“We could find out that she’s happy,” he says. His face is very vague in the dark, but I can imagine his expression.
“OK,” I say.
Our trailers look so different, nestled silently in the dark grass. It’s as if they’re sleeping. They shine bright white when the beam from the flashlight hits them, and I think they want us to leave them to rest. Our paper streamers are hanging between them again and splashing faded color.
“Come on,” Blister says, and he takes my hand. He’s going to the fifth trailer, the one we never use. I pull him back slightly.
“It’s OK,” he says. “I’ve been in there on my own. It’s not so bad.”
The door sounds as if it hasn’t been opened in years. Inside, the smell of damp soaks into me. I swallow to try to get rid of it, but it just goes deeper.
Blister swings the flashlight around inside. The walls show where the tables and seats were once attached. The floor is warped and covered in grime. In the middle, there are things that Blister must have prepared.
“I read all about it,” he says, pulling me toward the black cloth in the center. “You OK?”
“I don’t know.” My voice sounds strange in this splintered dark. “I’ve heard this could be dangerous. That sometimes you call up spirits that won’t let you go.”
Blister sticks the flashlight into a mug so that it shines toward the ceiling.
“That won’t happen if I burn some sage first.” His voice shakes slightly.
“But what if the bad ones still come through?”
I stare at him. I want us to get out of here. But he’s done all this for me, because he wants me to find my mom. And I know that I want to find her too. My chest burns with the need to see her, to know she’s happy.
“Your mom is a good spirit. She’ll make sure the others won’t hurt us.”
Blister picks up a packet of matches and there’s a fizz as he lights one. He picks up some dried green stems and holds the match to it.
The flame catches on a leaf, but it disappears quickly. Blister lights another match and holds it for longer. The leaf fries up before the big, yellow flame shrinks to nothing. Yet it’s enough. A thick line of smoke flows steadily to the ceiling. The burning green smell settles on my tongue.
“I’m supposed to say something,” Blister says, letting the ash drop to the floor.
“Like what?”
“About the spirits.”
“Say it, then.”
“Promise you won’t laugh?”
“I promise.”
Blister coughs slightly. “We welcome only good spirits,” he says, all serious, and I try to stop myself but I’m nervous and the laugh just pops out of my mouth.
“You said you wouldn’t,” he says, looking embarrassed.
“I’m sorry.” I’m trying to stop. I take a deep breath and wipe my eyes. “OK. I’m OK now. You can start again.”
Blister raises an eyebrow at me, one dimple sinking in slightly.
“We welcome only good spirits. Bad spirits, be banished.”
I can’t hold it in. The laugh splutters out of me.
“June!” But Blister is laughing too. So much that he topples to the side. My stomach is creased with pain, but I love it. I can’t breathe and I never want it to stop.
In the upward flashlight, Blister and I laugh with our arms tight across our stomachs, waiting for the wave to pass. When it does, sadness comes in out of nowhere and sits heavy on my skin.
“Do you think she’ll come?” I ask quietly.
“I don’t know.” Blister looks like he wants it to happen. “I don’t think you’ll hear her voice, not like you remember it.”
“I don’t remember it,” I say, and Blister shakes his head sadly.
“She might show us a sign, though, that she’s here with you.”
I nod, not taking my eyes from him. I believe he can do this for me.
“We have to put this under here.” He picks up a coin from the middle of the cloth in the middle of the floor and puts it under an upturned glass. “It’s from the year she was born.” He pushes up his glasses on his nose. “I worked it out.”
“That’s good.”
“Hang on.” He takes the coin out from under the glass. “You have to kiss it first.”
I feel the tips of his fingers as he passes the coin to me. I hold it to my lips and close my eyes. It’s cold, as my mom’s skin must have been.
Blister places it back under the glass.
“Ready?” he asks.
“Yes.”
“We both have to put our index fingers on the glass.” I do as he tells me. This time, I don’t giggle. I don’t want to. I don’t want anything to stop my mom from coming to me.
“We call on Loretta. Make yourself known to us.”
I stare at Blister’s face, shining in the dark.
“Shall I say it with you?” I whisper, and he nods.
We repeat the words, over and over, our voices creeping to the corners of the trailer, getting caught under the ruined floor.
We stare at the glass. Nothing is happening.
Please come, Mom.
Our words mix with the sage ash and rattle up against the windows.
Please come, Mom. I need you. I need you to tell me how to escape.
The coin clinks against the side of the glass.
Blister and I stop chanting and stare at each other. We don’t move.
“Did you do that?” I ask him.
“I don’t think so,” he says.
“Mom?” I whisper. I close my eyes.
And I’m sure I hear her. She says my name. It’s her voice. I feel her hand on my cheek.
“I’m proud of you, June.”
The trailer smells of her, the sweet smell of her perfume.
“Mom,” I say, but I can’t say anymore.
“I’m sorry I left you.”
Her smell begins to fade.
“I love you, June.”
And she’s gone.
Blister is looking at me.
“What happened?” he asks.
