The Butterfly, The Moth, and The Internets Other Rarities- Short Story from 2019

      The Butterfly, The Moth, and The Internets Other Rarities 

The models on my phone screen are butterflies. Social media grace, social butterflies. They pose in front of me with their perfect bodies and perfect teeth, and they float gracefully around my feed wearing frilly pink tops and skirts that hug every feminine curve. And I'll double tap every picture and envy every curve until my thoughts are broken by my mom opening my door. 

“Maddy, it's time for school!” 

So I get up, and I glance in the mirror, and I'll try to forget them. The butterflies. 

My mom waited in the heated car for me as I hustled down the stairs and out the door into the car. The radio was playing some dumb pop song that I couldn’t be bothered to listen to. 

“Good morning Maddy!” 

“Good morning mom!” 

“Did you have breakfast?” 

“Yes” 

A lie, a common one at that, and now the next question…

“What did you have?” 

“A poppy seed muffin and a cup of almond milk!” 

“Very good sounds nummy!” 

“Mhm!” 

It always felt wrong, at first, to lie to my mom about my eating habits. It was a pang of gross and subtle guilt, it felt like an inside itch. The way that it lingered there, was not obvious enough to make me squirm but not quite subtle enough for it not to bother me. You couldn't fix it, there was no relieving the feeling, so you sit there and let it simmer until it dies off completely. The air was crisp with the first taste of fall, as our little car winded down the streets of our little suburb. I leaned my head against the cool glass of the car, letting the fresh cold feeling rush over my forehead.  I watched as my mom pulled into my large frosted high school, kids chained their bikes as my mom pulled up directly to the front.

“We are here!” 

I lifted my head and shot my mom a pathetic smile.

“Thanks, mom.”

“Of course! Have a good day Madds.” 

I pulled my heavy bag over one shoulder and shut the door behind me. 

“You too mom.” 

And like that she was off, driving our little car over the hill and onto the main street, and I walked forward into our frosted high school and prepared my best smile for the world. 

My friends usually gather by the bleachers on the football field but I had a business that needed to be dealt with before I can go meet up with them. Starting with putting my things in my rickety blue locker. I quickly hustle up the stairs of the left-wing of our high school, scout out my number, put down my bag. My locker swings open with a creak and a thump as it smacked the locker beside me. And then I see it, the mirror. My second most powerful enemy, my most powerful being food. The mirror comes close though, two parts of me battle with the mirror. The part of me that wants to see what I look like and then the part of me that's too scared to know. 

“What if I look in the mirror and I don't like what looks back at me? What if it's ugly?” 

“You have to check or else you won't know.” 

“I don't want to be ugly.” 

“Yes but if you check you will know what to fix.” 

“I shouldn't have to fix anything, I don't want to know I have to fix something.” 

“But only you’d be the only one to know it had to be fixed.”

And I looked, and the questioning began, What can I fix? 

I brushed out my hair, wiped the extra melted mascara out from under my eye, reapplied the cherry red gloss. Fixed what I could at that moment… all I can fix at that moment. Part two of the routine, find Phillip Marchant in the library and give him my lunch.  Down the hall, into the library, nestled into a corner with other boys playing on their game consoles. 

“Maddie, what's for lunch today?” 

I unrolled the brown paper bag and glanced in. 

“An Italian sub, grapes, a yogurt drink, and… I think a snickerdoodle cookie?” 

I tossed over the paper bag, Phillip swiftly caught it.

“Your services are appreciated...are you sure you don't want me to pay you for this?” 

I pressed my lips.

“No, believe me, you’re doing me and my family a service.” 

“What do you mean, Maddy?” 

I felt my blood drain, a question that he never asked me, one that I had to answer on the spot, with little time to plan or script.

“I-well...I just prefer to eat hot lunch, but my mom insists on packing me a cold lunch, and it would break her heart if I asked her to stop packing food for me and I don't feel comfortable wasting it, so it's just better if you have it.” 

I didn't give myself time to see how he would react to what I told him before I rushed away, out the library, down the stairs, and onto the field, reunited with my friends. Thomas was sitting on the bleachers holding a thermos of what would probably be his usual “Constant Comment” tea, Brook sat quietly with her copy of “The Great Gatsby” next to her watching as Frank and Juliet push tiny, little, Lizzie around in the oversized football tire. I heard Lizzie’s content giggle. 

“Frank, please take me out!” 

“No can do Lizzie.” 

“Frank please! I swear I’m going to pee myself if you don't let me out!” 

“Okay, okay, fine!” 

The tire landed with a thump and Lizzie climbed out giggling and stumbling, dizzy from rolling around in the large tire. 

“Madds! You're here!”

Lizzie clumsily walked over to me and greeted me with a large hug. I couldn't help but giggle. 

