by J. L. White
The body of the dragonfly has started to fleck around the edges, but the outstretched wings are still iridescent blues, purples, and greens, made of cracked glass. My fingers run over the ridged surface of each wing, just like I did when I was a little girl and the box still belonged to my grandmother.
“Have I ever showed you a picture of her?”
He shakes his head and I open the lid. The pleasant smell of old wood greets me like a familiar friend. The lavender satchel in here lost its scent long ago, though. Inside the box is a small stack of photos, a few pieces of her jewelry including the dragonfly broach, her big, broad-rimmed purple hat with the red feather, and the seashell I added to the box after she died. My first sketchbook, which she gave me, is in here too, underneath everything else. I don’t flip through it much anymore. Even though I have an eye for design that really took off once I went digital, it’s painfully obvious how rough my drawing skills were back then. I keep it in spite of this because even though it’s my book, it’s as much about my grandma as everything else in the box. She somehow knew what drawing could become for me: a healthy way out.
I turn to the stack of photos and pick up the one on top. It’s of my mother, my grandmother, and me when I was about thirteen. We’re standing in front of the rose bushes in Grandma’s backyard. My mother is in tight jeans and a snug, low-cut top. Her boobs look ready to bust out of prison any second. Those were her big hair days. So, yeah, she definitely fits the mold. My grandmother is in the middle. Short. Heavy-set. Smiling. She has an arm around each one of us. I’m the scrawny, pre-pubescent girl next to her. My hair was long back then, past my shoulders. It’s not a great picture of me, but it’s one of my favorites of my grandmother. It was taken after we moved in with her, not long after my mom’s second divorce. My dad was still in prison then.
I hand the photo to Jack. He takes it and smiles. “Look how cute you are.”
“Cut it out.”
“Seriously. That’s adorable.” He’s holding it up, his elbow resting on his knee, and looking between me and the picture.
I roll my eyes.
He winks at me and goes back to examining the photo. “This is nothing how I pictured your grandmother. She looks way too normal.”
I laugh. “What’s that mean?”
“You know, the way you describe her she seems larger than life.” I smile, pleased that Jack has the proper picture of her. She was larger than life. “I imagined her kinda... funky and hip.” He lowers the photo and notices what else is in the box. “Like that hat! I can totally see her wearing that.”
I grab the stack of photos still in the box and hand it to him. “There’s a picture of her in there with her hat ladies.”
As he starts flipping through the photos, I pick up the dragonfly broach. It’s made of colored glass and brass and is a huge gaudy thing. I’d wear it if it didn’t practically scream “grandmother’s jewelry.” But I pull it out and look at it often enough. The dragonfly on the lid and the broach are kind of my symbols for my grandmother. And myself. Thanks to her.
Holding it in both hands, I run my thumbs over the wings. Unlike the wings on the lid of the box, these are smooth and feel substantial in my hands.
“When I was about fourteen,” I say, impulsively beginning a story I’ve never once shared with another soul—not even my Firework Girls even though they’ve all seen the box and know about my grandmother—“I was in trouble with my mom again. This time for sneaking out of the house in the middle of the night.”
I’m still running my thumbs over the dragonfly’s wings. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Jack pause his picture-flipping to watch me.
“I was in the den by myself, pouting. I thought I was pouting because of being grounded for two months, or whatever the fuck she’d said. But it was really everything, you know? Everything that was going on back then.”
I glance at him and he nods. He knows.
“So my grandmother comes in and I kind of scowl at her too, because I was just being a brat and mad and, you know...”
“Being you,” he says, giving me a wink.
I make a face at him, but smile. “Yeah. But, you know, the hurt and angry, teenaged version. So she comes in and starts talking to me about this pin she’s wearing.” I lift it by the dragonfly’s body and turn it in my fingers. “At first, I thought she was being really random, you know. Like, why did I care about her stupid pin?” I lower it to my lap again, still not sure why I’m telling Jack this story, but it feels nice to tell him. “But grandma, you know. She had this way. If she wanted me to listen to something, she could do it. It was the tone of her voice, I think. I could tell if she had something important to say and I’d start listening. On the inside, you know?”