“I think she was here.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes.” I smile. He looks so proud.
“What did she say?”
“That she loves me.”
“Of course she does.” Blister leans over and hugs me tight. It’s him that’s everywhere now. “She always will.”
The darkness suddenly creeps back. Maybe this is the trailer where the man strangled his wife. And we’re here, alone, and no one knows where we are.
“I’m scared,” I whisper.
“Me too. Do you want to go?”
“Yes.”
The mug tips over when Blister picks the flashlight from it. It falls softly, but it’s enough to make us grab each other’s arms and run.
We’re out of breath when we get to our bikes. I don’t like the sound of us here in the night air. Anyone could hear us. Anyone could get us.
“I’ll bike back with you,” Blister says, pressing his bike-light on.
“But then you’ll have to go back on your own.” It’s too dark and he’s scared.
“I’ll be OK. I biked to get you.”
“But it’s different now.”
It is. The darkness has an edge to it.
“Let’s go,” Blister says, and I follow him and his shaky line of light.
Back on the road, we bike faster. It’s freezing on my face. I look straight ahead, following Blister’s back. I don’t want to know what’s on either side of me in the thick air.
I can hear Blister’s breath. He wants to get home too.
We don’t talk until we’re near my house and I see him in the distance, in the doorway. My dad. He’s got his coat on. Blister and I stop.
“Turn your light off,” I whisper. We watch as my dad goes back inside and then comes out again.
“He’s looking for you.”
“Yes.”
“Shall I come with you?”
“OK.”
“I think you should go now.” If my dad bans me from seeing Blister, I’ll die.
“Only if you promise that you’ll go straight in. You won’t go anywhere else.”
“I promise.”
“All right.”
“Thank you, Blister.” He knows what I mean. For everything.
He turns his bike around so silently and there’s just the sound of his pedals going around. I watch as the black creeps up on him and brushes him away.
I bike forward and into the light from the house. My dad sees me and runs out.
“June!” He doesn’t sound angry. He holds me too tight. “Where were you?”
“I went for a ride,” I tell him. He takes my bike and I wait for him as he puts it back against the side of the house.
I follow him and watch him go into the kitchen.
“She’s here,” he says into the room.
“Thank God.” It’s Kathleen. She comes out and her skin looks even whiter and her eyes are rubbed red. “Oh, June,” she says, and she tries to hug me, but I leave my arms hanging by my side. “I was so worried.” She’s trying to cry.
My dad closes the front door and leads us all into the living room. They’re being quiet. Megan must still be asleep. And they wouldn’t want to wake precious Megan.
“Where did you go?” Kathleen asks, her hand on my arm. I move myself away and she looks hurt.
“Kath went to check on you, but you weren’t there,” Dad says. “She said that you wet your bed, June.” He looks awkward. “Is that why you ran away?”
“I didn’t run away. I went for a ride.”
“In the middle of the night?” Kathleen sounds pained.
“Yes.”
“You should have woken me,” my dad says. “We could have changed the sheets.”
I turn to him and speak slowly enough for him to understand. Slowly enough for him to hear the words I can’t say.
“I didn’t wet the bed.”
“June, I saw the sheet,” my dad says. “I felt the mattress.”
“It might be a bladder infection,” Kathleen says. “We could take you to the doctor?”
“I didn’t wet the bed.”
“I bet it happens to a lot of teenage girls.” My dad glances at Kathleen for reassurance.
“Someone poured water on my bed,” I say in one breath, before my mind can catch up.
“June, you don’t have to be ashamed,” my dad says.
“They poured water all over my bed.”
Kathleen looks genuinely shocked. Even I almost believe her.
“Who would do that?” she asks, looking at my dad.
“You,” I say. “Megan.”
“June, you’re being ridiculous now,” my dad says.
“They did,” I tell him. And so much more, Dad. Can’t you see? Believe me on this and I’ll tell you everything.
“Why would they do that?”
“Because they hate me.”
“Don’t be stupid,” my dad says as Kathleen shakes her head sadly, her eyes wide and innocent and loving.
“It’s true.” Inside, I’m terrified. My paper butterflies are filling me up, beating hard against each other.
“I’ve had enough of this, June.”
My dad is angry, but he’s angry with me.
Please, Dad.
“They’ve done nothing but love you, June. And, quite frankly, I’m surprised that they keep trying.”
I feel the butterflies’ wings burning. The pain is overwhelming. I’ve told him, just the beginning, but he doesn’t want to hear.
“Of course we keep trying, Bradley,” I hear Kathleen say. “We love her. We’ll never give up.”
“Well, it’s the middle of the night and I’ve got work tomorrow,” my dad says. “June, I’m too tired and angry to be with you right now.”
“I’ll help make your bed,” Kathleen tells me gently. “I can put down a blanket over the mattress, with a fresh sheet on top. It’ll be fine.”
Dad leans over and gives her a kiss. I have to get away from them.
“I’ll do it myself,” I say before I push past them and run up the stairs. I’m as loud as I can be. I want Megan woken up. I slam my door hard, grab my duvet and curl up against the wall.
