Monarchs in Pella

 [Note]: This is a very long post (approx. 13 pages). If you want to read it, I recommend copying and pasting it, then posting in word. That way the formatting will be correct between each paragraph.


AN APATHETIC EXPRESSION marred Henry’s thin lips. They were pursed as if he was restraining himself from speech while sipping a drink from an invisible straw. His instructor, Ms. Plummet, eyed him warily. Although he stared ahead at the whiteboard, his eyes never wavered from the middle of the square room. Henry’s dark green pupils didn’t follow Ms. Plummet’s fine, legible cursive, nor did they wallow in her mathematical formulas, her quotes from a previous time. Not to mention the activities listed under the header that read, “Daily Warm-Ups.”

Instead, Henry seemed more interested in the perfect circling motion of his thumbs as they spiraled round and round his hands. Ms. Plummet didn’t mind. She was happy to be there- even if her words were just waves drifting past Henry’s ears, disrupting the calm, cool air.

Ms. Plummet stilled her left hand, which held her black EXPO marker, and watched Henry’s eyelids gently fall. She was a patient woman and it wasn’t the first time the boy had fallen asleep during one of her lessons.

*

Henry stood on a prairie of differently shaded red bricks. He filled his lungs to their maximum capacity and released the air back into the eerie, violet sky. For a moment he was stationary, paused long enough to examine his reflection in one of the floating glass orbs that inhabited the atmosphere. His shadow stared back, unmoving, without any emotion.

As he walked the brick lane, the glossy spheres changed size and shape. Enormous to miniscule. Flawless loop to elongated oval. Unperturbed by the lilac emptiness of his netherworld, Henry paced onward. He brushed hair from his face and shoved his hands into the pockets of his worn, favorite pair of jeans. In the end, he grew tired of walking. He sat down. He stared blankly into the nothingness of the purple sky and the surrounding shadows.

Henry crossed his legs. A monarch butterfly fluttered in the air and landed on Henry’s rigid shoulder. His eyes, timid, showed initial confusion at the insect’s presence- but quickly were entranced in the beauty of its orange and yellow wings.

Slowly, Henry moved his right index finger, wading through the memories that thickened the air. The butterfly flapped its wings once and a gust of wind carried it easily from his body. His gaze followed it, until one of the floating orbs blocked his path. Henry frowned. The sphere doesn’t reflect an image of his shadow; instead it showed a picture of the past. It appeared vivid, real, and truthful. Henry reached out at the orb. Upon contact with the glass, Henry felt his arm shudder and his torso, legs, and feet being vacuumed upward. He tried to pull back but he the orb pulled harder.

Henry gave in and let his body go limp. The orb swallowed him.

A short distance away, the monarch danced and spun through the violet sky in a trance, an obtuse beauty in an estranged world.

*

The game faded to commercial. In the momentary darkness of the television screen, a reflection of Henry’s younger self sat hunched over a bowl of popcorn on a beaten up fabric couch. The room around him wasn’t in much better shape. Chips of drywall clung to messy, coffee colored carpet. Picture frames of happier times gathered dust. The kitchen, a short distance away, smelled of oil and cockroaches. The cracking speakers built into the TV mumbled, “Buy now! This is your one and only chance- if you order now; we’ll throw in another blender for free! That’s right, pick up the…”

In the corner of the room, surrounded by ash trays and empty beer cans, Mr. Emerson sat with a hand-rolled cigarette in his hand. He’d long since cared about smoking indoors and his grimy, unwashed skin attempted to mesh with the smoke in the living room. He inhaled the fumes, tapped his cigarette near the ash tray- missing it just slightly- and tipped a beer can back so the rest of it funneled down his throat. “Only thirty seconds left! Be quick to order! Remember, this offer includes…”

Mr. Emerson dropped the empty Bud Light on the floor next to piles of Coors, Milwaukee’s Best, and a pair of PBRs. “Henry, Henry.” Henry looked over at Mr. Emerson, his step-dad. The man was motioning him with his hand. “That’s right. Fetch me two more beers.”

His voice was beginning to slur. Henry shivered as he stood up from the couch. “Quit slouching, lazy-ass. Get up already.”

