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“Morgen will be happy to see us,” Scott says.
“Yes.”
Soon, the ferry rattles and pulls away from the island. I watch the distance between us grow, and I remember the last time I left this place, on my way to Fort Frances for the summer. I can picture myself back then, so full of hope. I was leaning against the railing then, too. The wind was blowing my hair, as it is now. I close my eyes, and images from the past thirteen years flash through my mind. All the dreams, the disappointments, and the stark realities are overwhelming.
When I open my eyes we’re coming up on another island, and the ferry is turning to make its way around. We weave through the passage, the incredible landscape changing from swirling open ocean to the deep green trees lining the islands. I look back and watch Salt Spring disappear, inch by inch, behind us. Then, it’s gone.
I stare for a moment at the spot where it had been. Then, with a deep breath, I turn to face forward, as one last single tear runs down my cheek and flies away behind me.
Butterfly
The next night, I lie in bed in the loft of our little cabin in the north woods, looking past the stained glass butterfly that hangs in the window by my head. Stars come into view and grow bright and brighter. I watch them flicker and shine, each one hinting at something more. My mind is heavy with memories and swirling thoughts, but I push them aside and keep my focus instead on the shimmering stars. I want them to be clear. Each one is important, it seems, deserving of attention. Each one is a possibility, and maybe if I look long enough, or in the right way, something will stand out, or start to make sense.
My eyelids grow heavy, but I fight against sleep. If I fall asleep now, I might lose the opportunity to make sense of things. All the stars will just blur into nothing.
So I look, my tired eyes skimming over each star shining past the butterfly. Then, gradually, my focus starts to shift. I begin to notice the graceful lines of the butterfly wings, and the way the colors weave together, illuminated by the starlight shining from so far away. I remember buying this butterfly on Salt Spring when I lived there. A woman at the Saturday market had made a bunch of them, and each one was different, unique. I picked this one out, carried it home, and hung it in Sophie’s living room window for all to enjoy.
Now, this is all I have left of that place. I promised myself that I’d always keep a piece of Salt Spring, and this, I realize now, is it. This stained glass butterfly, hanging in a tiny window in the loft of a little cabin in the woods, is my piece of the Salt Spring I remember.
Minutes pass, the stars shimmer, and I look out at the night sky through my butterfly. Soon, I begin to notice that the stars look different now, somehow. Through the butterfly, the stars seem less distant, more a part of my surroundings. Yes, looking at it this way, I see that my butterfly brings the stars in closer, into here and now. I hold on to this realization and let sleep come, soft and welcome.
I wake up to the sound of laughter. Morgen is giggling about something. The sound drifts up into the loft and brings a smile to my face. I lean over the edge and peer down into the room below, where Morgen and Scott sit coloring at the table.
Scott senses my presence and looks up. “Good morning,” he says with a smile. “I’ll bring you some coffee.”
“No,” I reply. “I’ll come down.”
I crawl out of bed, reach over to the tiny window, and pull my stained glass butterfly off its hook. This, I decide, is going to hang in the main window. It’s not going to be my own personal thing anymore. For thirteen years, this piece of my past has been in the background. Packed away, moved around, hung up as an afterthought, looked past. It’s time to bring it out into our everyday lives, to see what shines through it.
I climb down the ladder with my butterfly in hand and then pull a chair over to the living room window. I reach up and hang the butterfly from a nail that protrudes from the window frame, almost out of reach, but not quite. I lean back slightly to make sure it’s straight, and then I climb down, step back, and admire what I have carried with me all these years.
The beautiful butterfly sways in the window, filtering the bright sunlight and bringing colorful streams into our living room.
“That’s pretty,” Morgen says.
“Yes,” I agree, “and it’s so much more.”
About the Author
Melanie moved to the United States from Canada in 1998 and, after traveling and relocating several times, she settled in Minnesota to earn her master's degree in English.? In her free time, which translates to the hours after she puts her daughter to bed each night—the hours that most people fill with watching TV or socializing with friends—she has written 13 Years in America. You can e-mail her at Melsteele.writer@gmail.com. She’d love to hear from you.
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