\nShe calls her husband before dawn calls the sun.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cHello?\u201d he says. His voice is tired. She knows he\u2019s been sleeping.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cHi, honey.\u201d Her voice is shaky from the caffeine. She normally doesn\u2019t drink so much, but she can\u2019t afford to sleep after her shift. She can\u2019t risk oversleeping on a day like today. \u201cAre you still going to work?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cYes,\u201d he says. \u201cI don\u2019t have any time off.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nShe frowns as she turns on the car. \u201cI don\u2019t like going alone, Matt.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cI know you don\u2019t,\u201d he says. \u201cI promise I\u2019ll come next year.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cI don\u2019t want there to be a next year.\u201d She can\u2019t help that her eyes are wet as she says this. She\u2019s worked too much and too hard with little sleep. \u201cI hate that everyone else goes together.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nMatt sighs. \u201cLiv, you can\u2019t be the only one that goes alone.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nShe bites the inside of her lip. Her heart hurts in a way he will never understand. \u201cYou don\u2019t know that,\u201d she finally manages to say. \u201cYou\u2019ve never been.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cI know. I\u2019m sorry.\u201d He pauses and she can hear as he shifts to sit up in their bed. \u201cI have to get ready. I promise, Liv. I promise if you don\u2019t find him I\u2019ll come with next time. I promise, okay?\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cIt\u2019s been five years, Matt.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cI know.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nLiv hangs up before he can say anything more and tosses the phone into the passenger seat. The interstate is laden with traffic. On any normal early morning the roads would be sparse, most working adults just rising for the day to take a shower and fulfill their morning routine. Today, though, is different. Today there are cars winding through the predawn elements, through the fog, through the dewy rain. Liv is one of them, barely able to merge behind a semi while the person behind her gives her the bird before throwing his vehicle to the left. She doesn\u2019t look as the couple speeds on past.\n<\/p>\n
\nAfter exiting the interstate Liv turns into the Walmart lot and parks in one of the many empty spaces towards the back. She grabs her phone from the passenger seat and opens up her Memorium app and begins sifting through pictures of her child. Her heart hurts looking at the weak and curled frame of her baby boy, the dried blood of the blanket that held his precious body so tight. She pushes her thumb on the same picture she\u2019s pressed every year for five years, the same raw heartache flowing through her as her eyes burn with salt.\n<\/p>\n
\nA moment later a whooshing noise confirms her payment and she sets her phone down carefully on the passenger seat, as though the picture of her son is still there.\n<\/p>\n
\nThe drive to FlyPrint is as long as it takes her to console herself, a few miles of backstreets and intersections. She knows to avoid the main road and she hates herself for waiting until the last minute to get the picture. Every year she tells herself that Matt can do it, an internal struggle that never quite comes to fruition. She hates the way it makes her feel. It\u2019s as if the words and the feelings can never quite connect, organs and bones failing to work in tandem.\n<\/p>\n
\nThe lot is full. She knew it would be like this. The bright side is that she has given herself a few hours before the event. There should be enough time to get the picture and leave and still be on time.\n<\/p>\n
\nLiv grabs her phone and opens the door, staring at the seemingly hundreds of cars in front of her. There are plenty of families around, some young and some old, big and small. She spots a young couple under the streetlight as they step out into the darkling morning together. She knows the isolation they feel. They wear it on their face and in their slump as their feet plod in unison towards the front. She hopes they find who they\u2019re looking for. If not, she hopes they at least continue to look together.\n<\/p>\n
\nThe line is long and it winds out of the store and along the sidewalk. A confused light flickers above before going out forever. The line moves and stops and others file behind her. She tries not to overhear the others around. Every story is sad and fresh, save for the old ones that simply stink of rotted hope. When it\u2019s her turn, an hour has passed.\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cNumber,\u201d the man says, failing to meet her eyes. He\u2019s callous and cold, which is mostly fine to her.\n<\/p>\n
\nLiv pulls out her phone and reads the number below her picture. \u201cSB-4-6-7-3-3.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cAlright.\u201d He crunches the numbers before looking at her. A moment later he says, \u201cThat\u2019ll be forty-seven-fifty.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cI thought it was forty-nine.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nThe man sighs. \u201cDiscount for being with us for five years.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\n\u201cOh,\u201d she says, holding her phone up to the reader. \u201cThanks.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nLiv watches as he turns around and waits for the humming of the giant white printer to stop. When it does, she cringes as he carelessly grabs the picture and thrusts it in her direction. \u201cThanks,\u201d he says, looking back at the computer. \u201cHave a wonderful day.\u201d\n<\/p>\n