Henry shuffled off into the kitchen, stomach growling. He plugged his nose as he opened up the fridge, avoiding the moldy discoloration on its sides. Two cold beers filled his open hands. He looked around the kitchen for something besides the stale popcorn near the TV. Nothing but bread crumbs and dead bugs. Henry flicked one of the keeled over beetles away from the counter. “BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.” Henry heard the volume going down on the TV. Mr. Emerson muttered in the living room, annoyed. “This is an AMBER Alert for six-year-old Ryan Williams. Last seen in a park outside the intersection of Third and Elm…”

Putting the two beers on the table next to Mr. Emerson’s decomposing La-Z-Boy chair, Henry fell back into the couch. Dust erupted from his imprint, and he coughed slightly. The game was coming back on. Mr. Emerson popped open the next beer after taking a final draw on his cigarette. “And we’re back. This is Bruce Henderson of ESPN, and I’m feeling the excitement in the audience today. We’ve got a close one here, could be a very rare upset if the Hawkeyes can pull off this win against Sparty. Right now the score is tied at 53 apiece; six minutes left in the second half…”

Henry shuffled three pieces of popcorn in the palm of his hand, and began to ask Mr. Emerson if they could get any food. Mr. Emerson responded with a blunt, “Quiet kid, the game is on.” Henry looked around the room. Mr. Emerson was wearing one of his old Iowa sweaters to support his team. He counted the beers at his feet- most of them fresh from tonight. Eight, nine, ten, eleven. Mr. Emerson would be done soon. Last time Henry counted, Mr. Emerson made it to eighteen before passing out in a drunken slump. It was a new record, by Henry’s count at least. “It’s 60 to 58 now, as McGillian sinks another three for Iowa, putting them in the lead. Armstrong brings it up for the Spartans. What a move! He cross-dribbles past Bernheart, spins between Hernandez’s arms, and puts it in the hoop. And a late whistle! The head referee is calling a foul on Hernandez!”

“Fuck you Armstrong, fuck you Hernandez.” Mr. Emerson slammed his beer against the table. It’s good it’s almost empty. “And fuck you Ref. Come on!” He drained the beer. It joined the rest on the floor. Henry counted twelve.

Outside a car door is slammed shut. Henry sat up straight, excited for his brother, Joel, to get home. Joel usually brought him leftovers or a snack, and he was starving. Mr. Emerson glared angrily at the newest commercial, then at the door.

Joel walked inside, and threw the door shut, hard, behind him. Mr. Emerson stumbled up from his chair like an angry watch dog. “Don’t you slam that door boy. Where the hell have you been?”

“Out.”

“You going to apologize?” Mr. Emerson gritted his teeth and put his beer down. He clenched his fists. Henry grabbed the bowl of popcorn and shielded himself clumsily behind it.

“Sorry, Rodger.” Joel said Mr. Emerson’s first name with a hint of sarcasm. He put his hands in the air and walked toward the kitchen, letting out a heavy sigh. His blue and black plaid long sleeve was wet from the rain. Henry hoped over and over in his head that Mr. Emerson would let it go.

He didn’t.

Mr. Emerson grabbed Joel’s flannel and pulled him backward. “You treating me with disrespect, Joel? I’ll show you disrespect.” His voice was loud. His words slurred together. Henry couldn’t hear the TV and couldn’t see anything besides the mixed expression of anger and fear on Joel’s face. Mr. Emerson pushed Joel against the wall, and staggered toward him, his right fist quivering.

Joel lost his smooth attitude and put his hands out. “Cool down Mr. Emerson, cool it.” Mr. Emerson batted Joel’s defense away with his left hand and swung a wide right hook aimed at his face. Joel ducked it and spun back toward the front door. He threw it open and pulled his keys from his pocket. “Henry, we’re getting out of here. Let’s go.”

Henry tossed the popcorn to the side without a second thought and followed Joel to the door. Mr. Emerson yelled after them as they ran toward the sidewalk. “Get out of here, I don’t want you kids. Worthless, you all don’t respect anyone.” He grabbed his thirteenth beer, still half full, and pitched it at Joel. It hit him in the side of his leg and the alcohol spilled down his jeans. “Don’t come crawling back here either.”

*

Joel stared ahead; white-knuckles grabbed the original steering-wheel of his ’66 Mustang. Henry remembered when Joel bought the car; beat up, broken and rusted, for a flat $250. Joel would work every day after school on the vehicle, salvaging spare parts and toying with the engine. It was a couple months ago he that he finally got it to run. Its tires screamed down the asphalt of the 163. Henry turned the knob on the radio. The Iowa game was still on. “I’m Brady Gibson on 1815 the ZONE and we have ourselves a game. Don’t change the channel now because we’re going to triple overtime! McGillian, Iowa’s hot hand, took a long three-pointer that was well-guarded by Michigan State’s defense right at the buzzer of the second overtime, and it went in! Just hang in there, we’re heading to commercial but we’ll be right back with the rest of the game. Iowa isn’t falling easy tonight. They’re fighting hard, that’s for sure.”

