in line for my drink while Chris took Topher to the carnival booths downfield. They had been playing catch yesterday, and I smiled to see Topher jumping up and down when he saw the Baseball Toss. Chris handed Topher a ball for the game. He wound up and threw the ball at the stack of bottles, but he missed by a foot. Chris handed him the next ball and patted him on the back. He missed again. When Chris handed Topher the next ball, Topher shook his head and thrust the ball back at his dad.
“Are you sure?” Chris asked. Topher nodded emphatically.
Chris had been the pitcher on his high school baseball team. He walked back a ways from where Topher stood. He looked both ways and wound up for the pitch. I rolled my eyes, knowing he was dramatizing it for Topher, but I too admired my baseball star.
As if shot from a cannon, the baseball cracked through the bottles, and Topher cheered. Chris sauntered over to his boy and they shared a fist bump.
“What would you like?” an irritated voice brought my attention back to the food truck where I had reach the front of the line. I ordered my lemonade and handed the grumpy lady my tickets in exchange for my drink.
I turned back to watching my boys and, as I started walking towards them, I saw the booth attendant hand over a giant Winnie the Pooh stuffed animal to Chris. The teddy bear was bigger than Topher, its face turned upward with a butterfly on his nose. Topher was holding out his arms, begging for his prize with grasping hands.
I took a swig of my lemonade.
Laughing, Chris passed Winnie the Pooh to Topher’s outstretched arms, but the bear bowled him over. He fell backwards, the body of the stuffed animal completely enveloping him. I laughed too, choking on my lemonade.
“Get him off me!” I heard. “Get him off!”
Sputtering, I dropped my drink and ran to the boy on the ground. He lay there on his back, his arms splayed out, not even trying to push Pooh off him. I grabbed the toy and flung it away. I clutched my boy to me and he started to cry.
“I got you,” I said, just like my dad.
A few passersby stared. One asked if he was okay.
Chris stood there, stunned. Winnie the Pooh lay on the ground, staring up at the fuzzy butterfly on his nose.
“I don’t know what happened,” Chris said quietly, kneeling down. “It’s just a stuffed animal. It wouldn’t have crushed him.”
A giant blue butterfly drifted in front of us, passed like a shadow, and meandered away. Sometimes we don’t need to understand; we just need to be understanding.
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