I shrug. I can’t really explain my grandmother.
“Anyway, so she tells me this cool story about the myth of the dragonfly. They used to be dragons, thousands of years ago. They represent change, growth, and power.” The weight of this particular memory settles on me. It was long ago, but it was one of those things that’s stuck with me. I clearly remember my grandmother telling me the story, just like this. I look Jack in the eye, just like she looked at me all those years ago. He’s still and quiet and listening, just as I had been. “But the change they represent isn’t the kind of change you see on the outside, even though they did change a lot. And the power they represent isn’t the kind of physical power they had when they were dragons. They represent change of self,”—I remember my grandmother touching my heart right then—“and power of mind.” I can still feel her tapping my temple lightly, winking at me.
Things no one can take from you, she’d said.
“Do you know these little guys can fly in any direction?” I say. “Up, down, forward, to the side. Even fucking backwards. They’re pretty bad ass.” Jack grins. “They can hover like a hummingbird, but their wings only flap thirty times a second, instead of seventy or something for a hummingbird. I don’t remember the numbers exactly, but you get the idea. The point,” I say, holding his eyes, “is they have ease in their power.”
A grin spreads across Jack’s face. He nods, like he gets it. It took me a few more years to really get it, after I first heard it, but my grandmother’s dragonfly story marked the beginning of something new for me. That was when it first occurred to me that I could escape everything I’d been through, and that she could be the one to help me do it. And she was.
“The best part about dragonflies is they fly over the surface of the water, where everything’s bright, without letting the deep, dark currents of their past touch them.” Jack’s expression grows more serious then. “Or hold them down,” I say.
“Yeah,” he says quietly.
Somehow, I still don’t know how, my grandmother helped me feel that for myself. It took her a while, but those years we lived with her changed me. I take a deep breath and smile, not really feeling the need to linger on the heaviness of everything. “Dragonflies have short lives,” I say, “only a few months, so they live in the now.”
Jack smiles too, following my lead. “Not a bad plan,” he says.
I nod. “Damn right. There will always be people who say living in the now is short-sighted and foolish,” I say, echoing my grandmother’s words, “but it’s not.” And the seriousness comes back without me meaning it to. “Because only in the now can we be present enough to know who we are. And only when we know who we really are can we make choices that are good for us without bumping into other dragonflies in the process.”
I still remember how my grandmother said that, leaning forward and looking into my eyes. No need to tear off our own wings in the process, she’d said.
I was doing a whole hell of a lot of wing tearing those days, not just my own either.
Jack gives me a thoughtful look.
“I know this sounds corny or whatever,” I say, smiling and shrugging, “but it’s a cool idea. When dragonflies took on their true form, they gained unique beauty and effortless power.
”
“Leaving all that muck under the water.”
“Exactly.”
I smile and shrug, putting the dragonfly back in the box. “So that’s kind of how it all started. You know, her helping me turn things around. She helped me see I didn’t have to be my mother. Or my father. Or anyone. I could just be me and that’s more than good enough. It’s awesome.”
Jack grins his big goofy grin and puts my grandmother’s hat on his head.
“Be the dragonfly, and all that,” he says nodding, the feather bobbing up and down. I laugh. This guy’s a dragonfly himself, which is probably why I like him.
I dig into the box, pulling out my grandmother’s big clip-on earrings. They’re gold medallions with huge pear-shaped faux pearls dangling down. I reach over to clip one on his ear and he holds still. I attach first one, then the other, and sit back to take him in.
He touches the earrings with both hands, then puts on a mock serious expression, jutting his chin into the air and striking a pose.
I laugh and start to pull out my phone so I can take a picture. “You’re so pretty!”
He smiles, then catches sight of my phone.
