# Catching Butterflies Chapter 1

~Catching Butterflies: Chapter One~
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Raptor Jesus, it's hot out.
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I rest my back against the rough brick wall with a cigarette in my right hand, as I do around this time every night. Working third shift is hell on my body and mind, but I guess I need the money if I'm ever going to college. I still didn't know what to tell Dad; What would I even go for? I guess I like graphic design, but going thirty grand into debt for something like that probably isn't secure. I wouldn't even call myself good at it, there are--
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No. I can't think like that. I need to be positive. Wow, if that doesn't sound hollow in my head. Still, I can't break that feeling-- the one that tells me things will be better one day. The thought of stocking shelves for eternity, smoking weed, and listening to heavy metal in a shitty apartment for the rest of my life might sound peaceful, but.. I know there's something more for me. There has to be, if there was something more for her.
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Her. That pale pterosaur. The one that I watched make a fool of herself on stage in front of nearly half the school. Poured out her heart and soul, and they all laughed. We all laughed. I still have that video saved on my phone. It was the equivalent of a caveman's broken war cry in an opera, how could we not? I guess it felt good watching somebody else fuck up their life, that way I could avoid thinking about how I didn't know what to do with mine. The crooked amusement didn't last long; the memory faded from my mind as fast as it came. She sure showed us.
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I nearly didn't go to prom, but Anne convinced me to go with her friend group. Probably out of pity, but I didn't care. We barely even spoke, I just drank punch and insulted the music in passing to a bunch of strangers. The occasional agreement and snicker were my only positive feelings that night. The announcement of Prom King and Queen was no surprise, everybody knew those two were the perfect couple. I was standing alone, waiting for the moment I could leave. I was only here for the participatory acknowledgement from future friends when we inevitably talk about our lives. That was, until she walked on stage. I didn't even know there was going to be a music performance, but I couldn't take my eyes off of that girl. The flowing purple dress, the sleek white guitar, those eyes.. it was like an angel just walked on stage. I heard whispered murmurs of discontent, and some part of my brain shared them, ready to laugh in amusement.
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Then she started playing. The anticipation of her playing a broken mess only served to heighten the feeling of her song's crescendo. I had never, not once, seen somebody in their element as much as I had that night. A pure expression of happiness poured over that girl's face as she played, proudly showing everybody who had laughed at her only months ago her true beauty. Love, passion, and purpose all magnified into that ballad. Fang's ballad. Then came the slow decline, and the farewell message from her to the rest of Volcano High. I stood there in stunned silence as people began cheering around me. Then, he jumped on stage. That weirdo human, the one that was shamed during an assembly I had skipped. There was no hesitation; a loving embrace as the two shared a kiss, unashamedly themselves. I only wished that I could grow and love like those two had. I got a saved copy of the whole event from Anne, no surprise people were recording. I still listen to it sometimes. The human even kind of looks like me.
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Prom was more than a month ago. A lot of that feeling's gone from me now, but some part of it won't leave. A part that begs me to be a better person, to pour more of my time and money into my hobbies, and being unashamedly myself. And there's the worst part of it all; I don't even know who I am. I need to figure that out before I can actually do anything. Music, art, video games, the internet; how much of it is finding myself, and how much of it is a distraction so I don't have to find myself? I just wish it wasn't so hard to--
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"Yo, I need a light."
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I snap back to attention. Here I am, behind the convenience store, at nearly two in the morning on break. I haven't even lit my cigarette, it's been sitting in my hand for who-knows how long. I get lost in thought a lot. At least I don't mumble, that would be a nightmare.
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"Dude."
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I finally look towards the voice; a green hand with sharp claws was waiting, expectantly. I stare at it for a few moments, confused. What does she want?
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"Give me the fuckin' lighter."
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Oh, right. I reach out my left hand, dropping the blue BIC lighter that I've been holding for the last several minutes into her hand. She accepts it, placing a fresh cigarette into her snout and lighting it deftly. Looks like she's already on her second. She doesn't return my lighter, so I just put my cigarette back into its carton, pocketing it. I stopped smoking for a few weeks after Prom, but I started again. Even though I know it hurts me, I can't muster the will to give it up. The strength that Fang gave me must have faded. I wish I made better use of it.
