Her mind was all about patterns in things, and block colors in clothes.
So, on the 4th, of the 4th month, around 4 o’clock, when she found the denim dress discounted from 55 to 15 euro, she knew it was a sign which meant she had to have it. At that price, with that fabric, in that amazing deep blue, everything pointed to the fact she was meant to have it. She had another 5 denim dresses at home, of course not similar, but still denim, still blue, even so though, none of the ones she had were exactly like this one.
She happily put it in her shopping basket, merrily walked to the till, willingly paid for it, and when she was outside, she hugged the bag, it was hers, so happy! On the bus, she caressed the soft fabric and could not believe what a great bargain she got. Down from 55 to 15! And it was the good kind of denim, thick and sturdy, not one of those light and unpleasant ones, that made you feel cheated by the label stating denim. No, she liked the one that made you feel like when you put it on you were clad in a protective layer, you could count on it to be there for you. She is almost sure that this dress will be with her for as long as she will be alive. What joy to possess something that you know will be yours and with you for as long as you will live. There aren’t many things that give you that certainty, are there?
At home she puts it on (with Covid they don’t let you try things on in the store). Amazing! It fits better than expected, it exceeds all hopes and dreams. She must have lost a bit of weight! Never has a 16 looked so good on her, so comfy too! She admires herself in the mirror turning and posing, so pretty! And sturdy! She will keep it on for just a bit longer, she cannot suffer to part with it. Maybe it is too fancy to wear inside the house but so what, not like there is anywhere to go, all she has is the house, thank God she has that too. And the dress! What a joy!
All of a sudden, she stops and looks puzzled at herself in the mirror, deep in the pocket there is something, she picks it up with the tips of her fingers and pulls it out. A little piece of paper with a few words scribbled on it ‘I wish I were a butterfly, to fly towards the sun… and die.’ She sits down on the landing and reads it again. ‘I wish I were a butterfly, to fly towards the sun… and die.’ She never liked poetry, she never understood it much, she tried for a bit in school when she was supposed to, but never truly managed, this is pretty though, and sad. Why would anyone want to be a butterfly to fly towards the sun and die? The sun is hot, the flight would be long and painful, and it would end in death. How futile is that?
‘I hope they are ok though, the person that wrote it.’ She thinks, while going down the stairs to the kitchen to make a cup of tea. So sad. Deep in thought, she mises the last step, and lunges forward, falling flat in the middle of the hallway, missing by an inch a very pointy cabinet. That hurt! She slowly turns herself on her back and lies there waiting for her mind to catch up with the event. She cannot believe her luck! To the right she has the heavy, pointy furniture, which now seems more like an enemy than the repository of scarfs, gloves and hats. To the left her shoes, her beautiful, beloved shoes, neatly stacked on a shoe rack she got on sale. If she had fallen on it, all those lovely upright wires that hold her shoes, would have pierced her body. ‘Luck of the Irish!’, she tells herself while watching a daddy-long legs build yet another web on her hall light. They never give up, do they?
Laying there, on her back, the little poem crawls back in her mind. How was it? I want to be a …, no, not like that. She pulls the paper out, and reads it, trying to catch the last rays of sunshine coming in the house through the entrance door window. She reads it slowly repeating every word to herself.
‘I wish I were a butterfly, to fly towards the sun… and die.’ So pretty and so sad. With no assistance from herself, her mind wonders back to the peacock butterfly event, one of her pleasant memories. One day, she was in the bedroom airing out the room and making the bed, when a butterfly flew in. She is not very good with insects, but it was so pretty that she did do her usual insect sighting panic-stricken dance. And then, it disappeared, just so, vanished as unexpectedly as it had come in. That was unusual! By God, she hoped it was not a moth. What a nightmare that would be, all her wonderful wool clothes munched up by dreadful insects. No, no, it seemed pretty, and anyway it had gone. That was it, she forgot all about it, until many months later she had a sweater to sew. She took it downstairs, put on a show that she liked, she did her bidding, and then, when she wanted to admire her work and fully extended the sweater in front of her, something moved on it. Her heart skipped a beat! Moths! She quickly bundled it up and went into the garden. Here, she spread it carefully on a chair. And then, she saw. It was the butterfly! Alive! Well, that is a miracle if I ever saw one! It hid in her sweater, which she did not wear for many months, because of the hole she needed to mend. It had stayed there, in her closet, somehow surviving all the shuffling she does to her clothes, pulling, pushing, turning. It had stayed there while she moved the sweater, and now, it made it to the garden. She remembers watching it in awe, grateful that she did not squash it by accident. Soon it flew away, and she took possession of her sweater, no holes, thank God! ‘I will have to wash this!’