\nShe leaves the store with the picture in hand, holding it close to her belly so that no one can see. It\u2019s something she\u2019s had to do for two years now, ever since an older couple scolded her on the way to her car.\n<\/p>\n
\nSave room for those who actually lost someone, the old woman had told her. I had three of those. I moved on.<\/em>\n<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \nAt the time she didn\u2019t know how to respond. She still doesn\u2019t know how to respond. She only knows to clutch the picture close to her stomach with as much tender and care as she can. Her eyes wander to the billboard above and she sees an advertisement for The Butterfly Field. There\u2019s a picture of a middle aged couple holding a small monarch in their hands, smiles wide and eyes fresh with love and adoration. She looks down and takes a peek at her picture, biting her lips, trying not to cry.\n<\/p>\n \nShe feels her phone vibrate in her pocket which releases her from her spell. She doesn\u2019t need to check who it is. Only one person ever calls her every year on this day.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cHi, dad,\u201d Liv says. She\u2019s holding the phone with her shoulder as she fumbles for the car keys, trying to keep the picture from folding too much.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cHi, honey,\u201d he says. \u201cHow are you?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cI\u2019m okay.\u201d She pauses. \u201cAre you coming today?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nHe doesn\u2019t say anything for a moment. She can hear his breath through the phone. Finally, he says, \u201cNo, Olivia. You know I don\u2019t believe in that stuff.\u201d A tinge of anger rides on his voice. \u201cYou didn\u2019t print a picture, did you?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cNo, dad.\u201d She sits down and turns on the car and carefully places the picture face down on the dashboard. \u201cYou asked me not to. But I just don\u2019t see why you won\u2019t try.\u201d She sighs. \u201cIt\u2019s been proven, dad. Multiple times. I\u2019ve sent you the articles and the news reports. I wish you would just try.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cIt\u2019s just too fresh, Livvy. I miss your mom. I do. I just don\u2019t want to get my hopes up.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cBut what if she\u2019s waiting for you?\u201d She knows she shouldn\u2019t have asked this. It\u2019s too much to bear. She can hear him beginning to break on the other end. \u201cI\u2019m sorry, dad. I just meant to say that I miss her, too. I\u2019m sorry.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nHe takes a second to collect himself. Liv allows this by sitting in her car, playing with her hair, looking in the mirror. \u201cDad?\u201d she says.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cYes?\u201d He says this with such painful inflection that it cuts her heart. \u201cI love you. I have to go now.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cOk, honey. Let me know if you find him. Maybe I\u2019ll try it if you do.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nShe hangs up the phone after saying goodbye and looks out and into sky. The sun is rising and poking through the trees beyond the lot. Her eyes catch a glimpse of two birds as they chase one another for different horizons. Another deep breath later and she is winding through side streets towards the interstate.\n<\/p>\n \nLiv isn\u2019t worried about the time. She has enough. It\u2019s simply arriving to the field that causes her heart to spin. It\u2019s the way she feels pulling onto the grass lot as others converge and begin to walk the forest trail, everyone having had lost someone they could touch and hold and speak to and love. It\u2019s the incessant pain of shame. Shame that her body couldn\u2019t do just one thing right and the shameful act of just not letting go of something so botched and unviable.\n<\/p>\n \nNot a someone,<\/em> as the old woman said.\n<\/p>\n \nShe arrives with plenty of time to spare and rolls onto the grass lot where everyone else is parked and unpacking for the day. All ages are represented, from babies to elders. Parents are already chasing young children due to their lack of understanding as bored, unbelieving teens look on, hoping to stay near the car.\n<\/p>\n \nAfter parking behind a large camper, she grabs the picture off the dashboard and moves to open the door. She stops, though, when she sees a man get out alone. He had just parked next to her and is now grabbing a small lawn chair from the front. He holds the picture of a young girl no older than three.\n<\/p>\n \nShe looks at hers and fails to stop the tears from forming around her pupils. Everyone has such beautiful pictures. Brunette hair and hazel eyes, soft developed skin, captured moments of joy and forced smiles. She cries when she looks at hers, which is nothing more than red translucent skin and emaciated limbs, a head that looks much too large. And yet, it is everything to her and everything she has ever longed for. The perfect and only child she has ever loved.\n<\/p>\n \nA knock on her window startles her from this reverie. It\u2019s the man with the picture of the little girl. He knocks again, his face calm and pleading for her to roll the window down. She does.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cYes?\u201d Liv says, wiping her eyes. She flips over the picture of her son so he can\u2019t see.\n<\/p>\n \nShe watches the man\u2019s eyes as they fall to the flipped photographed. Everyone looks. She understands this. \u201cI lost my brochure. Thought I brought it from home.\u201d He pauses and an embarrassed look works over him. \u201cWould you mind showing me where I need to sit?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nIt\u2019s his first year. Most people only need one year for their loved ones to find them. Five years, though, is mostly unheard of. Rarely does anyone come for more than three.