“Oh no, you don’t!” he yanks off the earrings too quickly and yelps.
“Wait!” I say. “Just one!”
He flips off the hat and drops it in the box, scrambling to his feet.
“Come on, Instagram will love you!”
“Get away from me, woman!” he says, leaping over the box and darting away as the flowered scarf flutters to the floor.
Chapter 9
Sam
Ashley and Chloe are actually both here in the state at the same time, instead of off travelling somewhere, so everyone’s over at my place for a girls’ night. We spent the day shopping and getting pedis, and just finished dinner at El Toro. That’s not stopping us from sitting around the kitchen island and digging into my collection of little Haagen Dazs containers. I bought them over a week ago, but I still have plenty, what with Jack being gone.
Stupid Spain.
Stupid Jack.
He finally got around to returning my texts and has kind of kept in touch. Every few days, I guess. I mean, it’s fine. He’s on vacation with his little woman and probably doesn’t have time to text all day. Whatever. It’s fine.
He’s been there almost two whole weeks and I guess he would stay there fucking forever if he and Emily didn’t have client meetings coming up and, you know, actual fucking work to do. He’s been really vague about exactly when they’re coming home, though. Hell if I know why. I haven’t heard from him in a couple days. Whatever.
I take a bite of salted caramel gelato and listen as Chloe tells us about her and Grayson’s upcoming travel itinerary. The website and YouTube channel they run together continues to rake in the dough, so they’ve got plenty of money to travel on.
Like Jack, I guess.
Stupid Jack.
When Chloe and Grayson first got engaged, she hinted that their busy schedule was keeping them from setting a date. But I think she’s full of crap. I impulsively decide it’s time to find out what’s what.
“So why haven’t you two set a date yet?” I ask her.
Chloe looks startled.
“Geez, Sam,” Isabella says, rolling her eyes.
“What?” I ask. Chloe’s looking down at her engagement ring. She’s fiddling with it and wearing an uncomfortable expression. I can see she needs to talk about it. I think we need to stop tiptoeing around the topic. “You guys have been engaged for, like, two months now. What’s the deal?”
She sighs and puts her spoon on the counter. Isabella, Ashley, and I all lean in slightly, waiting.
“Well,” she starts. She gives us a sheepish look. “I’m kind of afraid to send out invitations.”
“Ahhh,” Ashley says, and we all sit back at once.
Well, that makes sense. Chloe’s first fiancé called things off after they sent out like a billion invites, so I can see why she’d be hesitant. I once saw that asshole and the little hussy he’d been cheating on Chloe with at the grocery store. This wasn’t long after he broke Chloe’s heart, so I was still pretty pissed. Jack and I had been brainstorming revenge tactics, but I took my opportunity while I had it. I got out of the store before they saw me, found his car in the parking lot, and let the air out of all the tires. It was juvenile and not near as rotten as what he deserved, but it was satisfying anyway. I never mentioned it to Chloe, but Jack rewarded me with a fist bump when I told him.
I don’t think I’d be keen to send out invitations either, if I were in Chloe’s shoes. “So just elope then,” I say, shrugging. Easy enough.
“No,” Chloe says. “I still want the wedding. I guess I’m just being a little gun shy about it.”
Isabella gives her a thoughtful look. “Are you having doubts about marrying Grayson?”
“God, no,” and her face takes on a glow. “No, he’s amazing. Wonderful. I love him so much.”
“I’m going to puke,” I say.
“No,” Chloe continues, smiling at me and not missing a beat. “I already feel like I know we’ll be together the rest of our lives, you know? I mean, you guys know what that feels like, right? To feel like you belong to someone?”
My heart starts thumping in this thick, agitated way.
I don’t know why.
Stupid Spain.
Stupid Jack.
My phone rings at that exact moment, and it’s Jack’s ringtone.
My heart’s still pumping hard. I think I’m just feeling badly for Chloe.
“Hey stranger,” I answer lightly. I might be irritated with him, but I’m still glad to talk to him.