At the time, she did not know it was called a peacock butterfly, she discovered it later when she did some research. She also learned that they hibernate, and she was happy it was spring when she found it out.
The sun has now set, and the only light comes from the light post outside her house, barely filtering through the entrance door window. She should get up now. She should, shouldn’t she? Still, she does not. Why is that? She does not know. She would like some tea though, and a bit of something to eat. Something sweet, she feels like something sweet. There are no mince pies yet, too early in the year … a Jaffa cake maybe, yes that would do. She touches the dress; she is not sure she really needs it now. It is indeed nice, and soft, and it had a very good price, but she has other 5 that are almost like it. But 15 euro? Yeah, almost the bins bill, that is something. She is almost sure she does not want it anymore, she does not know why, but something inside her snapped when she fell, and with it her wish for the dress vanished. She does not really need it, does she? No, she does not.
Finally, she manages to get up. This will hurt in the morning. No tea, no cake, no nothing, she just goes back up the stairs, takes off the dress, puts it back in its bag, and goes to bed. This was unexpected!
She was right, the next day almost everything hurts, she takes some pills and waits for the pain to subside. When the time comes to go down the stairs, she firmly grips the railing. Never again! She looks at the spot where she fell and feels nauseated, she never realised before how tiny her hallway was, and how small the gap between the two pieces of furniture. It is a miracle she fell right in the middle. Geez Louise! That was close! That warrants a big cup of coffee and three or four cakes, to make up for all the excitement.
She has decided, the dress goes back. She does not want to give back the note though, she feels that somehow, she bought the dress just so the note reaches her. Wouldn’t it be fun if she wrote a poem and put it in the dress? It would, but that is hilarious, she does not even read poetry, how could she write it? She decided, she will not put the same one, that is hers, it was for her, she will make one up. Let’s see! ‘I had a peacock butterfly, I had a lucky fall, I wish I understood it all, before having to …, having to … go bye-bye!’
That could be it, not her best work, but oh well, she smiles to herself while she neatly writes it out on a small piece of paper. Hers is already safely tucked away in her jewellery box. Indeed, this will work nicely.
With the dress beautifully wrapped and the tags intact she presents herself to the store.
‘I need to return this! It does not fit properly …’, and she gestures delicately towards her round hips. The lady behind the glass nods understandingly and takes the dress without any fuss. It is not often that you can get a refund for a discounted item, but Covid has changed so many things. Outside, she takes off her mask and inhales deeply. The air is fresh and crisp under a very bright sun. She will have a take-away coffee with her dose of sunny Vitamin D. She caresses her dress, one of the famous five, indeed, she did the right thing. With a spring in her step, she gets her coffee and then sits down on a little wall in front of Lidl. She might go in after. The sun is bright, the air is cold, the people distant, the coffee her second. She really should cut down on the coffee, although they say it has loads of antioxidants, for sure she needs those for her immune system. She will research it some more.
‘What are you thinking about?’
She looks up startled at the person talking to her. A little girl, no more than 7 years old, stares at her intensely. She says the first word that comes to mind.
‘Butterflies …’
The girl’s face blooms into a toothless smile.
‘I love butterflies, and the sun, and your dress. Byeee!’
And she zooms away on her scooter, as suddenly as she had appeared.
She puts on her mask hiding her smile.
‘I wish I were a butterfly, to fly towards the sun… sky high.’
That could work …