They’d been driving for the past half hour. Joel had his foot heavy on the gas and Henry had fallen asleep in the passenger seat. He was awake now, quiet and somber, his usual self. Joel rustled the hair on Henry’s head. “We’re going to be fine. I got this friend in Pella, Henry- he’s got a big apartment near Central College. I talked to him while you were out and he says we can stay with him for a while. We just left Des Moines a little bit ago. You missed the city man. Although, I don’t think you missed much.” Henry smiled as Joel winked at him.

Hanging on Joel’s rearview mirror was ceramic butterfly. Henry pointed at its carefully painted wings and antennae. Joel nodded. “Anna made it for me. You like it?” He carefully loosened the string that allowed it to hang and handed the butterfly to Henry. “Check it out- no, keep it. My present to you. Anna’s a good painter, too. Look at all the detail.”

Henry’s eyes lit up as he took the winged sculpture. He was fascinated by the multitudes of oranges and the patterns on the butterfly’s back. He looked at his brother. “What about Anna?”

“She knows what’s going on, Henry. She doesn’t have room in her dorm at the University- but she’s glad we’re moving to Pella. It’s a much closer drive, you know.”

Joel seemed happy, and Henry was glad. He held the monarch against his waist and leaned his head against the cool window, staring out at the backdrop of Iowa under the clear night sky. “Looks like Bernhert fouled out for Iowa with that clumsy move there. Each team is still even and lost one player to fouls. Michigan State on offense now, man that Sparty can play ball. Armstrong passes to Weaton, Weaton fakes, dribbles to his left, bounce pass inside to Clifton, Clifton pivots, tries to go up- but is smashed down! What an effort by Hernandez! Udall with the rebound passes out to McGillian, who is 8/11 from three-point range…”

Henry pictured Mr. Emerson on his La-Z-Boy, either passed out or yelling, drunk, at the TV by now.

“Shit.” Joel tapped the gages on the dashboard. “Haven’t been paying attention to gas. We’re almost empty- help me lookout for the next station.”

Joel pulled into an old 7-Eleven gas station on the side of the 163. It was empty. The fluorescent lights flickered in the darkness. Henry watched him turn off the ignition in front of pump #7- and stared at an ad- Buy One get One Free hotdogs. Joel caught his look and grinned. “Here’s thirty dollars. Put twenty on pump #7, alright? You know how to do that?” Henry nodded. “Good. That remaining ten dollars? That’s all you. Stock up on some snacks, some drinks. Oh, and surprise me with something too.”

Henry’s stomach snarled as he climbed over the driver’s seat to get out of the car. The passenger door didn’t open- Joel hadn’t gotten around to fixing it yet. Joel gave him a quick hug and went to unscrew the gas cap as Henry ran toward the glass doors of the convenience store.

The clerk grunted as Henry reached up and placed the twenty on the counter. “Put it on pump #7, please.”

“Got it.”

He mulled around the aisles, eyes filled with images of candy, chips, soda, and sandwiches. He grabbed a Coke and a Sprite, two hot-dogs, a Starburst- and Joel’s favorite- Shockers. As he walked back to the cashier he looked out the glass doors at Joel, filling up the Mustang. Two cars had pulled up at the pumps next to him.

At the counter, the man was listening to the radio. Iowa and Michigan State were in triple overtime, and McGillian just stole the ball and made a quick layup to put the Hawkeyes up by five. Annoyance filled the man’s face. A green lanyard repeated Michigan State Spartans all down its side. No wonder he was annoyed.

The clerk rang up his items and itched the stubble of his growing beard. He squinted at the LED numbers of the register. “That’s eight dollars and eleven cents.” Henry handed him the ten. There was noise from outside, like someone yelling. The cashier held up a bag with a faded 7-Eleven logo on it. “Bag?” Henry nodded.