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I looked to my left, on the other side of the back door, towards her. The green baryonyx with tired eyes and shaggy hair that reminded me of a lush forest. If anybody had the kind of strength I wish I had, it was her. The reflective metal wheelchair was the first thing anybody would notice about her; it tells the story of her struggles to all who lay eyes on it, even if she barely addresses them. I know Olivia hates pity, but sometimes I can't help it. I like to think about who she could've been, if she didn't have to waste all her energy on struggling against that metallic prison.
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We've known each other for about ten years, but most of those don't really count. We lived on the same block in a barely middle class suburb. I wasn't such a shut-in back then, so we would play outside a lot. Ride bikes, play tag, make mud pies, that sort of thing. I could hardly keep up with her most of the time. I guess you could've called her a tomboy. Even then, Olivia still did really well in elementary school. Would always tease me about my grades, and clap in my face whenever I'd space out; especially in the middle of class. I almost wanted to move seats, but she was my only real friend. I guess I liked it that way; I liked having somebody to catch up to, to smile with, to grow with. She used to catch butterflies. I would try to copy her, but I'd never catch anything. I drew pictures of them instead, on a notebook I had for school. Olivia was pretty bad at art, so one day she tried to tease me about drawing butterflies. I decided to give the picture to her as a gift, and I'll never forget that blush. Catching her off-guard was a high feat for me, so I followed it up with a promise. I promised her that one day, I'll be able to catch butterflies, and she'll be able to draw them. She smiled, and took me up on that promise.
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..I wasn't even there when it happened. Mom made me wash dishes after school; I guess I forgot to the night before. I was getting ready to go outside when we both heard the high-pitched screams. Mom told me to stay inside while she left, but I ignored her after about five seconds. Took about a minute to jog towards the scream before I saw it. A red, low riding sporty car jumped over the curb, and Olivia being held by a stranger while another one was calling the police. There wasn't even any blood, and I had no idea what people were upset about; she just looked asleep in the grass. Mom grabbed my hand, and pulled me away back to the house. It was dead silent for the rest of the evening. When Dad got home, it looked like he already knew. He didn't act upset about it; he was probably more upset I had to see something like that.
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We visited her in the hospital a week later. I never talked to Olivia's parents much, but Mom and Dad knew them well enough. The first time we went, she wasn't even awake. The tears never stopped from her own parents. Hooked up to all those machines, I thought it was more like a cool movie scene than something to cry over. Mom took me there every day for a week, and I'd wait. Wait for her to wake up. I drew a lot of butterflies next to that bed. Even started doing some other bugs. I think it was three weeks before I got to visit her awake. Olivia barely changed. She talked about how excited she was to finally go outside after so long in a bed. I showed her some of the pictures that I drew, and she remembered our promise. We pinky swore on it. I saw her three more times after that. By that point, Mom only let me visit once a week, instead of every day. Trust me, I tried to see her more often. The staff had to call my parents several times after I managed to bike to the hospital without Mom knowing. The first two times we visited, I had to show her some of the school work that she missed, but she never really cared. We ended up talking about bugs and plants, joking and acting like nothing had changed.
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The third time I went, I met the new Olivia. A dejected, broken girl in a wheelchair pushed by her father. They told me she couldn't walk anymore. I tried to talk to her, but Olivia wouldn't say anything to me, even about the things we used to like. Eventually, she got mad. Said she didn't want to talk to me anymore. Her family moved off the block, not sure where to. Just like that, I didn't have anyone I could call a friend. My parents never really worried about me, even when I turned into a walking zombie. Through middle and high school, I was a ghost in everybody's lives. Nobody knew who I was, and I didn't know who I was. Still don't, apparently. I'd call myself an elephant for remembering almost everything that happened back then, but the truth is, nothing's really happened since; even after I met Olivia again. It was in the middle of senior year. She must've moved back, or something. It took me a week to even approach her, and we only spoke a few words. I got her phone number. Sometimes, we send each other memes. I started working here after I saw she was. She barely reacted to me showing up out of the blue. I was hoping our grand reunion would be more spectacular than this; excited chatter about what she's been up to, and how she's been. But it looks like that's not happening.
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Maybe this is how I was, as a kid: silent, spaced out, closed off. Maybe I have to be what Olivia used to be for me. Can I even spare the effort? I still don't know who I am. Don't know what I can do, or what I feel, or what I'm capable of, or if I'll make things worse. Then again.. I doubt she knew all that back then, either. Just.. do something. The only person who ever cared about you is less than five feet away, and here you are, leaning against a wall, dead silent. But.. she's doing the same, isn't she? Staring off into the distance, taking occasional drags from that cigarette. Maybe she's thinking the same thing. Does she still care about me? Does she remember that promise? Just-- speak. You'll only ever get an answer if you talk to her.
