When The Butterflies Come

by Rosemary Ness Bitner

  David did not shower that morning. Amid the scents of digesting bacon and whiskey, the huge canine detected something different. Coyotes and wolves can smell opportunity from miles away; only one molecule in a million needs to touch their scent receptors. The lobo detected a hint of internal decay. His nose informed him the older human was in the early stages of internal organ distress. David’s renal functions were declining and, if left untreated, he would succumb as urine failed to process and gradually poison him. This condition was unbeknownst to David, but the lobo knew.

  When an animal’s organs begin to fail, its body tries to rid itself of poisonous wastes by secretions through the pores of its skin. The lobo instinctively knew if he tracked the smell of this afflicted animal long enough its scent would eventually lead him to its carcass. When the two hunters drove back to Plaintown in their rented car, they kept the windows down to enjoy the rushing breeze of the cool high plains air. Many miles behind them, following patiently and occasionally stopping to scent the air, trotted the huge lobo.

  PEACHY

  David wasn’t about to give up on Bob. Marvin taught him, if he taught him anything, that to be successful in any endeavor he needed to be persistent. Marvin succeeded in building the UGGA’s advisory business by cultivating the opinion leaders of all Plaintown’s temples. Marvin succeeded in cultivating the Plaintown’s union pension plan business by being persistent, going to their meetings, championing their causes, coaching them on political initiatives to gain greater influence in the city, and ultimately sharing Susan with their leadership. His mantra was “The recipe for success in anything is to do whatever it takes.” His parental mentoring was the guiding principal for David, in business and in life.

  For a time, David rationalized Bob’s rejection. He’s just immature or from such an uncultivated childhood that he simply doesn’t know the pleasures of homosexuality exist. Likely in his childhood he never had a single homosexual encounter. Likely he’s never even known anyone who is a homosexual. No wonder he rejects my advances. He didn’t experiment in childhood like I did with Hirsh. He only knows the pleasures of women. The poor man doesn’t know what he’s missing. Of course! That had to be the reason for Bob’s rebuff. He just didn’t have any idea how great it was to suck another man’s cock or to have a penis thrusting into his ass. The solution was, as Marvin always said it was, to be patient and persistent.

  David decided to nudge Bob’s perspective by degrees. If he would make himself appear to look more like a woman, perhaps the transition to homosexuality would be more palatable for Bob. No matter how idiotic this idea might seem to a heterosexual male, to David the idea struck as a spark of genius. He decided to go ‘girl’ for Bob. Heedless of Bob’s admitted attraction to the opposite sex, David endeavored to make himself more appealing to the younger man by appearing to be a woman. Never in this rush of inspired thought did he consider what he would look like as a pretend woman compared to the physical attractions of a Marty or a Barbara, both stunning femme fatales. Undaunted by logic or common sense, he reasoned he could persuade, persist, and prevail.

  It was on a Friday afternoon, about two weeks after their foiled antelope hunt, that Bob got the call from David.

  “Hello there. I thought we’d get together for drinks after work today. I have some ideas I’d like to discuss with you. How’s your schedule?”

  “My schedule’s open. When do you want to go?”

  “Actually, I thought instead of going to the club you could meet me in the Cowboy Hotel. I’d like you to come pick me up in the hotel barber shop, and then we could go to a place I like from there and in your car.”

  “Okay, fine by me. What time should I pick you up?”

  “Let’s say three o’clock. I should be finished by then.”

  Bob, ever the dutiful junior partner, arrived promptly at the Cowboy’s barber shop at three. David was just getting into the barber chair, as his appointment started at three. As Bob opened an outdoor hunting magazine and began to read, David began his transformation. First, he instructed the barber to straighten his hair and then curl it on the ends, layering it along the sides so it fell softly away from his face. Then two women appeared, one a manicurist and the other a pedicurist. David placed his hands upon the arms of the massive barber chair’s leather arms and put his feet on the expandable foot bench. The pedicurist removed his shoes and socks and washed his feet over a bucket filled with warm water. The manicurist washed his hands and rubbed his palms and fingers with her proprietary lotions. After his hands and feet were thoroughly cleansed, the women went to work sculpting David’s nails.

