Spirits and Ghosts

The first time it happened, I was six years old. My neighbor friend, Barry, who was eight, was trying to convince me to climb a tall, old tree. Up he went, without a hitch. I hesitated.

“Come on, Tim,” he yelled down. “Don’t be a chicken. It’s fun up here.”

I was about to grab the lowest branch, when I saw it. It was the brightest, most beautiful butterfly I had ever seen, like a mini rainbow. I followed it a few steps away from the tree, and it disappeared. That’s when Barry fell, landing exactly where I had been standing. He broke his arm.

It was a good thing I avoided him after that, because getting injured didn’t teach him to avoid doing stupid things. Barry got suspended at 12 for looking up a girl’s skirt. At 15, he got expelled for spray painting something racial about the principal on the school wall. When he turned 18, he overdosed. I was one of a handful of teenagers at his funeral.

That was the second time the rainbow butterfly appeared. I was standing at the outdoor reception, feeling out of place, wondering if anyone would notice if I grabbed a second tiny sandwich, when I caught sight of it to my right. I followed as I had 10 years prior. No one else seemed to see it. I zig-zagged and elbowed my way through a group of adults.

The butterfly circled a handsome young man and disappeared again. Was I supposed to talk to him? I couldn’t. He was too perfect. He caught me staring and smiled, which only added to his allure.

He walked to me and said, “I’m Barry’s cousin, Shawn.” He held out his hand. I shook it with a firmness unlike me. He asked, “How did you know him?”

I said, “He was my neighbor.”

Shawn’s face lit up. “Oh, I remember you! Tim, right?” I nodded. “I always wondered why you stopped hanging out, but I’m guessing you were too smart for… never mind. Let’s grab some refreshments and catch up.”

Shawn was everything I was not – self-assured, out-going, well-spoken. He talked and I listened, occasionally chiming in. We hit it off like long, lost friends. I didn’t want the afternoon to end. Apparently, Shawn felt the same, because after he gave me his cell number, he brushed my cheek. He said, “You had a stray eyelash,” but I was sure he lingered longer than necessary. That was the start of my first real relationship.

I wouldn’t tell anyone about my spirit butterfly – not even Shawn. I knew they would not believe me, or worse yet, they would laugh.

I became a freshman at Shawn’s college when he was a senior. He was majoring in marketing. I didn’t know what to do with my life. On campus was the next time the butterfly appeared. It led me to the music hall. Some girls were putting up a poster that read, “Drummer wanted for a grunge band.”

I took the poster right off the wall and said, “I’m the one you’re looking for. I play drums, and grunge is my favorite genre.” Shawn’s self-assurance was rubbing off on me.

They giggled, and the tall one said, “Let’s see what you can do.”

The band, Cyber Ghosts, was pretty good. I fit in as “one of the girls” right away. Shawn helped us with marketing and included it for a senior project. He never missed a performance, even when he should have been studying.

At a crowded outdoor concert in October, we were playing with gusto when my butterfly circled my head and took off. I crashed the cymbals and stood up. The girls stopped and gave me evil death glares.

I said, “Sorry, it’s an emergency. I promise I’ll be back.”

The lead singer, Slay, cursed in my direction. Then, she told the audience we were taking a short break.

I followed my spirit friend halfway down the block and into an alley. That’s when I found a group of men towering over Shawn, who was rolled up in a ball. They were shouting homophobic slurs and kicking him.

I yelled at the top of my lungs, “The cops are on the way. Get out of here, losers!”

That did the trick. They scattered like roaches trying to avoid a boot.

I knelt beside my beloved. He whispered, “You saved me.”

“Of course,” I said, “I’m just returning the favor for all the times you’ve been there for me. Now, save your strength.” I dialed 911 and then texted Slay.

Shawn had a broken rib and lots of bruises, but he survived. They caught two of the guys who had attacked him, and they ratted out the rest of them.

The Cyber Ghost girls forgave me when they found out what happened. We started touring fulltime.

I never saw the butterfly again. Well, except for the dozen I had put on our wedding cake.