“Hi Lizzie” 

Lizzie unwrapped her arms from around me, took a step back, smiled, and made her way over to Thomas and Brook, so me, Frank, and Juliet followed shortly behind her.  I found a place to sit, near Thomas and took it, being sure to look as calm and graceful as possible while doing so.  Frank greeted me with a soft “Hullo” and I responded with a smile. 

“You look nice” Juliet chimed. 

“Who? Me? Thank you!” 

Juliet nodded at me. 

“Where did you get your pants?” 

I thought back to it, where did I get the pants? Instagram? Yes, a model I follow was wearing them. And she tagged the brand...Soap Pop Shop, fall collection. 

“They came from Soap Pop Shop!” 

Juliet smiled, “I love that brand, the pants suit you!” 

I smiled and nodded.

“Thank you!” 

They looked better on the model. They always do. Beautiful people make beautiful clothes more beautiful. It, quite truthfully, felt like a waste of money, of my money that I worked hard for. I hate myself, I hate myself for not looking like them. Here they are again, the butterflies. 

Butterflies. 

Butterflies.

Butterflies.

I don't want to think about them anymore, so I pull out my phone and I look on Instagram and they are here too. More butterflies and Thomas interrupted my thoughts. 

“We should take a picture!” 

Brook looked over to me, then back to Thomas. 

“Why?” 

Thomas shrugged and put down his tea.

“I just want a picture of us together!” 

Frank pushed his hair out of his eyes and looked over to Lizzie. Lizzie nodded in response.

“Okay! Let's take a picture then!” 

The indigenous feared photos because of the belief that they stole souls. 

Like a photo taken apart of them with it, a part that can never be taken back, I fear photos for a different reason. You can never truly know how you look when you take them unless you take the photo yourself. And once the photo is taken it technically exists forever. Even if you deleted it, you can’t go back and fix how you look unless you go into photoshop and spend hours pushing in your waist and fixing the bricks behind you so that it looks like you have the perfect figure; Naturally, at that. 

I heard the shutter of the camera.

The photo was taken, and I hated it, of course. My jeans displayed the small roll of my stomach, a roll that I was told by many was perfectly natural but the comparison between me; a moth; and the butterflies always came through, despite my efforts to bite my tongue. 

“Can we retake the picture guys? My roll looks bad, I want to try and suck it in.” 

Lizzie looked at me and sighed. 

“Maddy, you look beautiful. Your roll is perfect. It’s not that big, it might as well not even exist.” 

I shot a quick glance at Brook, who looked annoyed and rolled her eyes. 

“Maddy-” she started.

“If you're really that worried about it you can edit it, do that or start working out, I'm sick of this, we aren't re-taking the picture.”

Julie pursed her lips.

“Brook…”

Thomas swallowed hard and avoided eye contact with me, Brook seemed cool, and almost apathetic to the words she said like she didn't care whether or not her words stung me. Julie looked at me with concern, and Frank and Lizzie looked at me with sad, worried faces. If the words didn’t sting enough their gaze did, it pierced my soul and sent a shiver down my spine. My throat felt dry as I spoke…

“I-I’m sorry. I think I’m going to go now; I’ll see you all later.” 

I made a swift turn on my heel, it started as a fast-paced walk, then, as I heard Julie run after me, it turned into a jog. I felt as Julie grabbed at my arm, her manicured nails with a coffee-colored gel nail polish paint wrapping around me with a firm grip. 

“Madds she didn’t mean it!”

I turned my body to her, trying to hold in the tears begging to stream down my warm face. 

“It’s fine, she’s right, thank you for your concern, but I’m fine.” 

I broke into a sprint in the other direction. The tears finally escaped my eyes, flowing freely only to be immediately soaked up by my cardigan sleeve. Call it fear or call it vanity. I felt as though time would collapse if I didn’t soak up those tears the second they left my eye, I didn’t want streaks of mascara ruining the clean smooth foundation I applied this morning. Tears ruined the facade, so I don’t let them run. I just entered my science class with wet sleeves, sniffling, out of breath, and 5 minutes too early. Mr. Fletcher was sitting at his desk unpeeling at clementine.

“Goodmorning Miss Maddison, how are you this morning?” 

The citrus scent hit me immediately. I felt a sudden wave of intense vertigo. My eyes watered and my body felt heavy. I sank into my seat.

“I’m fine...Mr. Fletcher” 

“Are you okay? You look pale.” 

“I’m fine, just got a bit dizzy, that’s all.”
“Well, that’s not good-” 

“What’s not good?” 

Mr. Fletcher furrowed his brow.

“That you're dizzy, Maddison.” 

I sighed. 

“Please just call me Maddy.” 

“Did you have breakfast this morning?” 

“Why would that be any of your business?”  

“I’m just trying to figure out why you’re dizzy.” 

I anxiously bit the inside of my cheek. 

“I’m sorry, I know you're only trying to help. I had breakfast, I had a Muffin and a glass of milk, I think I’m just dehydrated.” 