“Hey you,” he says. Wow. It’s really good to hear his voice. “You home?”
“Yeah. The girls and I are eating ice cream without you. Sucker.”
“Good to know.”
Chloe grins, and Isabella hollers, “Hi Jack!”
“What’s up?” I ask him.
“I just wanted to make sure you’re home.”
I suddenly realize why. “Are you back?”
The girls all straighten at this potentially good news, grinning and looking at me. My heart’s really pumping. God, I feel really weird.
“Yeah,” he says. “Can I stop by?”
“Why the fuck are you even asking?” I ask. I’m teasing, but not. Just get over here already.
“I don’t know. I just wanted to make sure you’re home.”
Since when does he check? “Stop being weird,” I say. “And you’d better hurry up if you want any ice cream. It’s almost gone.”
Isabella once asked me why Jack and I never hug.
I thought that was a really stupid question, until I thought about it.
I didn’t realize it before, but we kinda don’t. When he comes over, he’ll hug and kiss all over the other girls, sure. But he and I will fist bump, or he’ll jolt the tickle spot on my side like a big jerk, or we’ll just kind of fall into each other’s presence. I don’t know. We don’t need to hug, I guess.
“Why would I want to hug a dork like Jack?” I’d answered, teasing. Isabella just laughed and didn’t push it. I didn’t give it any more thought either.
Well, seeing Jack walk through my front door now, I feel like running up to him and giving him a big, big, big hug. It’s a weird sensation. I don’t get the chance to find out if I would’ve actually done it though, because in the next second, who should come through the door with him but a woman I can only assume is named Emily.
Well, the girls fall all over themselves with introductions and slyly examining Jack’s new specimen. I’m doing a little examining of my own. He spent weeks in Spain with this woman and hasn’t dumped her yet? What’s the deal with this...
Um...
Okay, not a bimbo, I have to admit. She’s in jeans and a cute, casual shirt and looks normal enough. Tall. Pretty.
I don’t like her.
Why is she here? Why didn’t Jack say
he was bringing her?
“Hey Sam,” he says, but he’s not looking at me. As for Jack, Spain’s been really good to him. He’s tan and... has he been working out? I guess he looks like he always does, but for some reason I’m noticing the muscles in his arms and his chest. Must be the snug tee he’s wearing that’s drawing so much attention to his really pretty amazing-looking pecs. “Uh, this is Emily,” he says.
“Come on in,” I say, trying to catch my feet. I don’t know why I feel so thrown off. “There’s ice cream in the kitchen, if you want some.”
“Oh, thanks,” she says, smiling right at me.
God, her voice is grating. Why are the girls all grinning ear to ear?
“We just had dinner though,” she says, putting a hand on her stomach. “I’m stuffed.”
Lightweight.
Jack’s arm is around her waist and hers is around his. We’re all just kind of standing around looking at each other—not that Jack will look at me—and my girls will not stop smiling at Emily.
I roll my eyes. “Well, have a seat, everyone.”
That gets everyone moving. Why is everyone acting so weird? It’s not like we’ve never met one of Jack’s girls before. Not that I’ve ever met one here.
Which I’m kind of not happy about. Don’t ask me why.
But I’m sure it won’t be the last time I meet some chick he’s dating.
Okay, yeah, this one’s lasted awhile. But...
I frown.
Why has this one stuck around so long?
I sink into a chair and pull my feet up, folding my arms against my chest. Isabella starts asking Emily questions about herself, trying to get to know her, I guess.
Jack and Emily settle on one end of the couch. She leans against him and he hangs his arm over her shoulders, his hand hanging down. As Emily starts talking about what she does for work, Jack finally looks at me.
My heart starts pounding in this irritating way as we just look at one another. What’s he doing? Why hasn’t he been texting me?
He gives me a tentative smile and I feel pulled back into his orbit. I scrunch up my face at him. He kind of chuckles.