Butterfly - Positivity group prompt

Amy stood back, watching the butterfly land on her lavender -scented washing.

“I envy you.”

Lately she'd found herself talking to random things. Anything to get the words out of her head. Up there, confined, they ran around each other, cut across, in, round and under until no single thought made sense. Set free, spoken to a passing cat, bird or butterfly, they were no longer part of the crazy place her head had become.

The butterfly flurried up in a whisper of blue, hovered around her hand, then disappeared into the brambles tangling the back hedge. She envied its freedom, its ability to just take off and be where it wanted to be. Grabbing up her laundry basket, casting a longing glance in the direction of the cool river running behind the low hedge, she headed inside to begin lunch.

The boys arrived, ate and disappeared. Jon fled to the cricket pitch, still chewing the last of his apple pie. Paul was equally fast, the pub his destination. Their garbled, food-muffled descriptions of college and university went by in a muddled moment. She didn't feel part of their lives any more. They came home with dirty socks, dirty jokes. They appeared at the table to eat and were gone. She knew they had lives to lead, but couldn't they spare just a little time, slow down, sit down, open up? As darkness fell, she stared at the message on her phone; 'Staying at Jake's. C U 2morrow. Jon & Paul.

“Bed it is then”

Amy sighed deeply and trundled upstairs to her empty room.

Hours later, unable to sleep, too aware of the empty space beside her in the bed, Amy stuffed her feet into the silly rabbit slippers Jon had bought as a joke birthday present, wrapped herself in her well-worn, much loved housecoat, resplendent with twee bunnies and capering mice, and shuffled down to the kitchen. The house was too empty. When Gary had announced he wanted to separate, she'd thought it would be for a few months at most, time for him to get over his mid-life crisis and return to her. Just over a year, two foreign holidays, one new car and half a dozen ditzy blondes later, Amy had finally realised it wasn't going to happen.

She clutched a cup of juice, occasionally rolling it across her forehead and hot cheeks. The garden was as still as the house, but not silent. Through the open window she could hear the gentle rustle of creatures, night denizens going about their business. An owl whispered by, a soft shadow. Further on she could hear the stream running. Hot, uncomfortable, sticky, uneasy in her skin, Amy experienced a sudden yen to run down the garden and leap into the stream.

“Do it.”

Her voice sounded too loud, too eager in the silence of the house, as if the very bricks resented her sudden outburst. In a fit of childish rebellion, she poked her tongue out at the wall, threw open the back door and ran into the night.

She left her slippers on the patio, shivered as her toes curled into the slightly damp, cold grass and ran to the hedge. She paused briefly, searching for the gate Gary had installed years ago. The kids had loved it, their very own entrance to a private water world. She couldn't remember the last time they'd been in the garden let alone near the stream. Her eyes were adjusting to the gloom, locating the gate. It was low enough to vault over, her urge bringing no real danger. She landed neatly on the other side.

“Not so bad for an old girl.” she chuckled.

Seconds later she followed yet another mad whim, stripping out of her clothes and wading into the cool, clear stream without pause. She found the round, smooth rock the boys had once used to fish from, plonking herself down and dangling feet and fingers in the slow running water. For the first time in months she felt unburdened, her mind calm, her body at ease. The water was too delicious to resist. Slipping off the rock, she sank into the water, causing barely a ripple, allowing herself to flow back and forth with the wind as it ruffled the surface about her.

With her ears underwater, she really stood no chance of hearing him. The first either of them knew of another soul was when he stood on her hair and she jerked up, water cascading down her naked body. As he had apparently had the same thought, standing naked, waist deep in water, but still clutching his groin in shocked dismay, she did the unexpected. Instead of the desperate attempts to cover up, even run for the shore, Amy laughed. It started out as a giggle which burbled over her lips, parted them and worked its way up the scale until she was crying, her eyes streaming, her arms clutched about her ribs which ached with a fierceness she's begun to think she'd never experience again. Unable to withstand her abandon, the man joined her, their laughter spiralling into the silence of the night, offending every animal and bird for miles around.

Gasping for breath, unable to straighten for the weakness around knees and ribs, Amy stuck out her hand in the stranger's general direction, felt their palms connect and shook.

“Amy.” she managed.

“Carl.” he wheezed.

“Nice night.”

For some reason this cracked them both up again. Amy collapsed onto the bank, Carl landing a couple of feet distant. They sat, trying to recover some sense of decorum, but every time their eyes met, the laughter threatened to bubble up again. Finally Amy gave up. She waved her arm back, indicating the light in her kitchen.

“Fancy a coffee?”

A part of her brain was screaming at her lunacy, but tonight she was a butterfly, free to flit where she would.

“Sure. And in case you are wondering, I live next door. Moved in yesterday. And I'm not a serial killer.”

“Well that's ok then” Amy answered primly and they were off again, spluttering giggles and staggering up to the house.

As they passed over the threshold, Amy wondered if this might be one night when she didn't have too much room in her bed. Her cheeks flushed, Carl discreetly pretending not to notice, but his hand lingered just a little too long as she handed him his mug. Amy stretched her wings and flew.

(Image found here)

Author's note - A lot of things inspired this story, but above all was the song, Love is Like a Butterfly. I've included the Dolly Parton version below, but I remember it being used as the theme tune to a BBC show called 'Butteflies' which was about a woman called Ria who was working her way through a mid-life crisis. I wanted something of that gentle humour to come through in Amy's story, dedicated to all of we women who are of a certain age.

Bright Blessings

Mojo