Mr. Fletcher crouched down to look at me.

“You seem upset.”

“I’m fine, I’m just stressed, and thirsty.” 

“Go get a drink of water, slowly, be careful!” 

I got out of my seat, slowly, settling myself back into my body. I wrapped myself up in my cardigan, it was cold, unbearably cold. I was always cold. But this was colder than usual. And I thought I was used to the cold, But this wasn’t a regular kind of cold, it felt like the ice baths I used to take when I did soccer, and my bones ached. It felt like an ice bath with Epson salt. But colder, so much colder. The water hit the bottom of my stomach and it stung but it also made me feel full. I didn’t mind water, water weight was easy; most of it went away when I peed. When I walked back I could feel it sloshing around. Like a hurricane in my body. Everything felt heightened. The water, the cold, the ache in my body. For a moment, I was scared, and I haven’t been scared of it since the beginning, but she comforted me. 

“Don’t back out of this.”

“But I’m scared.” 

“But you’re fine.” 

“I’m not fine, I’m starving, I’m cold. It feels like I’m dying.”

“But you’re so close.”

So I pressed on, by the time I got back to the classroom the bell was about to ring, and Mr. Fletcher’s Clementine was long gone, but the citrus scent still lingered in the air, and it felt like a kick to my gut. It was enough to almost make me unable to hold down the water. I don’t like admitting it to myself, but I missed food. I missed being able to hold it down, I miss the scent of it being comforting rather than making me feel so desperately uneasy. I missed fruit the most, especially mango. I missed the soft flesh and the sweet nectar that would run down my chin when I ate it messily after school. That nectar is the closest thing to ambrosia. 

I sat down in my chair and scrolled through Instagram, I always returned to the butterflies, always. The models on Instagram are both my distraction and my driving force, I feel so below them. They are bright and colorful, soaring, fluttering so high above me, above what I am. The average moth, dull and nocturnal, chewing through clothes, flying towards a light that will ultimately kill them, but hey; at least I can fly too, and maybe if I paint my wings bright and colorful, I can soar in the light with them too. 

“You’re looking much better Maddy, the blood has flown back to those cheeks.”

“I’m feeling much better.”

I lied, I was feeling much worse, I just put on more blush…

“That’s good Maddy.”

Mr. Fletcher knelt to my sitting height, the smell of clementines and mint gum.

“You know you can talk to me right? About anything that’s affecting you, teachers are safe, we are here to help.” 

“Good thing I don’t need help.” 

Thomas walked in right on time, his nose a bright red from the cold. He was cute, he’s always been cute, for about 3 years now he’s been cute. But that wouldn’t matter because he’s head over heels for Brook, and I mean, who wouldn’t be, it always comes down to the butterflies. Besides, I don’t have time for relationships with boys or friends or teachers or parents, because my life is in a constant state of cold and anxious biting and expectation and moths and her voice.

When Mr. Fletcher started the lecture he leaned in close, and the orange spice scent of the morning’s tea wafted into the air as he whispered. 

“I’m sorry about Brook this morning, we have been talking and I think she’s just stressed, I keep telling her nobody notices or cares but she-” 

“Thomas, Maddy, you two will be researching the Luna Moth!” 

I sneered.

“You're making us do a research project about a moth?” 

“Yes! Not just any moth, a Luna Moth, they are beautiful creatures!”

“I’ve never seen a pretty moth.” 

“I suppose it’s perspective, Maddison.” 

Thomas cocked his head to the side.

“Your full name is Maddison? You never told me.” 

“Okay, class go on and research.” 

Thomas and I pulled our laptops out in sync. 

“You pull up the doc and I'll start researching” 

“Yup!” 

Thomas started clacking away at his keyboard, his hazel eyes darting quickly around the screen. 

“Oh! They are really pretty!” 

I peered over to his computer. 

“Are you sure that’s not a butterfly?” 

“Nope! It’s the Luna Moth.” 

“They are really pretty-"

Spinning, my head rotated 160 degrees, or at least it felt like it. The water in my gut felt heavy, and the cold felt like a creeping death-

“Maddison! Are you alright?” 

“Yeah! I just need water.” 

I stood up, made it three steps. She whispered.

“You’re so close.” 

Three steps more. 

“Maybe you should just puke up the water, and chew half a stick of gum.” 

Two steps.

“Don’t you dare-”

One step more.

“It's okay Thomas, I’m fi-”

Blackness, The clash of my body against the science room's tile. My entire body fell into the salt bath and the clementines bobbled along the water, and just above the surface the butterflies fly, But they weren’t butterflies, they were silky green moths, that looked like butterflies, that soared through the moonlight. It wasn’t dead, but it was a slumber, and a pulse, and a reawakening, and it tasted like mango, and it sounded like Philips’s voice. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t see it fully, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

And it felt like mom’s blanket, weaved for me long before the butterflies.