  He instructed the barber to put curlers in his hair and perm it so the curls he created would stay in place. The manicurist and pedicurist applied a peachy pink nail polish, near David’s skin tone but a slight shade pinker. The women then applied a coat of clear shiny lacquer finish over all ten of his nails. Bob sat and observed David’s makeover which took an entire hour in the chair. David looked approvingly in the barber’s mirrors at the man’s handiwork, then carefully examined each one of his toenails and fingernails. His three attendants stood by awaiting his approval.

  “Nice job,” David complimented them. “I feel like a whole new person. In fact, I believe you three experts have made me look better than a lot of women I’ve seen.” He lavished them with double their normal tips, which was not his usual practice. After he got up from the barber chair, he put on his suit jacket. He was wearing a suit Bob hadn’t seen before, a peach-colored linen and silk blend of unusual and stunning fabric, and obviously very expensive. It was a suit a man might wear to a summertime outdoor party to celebrate the running of the Preakness horse race at a social gala attended by gentlemen with their ladies attired in fancy hats and elegant dresses. Bob noticed David also wore a new pair of white spats. They closely resembled what a woman might wear for a formal occasion.

  “Well, Bob, how do I look?” David asked, seeking approval.

  Bob stared at his mentor, his lips clenched and his smile drawn back tightly. He bobbed his head up and down slightly, a motion that confirmed he knew David was really nuts. He summoned his best comportment to not burst into laughter or blurt out, “You look like an oversized, fucked-up duck!” Instead, with utmost discretion, Bob stated most soberly, “You look just fine, David. That suit becomes you.” He couldn’t bring himself to compliment David’s hair or nails. That, Bob correctly intuited, could invite an unwanted advance.

  “Great. Thank you for picking me up.” David and Bob climbed into Bob’s new Cadillac and David directed him to drive a few miles east of the downtown area to a special watering hole called The Others’ Place. Once inside, Bob’s eyes became accustomed to the dim lighting. David looked at him to gauge his reaction. Initially, Bob just stood poker-faced, taking in the scene. There were men everywhere and no women, at least none that David could see. There were men hugging and kissing other men, all dressed in an eclectic mix. Some wore normal business attire, likely lawyers and executives on the way home from work. There were construction workers showing off their muscular physiques, and then there were the flaming gays, those men who wore outrageous female dresses with bold prints, accessorized by belts and handbags and platform shoes. David’s heart fluttered to see that everyone there was truly happy! Men were laughing together, singing together, kissing one another. David was very excited to be at The Others’.

  Surely Bob can see how wonderful it is to be gay! How can he not? These men all love each other. This is true camaraderie at its very best, and taken to that wonderful place beyond camaraderie to the wonderful place of sexual intimacy. It’s so beautiful to behold. It’s breathtaking. Here’s where I’ve met so many of my secret lovers. Surely Bob feels the magic of this place! David pointed out to Bob the dim-colored light bulbs in the elegant chandeliers, the lovely flocked wallpaper in purple and taupe velvets, and the sweet jazz music. Winston Marsalis, T.J. Booker, Louis Armstrong, Eric Clapton and so many other great ones played here.
“This place is like heaven on earth,” David proclaimed.

  He was in his element and completely aroused. He reached for Bob’s hand and held it closely in his own. Bob didn’t pull away, not at first, but then, alas, rejection! Maybe there was still hope. He hadn’t pulled his hand away initially, after all. Maybe he was in the mood, but then his upbringing reasserted itself. David reached for Bob’s hand again. That time the younger man immediately pulled his hand away.

  The duo sat at the bar and ordered drinks, a pink daiquiri for David and a scotch on the rocks for Bob. The drinks were apropos for the moods of mentor and mentored. They were like a married couple who’d suddenly realized they were completely incompatible. It was impossible to talk about the markets or the business in this place, so the two said practically nothing. David heard Bob mumble something about the music being good, but he knew by then that his junior was only trying to make small talk to assuage his bruised feelings. There was nothing to say.