With the bag in his hand Henry walked to the glass door to head outside. He stopped, the bag wavering from its remaining momentum, a pendulum in his clenched hand. Four men had stepped out of the cars and surrounded Joel. Henry watched as one of them motioned at Joel’s pockets. Joel reached in, pulled out his wallet, and handed it over. The men were laughing. One of them pulled out a gun. He pushed Joel against his ’66 Mustang. There was a loud bang.

Henry stumbled backward in pain, as if he was the one to take the bullet. The clerk rushed out from behind the counter muttering, “Shit. Shit. Shit.” He looked out the door and saw Joel slumped against his car and the men driving away, headlights off, speeding down the 163. “Fuckers.”

The clerk pulled out his cell phone and threw the glass door open, running toward Joel. Henry let the plastic bag fall to the floor of the convenience store and fell back against the old, red brick wall of the 7-Eleven. His eyes focused on nothing in particular. His mouth tried to move, but then faltered into pursed lips. He clenched and unclenched his hands rapidly, then pushed them together. He twirled his thumbs.

*

The butterfly finished its loop around the glass orb through the purple sky and landed on Henry’s stomach. Henry sat up and the insect fluttered to his fingertip. He looked at it in amazement, dumbstruck by the color and spectacular appearance of the monarch’s wings. He felt a hand touch his shoulder and the lilac sky drifted away. The spheres too, then the red brick beneath him. The monarch was the last to go as it gracefully beat its wings and drifted into oblivion.

*

“Henry, Henry- can you wake up for me?”

Ms. Plummet withdrew her hand from Henry’s shoulder, and glanced at the whiteboard from her student’s point of view. She admired her handwriting, the detail she went into on the subjects of algebra and history. Henry was back at it- twiddling his thumbs on the wooden desk, eyes marked straight ahead. She wondered if he even noticed the white-washed walls and lack of decoration in the room. She certainly did.

Henry had only been asleep for at most ten minutes and she had let him rest. She had pulled up the room’s only spare chair- a lop-sided old thing- and took the time to relax and read a book. She enjoyed romance novels and rarely had time to sit down and read.

The book was in her bag now and she lifted it over her shoulder and gave Henry a big smile. He looked so peaceful sitting there. She wished that for once in her life she could be at peace like him, too. No worries in the world. Ms. Plummet let out a sigh and jumped slightly as a knock on the door raised her heartbeat. She walked to the door and leaned into the hallway- admiring the sky-blue paint that decorated the walls. It was refreshing. A nurse stood outside in white scrubs her arms at her sides.

“Mr. Flint has a visitor. May I send him in?”

“Yes, please.”

“Alright then, Ms. Plummet. Hold on just a moment as I get him from the lobby.”

Ms. Plummet closed the door and walked back to Henry’s desk. She smiled again, and said, “Henry, you have a visitor. I wonder who it could be?”

She thought she saw Henry’s eyes light up.

The truth was she knew the visitor. He always came- once every Tuesday and Thursday. Sometimes on weekends, if he had the time off. But he never missed a Tuesday or Thursday.

There was a knock on the door again, and the dark-skinned face of the nurse peeked in. “A Mr. Joel Flint, here to visit Mr. Henry Flint.”

Ms. Plummet stood up from her chair and shook Mr. Flint’s hand. “Ms. Plummet, you really can call me Joel. I don’t mind.”

She nodded, and replied that she was just too used to formal affairs these days. Joel smiled politely and Ms. Plummet let him take her seat next to Henry.

Joel had told her all about what happened at the gas station. The mugging. How the bullet passed right above his heart. How he was so lucky the paramedics arrived quickly, how the cashier had stopped the bleeding and kept Joel talking- not letting Joel close his eyes.

To Ms. Plummet, it was a miracle. But it was a tragedy that Henry couldn’t remember it. The doctors said that Henry went into shock. Too much trauma in one day screwed up the brain. They’re hoping that it’ll rewire itself and escape the shock but the odds of that happening weren’t likely. Therapy helps, slowly. They said he’s like a war veteran that was in horrific combat for three days straight. Worst of all, they said, he still thinks his brother died by that gunshot.

Ms. Plummet sat in the corner of the room, out of sight from Henry and Joel, and pulled out her book. She tried her best not to listen to Joel as he told Henry about his life. She couldn’t help but hear that Joel just got engaged, though. To a nice woman named Anna. Joel handed Henry a present- it was wrapped in brown paper. Looked like it was fixed or something. It was a monarch butterfly, with its abdomen seamlessly glued back together. She admired the artwork and talent and returned to her reading.

END