Inside me, paper wings are still burning.
After
“I felt so angry inside,” I tell Mickey. “It was just building up and up.” We’ve sat to rest on a wall. Light rain falls on us, but I like the feel of it on my skin. I want it to wash the bad feelings away. “And at school I tried to tell the teachers what the other kids were doing, but they wouldn’t listen. All they saw was me getting angry and they punished me for that.”
“Life’s unfair at times,” Mickey says, her words scraping the air. “But you mustn’t let the bad weigh your life down. Try to fill the other side of the scales with good things.”
“Sometimes it’s hard,” I say.
“It’s important, June. Are you listening to me properly?” Mickey asks earnestly.
“Yes,” I tell her.
“Your life is precious. Every day that you’re on earth is precious. You have a place. You’re wanted.”
I want to believe her. I need to take her words and stick them all over my skin and keep them safe there, so I never forget.
“And if you face every day with hope, then you’ve already won,” Mickey says.
Hope. Like a bird, it flies too high above me.
“What if I don’t know what to hope for anymore?” I ask quietly.
Mickey takes my hand in hers. “Perhaps hope on its own is enough.”
Before
fifteen years old
Blister and I lie on our backs, our feet tucked into the same bucket of water. I can feel his ankles against mine.
“What’s that round, bumpy bone on my foot?” I ask. “The one that’s pressing into yours?”
“This one?” He lifts out his foot and drops of water spill all over us.
“Yes.”
“It’s the medial malleolus.”
“You know too much for a fifteen-year-old,” I say. I watch the edge of a cloud creeping toward the sun.
“You asked,” he laughs.
“You shouldn’t have known.”
I feel him move beside me and suddenly water splashes down all over my face.
I hardly have time to sit up before Blister is cupping more water and chucking it at me.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” I say dramatically. “Not when I’m such a great aim.” I duck my hand into the cold and splash at him, but miss completely.
Blister laughs, dancing around in front of me.
“Not so good.”
So I pick up the bucket. It’s heavy and the water sloshes.
“No!” Blister says, backing away.
“Yes,” I say, stumbling after him. I lift it onto my shoulder and chase him through the grass. He’s not running fast and I throw the water at him and it tumbles down his back. He stops and turns to me, his arms straight out to the side, like a scarecrow.
“You were saying?” I taunt him. His hair is wet too.
“I was saying what a brilliant aim you are.”
Blister takes off his T-shirt and wrings it out. Water drips onto the grass. He’s squeezing the material in his hands, so he doesn’t see me staring at him, at his broad shoulders and his muscles that run in lines down his arms.
He looks up. “What?” he asks, his head on one side.
“Nothing.” I look away.
“Your top is wet too.”
“I won’t be taking mine off.”
The air around us suddenly turns sharp.
“How long are we going to stand like this?” Blister asks.
“I don’t know.”
He’s looking at me, as though he knows something is different too.
I walk away toward our kit
chen.
When I’m inside, it’s a little bit cooler. The elm tree overhangs it and keeps the sun off its roof. It’s the only trailer that’s not an oven at this time of day.
Blister comes to help me cut open the oranges. I push them onto the squeezer and twist out the juice. We make enough for a small glass to share.
We sit on the step, side by side, our legs touching. That feeling is still there, so strange that it sort of numbs my brain.
“What did you do, then?” Blister asks. “To get suspended this time?”
“I threw a table at Ryan.”
“You picked up a table?”
“I wanted to. But it was more like I tipped it up and shoved it. Someone called Sam kind of got caught in the crossfire.”
“Did he get hurt?” Blister asks. I can’t tell what he’s thinking. Whether he’s angry with me, or sad.
“A bit.”
“June.” He sounds so disappointed.
“I didn’t mean to.” And it’s honestly the bit I feel bad about. I didn’t want to hurt Sam. “I think I might’ve broken his toes.”
Blister goes very quiet. I wish he’d shout at me, tell me I’ve let him down. This silence hurts more. I’m scared he’s going to get up and walk away.
I stare at the tiny paper table hanging from our art-room doorway. From here, I can barely see the paper plates and cups we stuck on last summer. We kept dropping them and having to search for them in the long grass.
“You need to talk to someone, June. You’ve got to tell a teacher how bad things have gotten with Ryan and the others.”
“I’ve told you, I’ve tried.”
“You have to try harder. And tell them how Kathleen treats you at home.”
“They’ll never believe me.”
“They will. If you tell them the truth.”
Oh, Blister, I haven’t even been able to tell you the whole truth.
“OK. I’ll try,” I say, just to move the conversation away from here. Blister nods his head and looks back at his hands, clasped together on his knees. He moves his thumbs, one on top of the other, over and over. “What shall we do today?” I ask. Blister shrugs, still staring at his hands. “Let’s bike somewhere we’ve never been.”
“That’s loads of places,” Blister says, and he stretches his legs out as far as he can.
“Left or right?” I ask.
What do you mean?”
Paper Butterflies Page 9