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My mind races through fears of rejection and anger, but the thought of Fang suppresses them. Well, here goes.
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"Hey Olivia."
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Her pale yellow eyes drift over to me lazily, and she gives me a half-hearted "Huh." I don't think that's a good thing. I reach into my repertoire of charming speech from various sources of media I've consumed over the years.
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"How's it going?"
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She replies with a one word "Fine." Alright, I expected as much. Let me try something a little more risky.
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"You wanna do something after work?"
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A few seconds pass. She's considering, good. Now she's checking her phone.
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"At six in the morning? Sleep."
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Well, fuck. One of the only times I break the silence, and I say some stupid shit like that. She's even laughing at me. Seriously, how did I not--
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Wait, she's laughing?
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Olivia let out a quiet snicker in response to what I said. I rarely see her smile about anything, and I don't think I've heard her laugh once since we met again. In the confusion, I let silence fall over us. Her head turns from me towards the night sky, taking a deep breath. Am I overthinking this? Just.. talk to her.
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"What time is it?"
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Olivia's eyes drift towards me for a moment, and then fix themselves on her phone screen.
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"Two thirty five. Break ended five minutes ago."
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Oh, right. Work. I really don't want to lose this job, so it's probably best if I go back in. But first--
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"Can I get my lighter back?"
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Without looking at me, Olivia tosses the blue BIC lighter into the air. I manage to catch it, impressed by myself. Olivia wheels herself towards the door, as well. She probably doesn't want to get fired, either. I grab the handle of the steel door, kicking the wooden wedge that held it ajar into the hallway and pulling the door open. Taking a couple steps in, I hold the door for Olivia as she rolls toward it. She stops, staring at me with a look of indignation. We both silently look at each other for several seconds before she grabs hold of the door with her own arm fiercely, still staring me down. I relent, letting go of the handle and backing into the hallway. She struggles, but manages to roll herself in while keeping the door open. It shuts with a heavy thud, and Olivia rolls past me without ever matching my gaze, clearly in a soured mood.
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It takes me several seconds to realize my mistake. She must've thought I was patronizing her somehow, even if I didn't mean it. Should I apologize? Was I in the wrong?.. either way, standing here in a dark musty hallway isn't helping, so I follow after Olivia. She's surprisingly quick at positioning herself behind the register, and before I can say anything to her, I can tell she's purposely avoiding looking at me. Lowering my eyes, I mutter an apology that I'm not even sure she hears. Looking around the store instead, it seems like nobody but us has been inside since we took our break. Not wanting to further damage whatever could be salvaged of Olivia and I's friendship, I decide to leave her alone and go do my job. I enter the stock room, looking around for a wooden clipboard to finish a job I had started before we went outside. Counting units. Par for the course. It should take me all but five minutes to finish it, since I just have to write down the correct label and number of units in stock.
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It took me a few minutes to finish. I wonder if Olivia is still upset at me about what happened. Peaking around the corner, I still see her waiting patiently at the register, reading a paperback book. She notices me, and our eyes meet for a few moments before she looks away, her expression an odd mix between anger and shame. I step back into the storeroom, frowning. Butterflies flutter around in my stomach as I think about the situation with the door, but I still don't know what to say. Maybe I should apologize, but I really shouldn't risk pushing it. I look at the wooden clipboard in my hand, along with the sheet of paper to track inventory. Flipping over the sheet, I notice the back of it is blank. As my mind finds itself thinking about the past, I rest on the one solid metal chair in this room and begin to sketch on the blank paper. Despite the hiccup, I feel better than I have in several weeks. The feeling of hope and the desire for change that filled my heart on Prom night washes over me briefly. Maybe this is the turning point; maybe Raptor Jesus is trying to help me. I don't know. For now, whatever happens, I need to be thankful for everything that's happened; both the good and the bad. For Fang and that human. For Mom and Dad. For Raptor Jesus. For Olivia. Thanks to everyone, I might have a chance to find out who I am, fill this hole in my heart, and help the only friend I've ever had do the same.
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I finish the drawing. It's a picture of a butterfly.
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~END~