  After Bob drove David back to the garage where they kept their cars, he felt a tinge of sorrow for his friend. He felt the need to be brutally candid, whether David would be hurt by it or not.

  “David,” Bob started, and then paused.

  “What?” David stood by Bob’s car, still holding the passenger door open.

  “David, I know what you’re trying to do. I know you want me as your lover as well as everything else. I get it. I really get it. But you need to understand that I am not a homosexual person. I have never been a homosexual person and I will never be a homosexual person. That place we went to made me extremely uncomfortable. In all honesty, David, what you did today, the way you dressed yourself up to look more like a woman, your clothes, the way you took me into that place to pretend to those who saw us that we were somehow an item together… well, frankly, the entire experience made me feel like throwing up. Please understand that I’m not trying to hurt you, David. I know you are a very sensitive and loving person at heart, but I cannot be your lover. So I must ask you as sincerely as I can to please stop your advances toward me. I am your willing partner in business and your friend, but that is the limit for me. Can you acknowledge that and accept me as I am?”

  David stood there staring at Bob, taking in all that he’d just heard, especially the part about vomit. His heart ached and his stomach churned. Never since he’d heard his mother tell his father that she wished he’d never been born had he felt so utterly unwanted and unloved. He hated himself and wished he was anyone or anything but David. He wanted to die.

  Bob sensed an impasse and tried to reach out to David. “Can you at least say something?”

  There followed a long silent moment while David just stood staring at Bob. Then he slammed the car door with such fury that the glass in the passenger window cracked. He turned his back on Bob and walked away without saying a word.

  SNOW AND COFFEE

  It was early spring or late winter; the seasons were blurred and hard to differentiate on the Colorado high plains. A huge upper atmospheric panhandle low parked itself for three days over the Texas and Oklahoma lands where native Kiowa, Comanche, and Apache once hunted buffalo and traveled from there to trade as far west as New Mexico’s Taos Pueblo. Now the reservation Indians made rugs and jewelry and traded with tourists, but not on this day.

  This winter storm was a monster. Storm warning and blizzard conditions caused impossible whiteout conditions for drivers from the panhandles to New Mexico and north to Colorado. Gulf of Mexico waters were spun aloft and hurled down upon Colorado’s San Juan Range. Five feet of fresh powder blanketed Telluride and Silverton slopes, and the storm kept moving north and west. Snowfalls of three feet whipped by howling winds piled snowdrifts six to eight feet high along the Colorado Front Range. All roads into and out of Plaintown were closed. Drivers were stopped by beleaguered troopers of the highway patrol and ordered off the roads into motels or local churches and school gymnasiums. Conditions were life-threatening. As the storm whipped Colorado’s Front Range, life shut down.

  Cattlemen desperately tried to move their herds into shelters and barns, but this storm came too fast for many. Thousands of cattle and horses did their best to withstand the white fury, trying to get into low gullies and behind hills, anything to get out of the gale-force bitter winds. They turned their backs into the wind in order to breathe and see, but all their efforts were hopeless. Tens of thousands of cattle and horses died the day of the onslaught. Calves died next to their mothers, bulls lay buried in snow at the bottoms of ravines. The devastation was widespread. Animals and people unfortunate enough to be outdoors simply had no chance against nature’s howling white fury.

  The Front Range mountain forest animals fared better than their brethren on the prairie. Deer, elk, bighorns, and mountain sheep retreated to the western-facing slopes and hid down low in the pine forests. The mountains’ immovable might broke the snow’s onslaught and the bending howling pines tamed the fierce winds. The wild creatures slept huddled close together for warmth and lived while the domestic herds of the plains’ cattlemen died.

