Fiction:

Yellow Butterfly Love

by Sherrie Johnson

“Run, Jimmy, run!” Margi called as the boy started through the meadow after the bright yellow ball. Seven-year-old Jimmy turned his head to admire his big sister.

“No, Jimm …” But it was too late. Jimmy’s awkward feet hit each other and he tumbled to the ground. Margi ran to see the hurt.

“Jimmy fall,” he said proudly.

“Yes, Jimmy did.” Margi sat down in the grass beside her brother and ran her fingers through his blond hair as if he were a puppy. “Jimmy’s a big boy. He didn’t cry.”

His unique, innocent smile grew bigger, revealing two missing teeth, and his blue eyes twinkled with pride. “Jimmy big boy,” he said.

Margi didn’t answer. She whisked again at his blonde hair and pulled him onto her lap. Jimmy cuddled contentedly into her arms, and they sat silently breathing in the crisp autumn air seasoned with the smell of freshly cut hay. Margi loved the meadow with its clean smells and the feel of grass on her ankles and the rainbow of meadow flowers.

A lonely autumn leaf floated across the grass, landing right in Jimmy’s lap. He grabbed at it, but Margi pushed his hands away.

“Careful, it will tear. It’s a leaf. Pretty leaf.”

She twirled the leaf in her fingers as Jimmy stared. “Pretty leaf,” he repeated.

“Yes,” Margi said, “pretty leaf. Here.” She placed the leaf carefully between his thumb and index finger and moved his fingers back and forth.

“See, you can twirl the leaf, too. Now do it alone.”

Jimmy’s thumb skidded off his finger, and the leaf floated to the ground. Sadly he turned and searched Margi’s face for a reaction.

Margi smiled and gave him a reassuring hug. “It’s all right.”

Quickly the smile spread back over Jimmy’s face. “Now go get the ball!” She laughed as she stood Jimmy up on his feet.

Awkwardly he stumbled toward the ball. Margi watched, wishing so hard that she could help, but she couldn’t. No one could. He had to walk alone no matter how clumsy he was or how often he fell. She lay down in the grass and stared at the hazy blue sky.

“Maybe Sue is right,” she thought. “Maybe I am stupid to waste so much time trying to help Jimmy.” Her face flushed as she thought of Friday when she took Jimmy to the football game at school. She’d never thought of the possibility, but when she went to sit with her friends, they asked her not to.

“It’s not that we don’t like you, but, well, he does such stupid things,” Sue had said. “I know he can’t help it, but, well, you know; it’s embarrassing.”

Margi could feel the awful sting in her stomach all over again.

“But Sue didn’t mean to be cruel; she just didn’t understand,” Margi thought as she remembered the excited look on Jimmy’s face when she told him they were going to a football game.

“That’s it,” she thought. “Sue just doesn’t understand. She’s never been around Jimmy to see how he loves life and how in his own way he’s so special. It doesn’t matter that he’s not as capable as other kids his age. People understand.” Then she remembered Sue’s words again and once more the hollow dejected sting settled deep in her stomach. “Or do they? Is it really worth it? I’ve got my own life. Jimmy has teachers and friends at the school and Mom and Dad. There are lots of people to help him, but what about me? Am I really helping him anyway? What can I do that his specially trained teachers can’t? Maybe I am just wasting my own life. Maybe Sue understands more than I do.”

Suddenly Jimmy was next to her. He held the ball high then let it fall on her stomach. Then he threw his head back and laughed. But the action made him lose his balance, and he tumbled onto her.

“Oh, Jimmy!” Margi started to scold then swallowed the words as she looked into his face. Love, that’s all that was there. Love wanting to be loved back. Love longing to love. So instead she smiled.

“Come on,” she said, “I’ll roll the ball to you.”

But Jimmy didn’t hear. A bright yellow butterfly had caught his eye. His chubby little hand reached out to touch it. Quickly the butterfly was up and away.

Margi took Jimmy’s hand. “Shh,” she said, putting her other hand to her lips. Quietly they lay on their stomachs and waited as the butterfly slowly found its way back to the dandelion in front of them.

“Pretty yellow butterfly,” Margi said.

“Pretty yellow butterfly,” Jimmy repeated slowly. Margi watched Jimmy stare. He seemed to see more than she did. His innocence—maybe that is what it was—made him seem part of their surroundings.

She looked again at the butterfly. “What more can he see? It is just a butterfly, a plain yellow butterfly.” She looked back at Jimmy and she knew he did see more. “Maybe someday I’ll see it, too. Jimmy is teaching me!” She laughed out loud at the thought, and the startled butterfly escaped into the sky.

“Butterfly gone.” Jimmy sighed sadly, and Margi was sorry she’d laughed.

“Look at the yellow flowers,” she said, wanting somehow to make it up to him.

“Pretty flowers,” Margi said, picking the dandelion and holding it close to her nose. “Pretty yellow flower.”

“Yellow flower?”

Margi looked at Jimmy to see if it really were a question. “Yes, yellow. Yellow flower, green grass, yellow flower.”

“Yellow flower,” Jimmy repeated proudly.

Margi sat up and grabbed the beach ball. “Yellow ball, yellow flower, yellow ball.” She held the two side by side.

“Yellow ball,” Jimmy repeated. “Yellow grass.”

“No, Jimmy, green grass, yellow ball.” Margi sighed as she remembered all the times they’d been through similar scenes, and still Jimmy didn’t learn. She smiled and ran her hand through his hair. “That’s all right, tiger. What does it matter if you don’t know the colors. You love it, don’t you? And maybe that’s what more you see in it, love.”

Jimmy looked at her face searching to understand.

Margi laughed. “Pretty yellow flower.”

“Yellow flower.” He smiled.

Suddenly the butterfly was back. “Look!” Margi pointed. “Pretty butterfly.”

Suddenly Jimmy’s eyes grew wide and he stared excitedly. “Pretty yellow butterfly.”

Margi looked hopefully into Jimmy’s face. Did he know?

“Yes, Jimmy, yellow ball, yellow flower, yellow butterfly.”

“Yellow, pretty yellow.” Jimmy pointed.

“Yes, yellow ball.”

“Yellow ball,” he repeated.

“Yellow flower.”

“Yellow flower.”

“Yellow grass?” she tested, holding her breath.

Jimmy stared at the grass she pointed to. Seconds passed as his face drew into a worried grimace. “No, Margi, yellow flower.” Margi grabbed Jimmy and hugged him to her, half crying, half laughing.

“Yes, Jimmy, yes.” she cried. And her heart cried too. No words; just love. Jimmy knew and she knew. It was her life and she was living it, really living it. And she couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for Sue.

Illustrated by Peggy Proctor