  For the city dwellers, the storm was a welcome holiday. Like the animals, people also stayed hunkered down as best they could. Children pressed faces to windows and watched the snowfall in wonderment from the safety of indoors. Adults occasionally stepped out into the fury to shovel driveways and walk briefly before retreating inside for warmth and hot chocolate, determined to resume their fight against the elements after some rest. As quickly as it blew in, the snowstorm left and moved east, passing as such storms usually do.

  Road crews appeared with plows and gravel to make the main thoroughfares passable. The highway patrol tried frantically to rescue those caught for three days in the storm. Some survived, some did not. The towing companies licked their chops, grateful for several days of booming business. Private snowplow operators were paid small fortunes to ransom private roads. Way high up on the mountaintops, a mantle of white radiated with a crystal sparkling light. The snowpack deluge would last until late August, and then fresh snows from the west would start the snow cycle anew. Skiers rejoiced and thanked the snow gods. The thin ribbon of road, that highest continental U.S. road that crosses the continental divide, the one Coloradans call the Trail Ridge Road, was a road no longer. It was buried under eighty feet of snow. It would stay closed until late June or sometime in July when snowmelt reduced it to a ten-to-twenty-foot depth. Then giant plow machines would mount their attack against the endless wall of white.

  Animals began to stir about. The cows and local buffalo that survived pushed their heavy heads and faces deep into the snow looking for meager stubs of grass. Ranchers would be days before they could get hay to these desperate creatures. To find grass was to live. For these cattle, life was a race against time. Here and there on the prairie, a mother cow stood over her dead calf half buried in snow and bawled her mournful bellow. It was the saddest sound, one a rancher hoped he’d never hear. No one could ever tell him, after hearing a cow in mourning, that these poor dumb animals had no feelings.

  The sun came out as it always must. A brilliant blue sky and cold clean air greeted the citizenry. People inhaled to the fullest expanse of their chests, tasting the wonderful air deep in their lungs. Blood was reinvigorated with copious oxygen. There was a quieter level of voices now, a more respectful tone toward others, a feeling of sympathy for the rancher who lost everything. People, for a while, were more like people should be all the time, thanks to the white wonderment of nature.

  In Plaintown, office workers were treated to a three-day vacation by order of the mayor. All unessential people needed to stay home until crews could clear the roads. Firemen and police were on high alerts at their stations for citizens in distress. People were good to each other and civic-minded like they should always be, compliments of Mother Nature.

  The fun lovers, the human otters who made Colorado such a special place, took full advantage of the white bounty. There were people out on snow-covered city streets, but they w
eren’t clomping miserably through the white stuff. They were on top of it and having fun. Snowshoes were bounding about with people’s feet strapped on top of them, making mirthful tracks in snow. Cross-country skiers slipped along from homes to stores, to neighborhood watering holes and theaters. Coloradans can’t be stopped by snow; it’s what they live for. Children were free to go outside again, and they did what children do. There were snowmen to make, snow forts to build, sledding to do and, of course, snowball fights to enjoy.

  Up higher in the Front Range towns, people dug out. Their first order of business was to shovel the weighty snows off their roofs, then their driveways. Once they had their Jeeps and Land Cruisers chained up, these people were good to go anywhere. They loved their little villages and lifestyles and chuckled with an underlying dismay at the dull lives of those who lived on the prairie, or ‘out on the flat’ as they called it. Bob had just gotten back from the store and was taking his snowshoes off when Barbara called.

  “Do you love the snow, Big Horse?” she asked.

  “Yes. Just in from my grocery run. How’s Sparrow?”

  “I’m good! Is today a good day for you to meet for coffee?” Barb knew it had to be since the offices were closed.

  “Sure.” Bob wanted her for more than coffee, but he took what she offered.

  “I’d like to meet at an out-of-the-way place. We should talk. How about Old Pablo’s?”

  “I’ll meet you in an hour.”

  At the coffee shop, Bob and Barb ordered lattes and settled into a quiet corner. Barb told Bob what she and Blade did the week before and what she saw. Bob didn’t want to believe her at first.