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cSure,\u201d Liv says. \u201cThat\u2019s fine. We\u2019re in the same section anyways.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nHe gives her a puzzled look.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cI\u2019m sorry. I saw your picture. Is she three? Four?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cOh,\u201d the man says. \u201cYeah. Three. He extends his hand. \u201cI\u2019m Will.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cLiv,\u201d she says, meeting his hand. \u201cJust let me get my stuff.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nThey walk side by side in silence, both with folding chairs and a picture in their hand. Liv looks up and to the morning sun and tries to let it warm her face. It\u2019s a beautiful day, now. Different from the predawn chill and rain. The grass beneath her feet is wet and she can tell that the dew will soak through her shoes before they get to the clearing.\n<\/p>\n \nShe tries to keep to herself as they walk and he\u2019s socially aware enough to not ask any questions. The event is not a great time to get to know other people.\n<\/p>\n \nThey converge into one single line with all the others that are pouring in from the lot. The trailhead isn\u2019t particularly wide and doesn\u2019t allow for anyone to stand side by side. She\u2019s always happy for this. It\u2019s a time for forced solitude as they make their way to the clearing, each person able to reflect and hope and think of those they loved and lost.\n<\/p>\n \nShe\u2019s still holding her picture close to her stomach so the others behind her can\u2019t see. She doesn\u2019t think Will would say anything, but also doesn\u2019t want to risk it. She\u2019d rather not be angry at others on a day like today.\n<\/p>\n \nA mile or so later there\u2019s a break in the trees as a vast field meets them under open sky. A slight wind rolls through and rustles her pants before disappearing behind her forever. Liv watches as those ahead break left or right at the end of the trail, which is determined by a lone woman standing at the trail\u2019s end, her fingers working furiously as she scans each barcoded picture to cross check with obituaries before pointing them along to their destination. Those looking for the elderly have to walk the farthest, which makes sense considering they\u2019re the ones most content with landing among the flowers of the field, oblivious to the calls of family and loved ones.\n<\/p>\n \nWhen it\u2019s her turn, she lifts the back of the picture towards the scanner and allows the woman to hover the device over it. She\u2019s happy she doesn\u2019t have to show.\n<\/p>\n \nEveryone else has beautiful pictures.\n<\/p>\n \nThe woman points Liv off to the right uncaringly before waving Will forward. He steps forward as awkward as ever, umbling around the picture to try and be accommodating to the scanner. In the end it works just fine and he\u2019s ushered off in the same direction.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cIt\u2019s very fast,\u201d Will says after he\u2019s caught up with Liv.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cIt\u2019s gotten faster,\u201d she says. \u201cThe cross check even just a couple years ago wasn\u2019t too great. Lot of waiting in line and frustrated people.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cHuh.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nLiv catches a frown on his face before she\u2019s able to look away. \u201cWhat\u2019s wrong?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nHe doesn\u2019t answer. She can tell he\u2019s thinking. They continue to wade through fresh smelling wet grass.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cI don\u2019t know,\u201d he finally says before looking at his picture. \u201cI just thought life would be different. I never thought I\u2019d be visiting her here.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nLiv nods her head and thinks back to when she was a child, visiting grandparents at stone graves and standing atop their dirt. She remembers laying flowers on the ground and eating chocolate pudding, waiting for her mother as she wept. \u201cYeah,\u201d she says. \u201cIt\u2019s strange how much we\u2019ve learned about the world. Even in just the last ten years.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nTheir section isn\u2019t far from where they scanned and she points to the small, almost unnoticeable sheet of white paper nailed to a wooden stake. \u201cWe just can\u2019t go past that marker. Five and up only.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cOk,\u201d he says. \u201cSo I just sit right here?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nLiv looks around at all the others as they silently set up lawn chairs around them. It\u2019s not a particularly busy section this year. She points forward a bit more. \u201cI\u2019d sit closer to the field. If you want to sit by me, that is.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cSure,\u201d Will says. \u201cI\u2019ll sit by you.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nThey walk together side by side and unfold their chairs right along the edge of the white chalk that marks where they are not allowed to cross. After they sit, Liv peers out over the clearing and can see the small shapes of every restless person. Everyone has formed a semicircle around the field, the open part stretching infinitely to her right and out of sight.\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cWhat do we do?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nLiv looks over at Will, forgetting that he forgot his brochure. \u201cWe wait,\u201d she says, looking down. \u201cWhere did you get your picture?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cFlyPrint,\u201d he says. \u201cIs that okay? I read at home not to print your own. She won\u2019t recognize it?\u201d\n<\/p>\n \n\u201cYou\u2019re right,\u201d says Liv. But then she frowns, because for five years she hasn\u2019t seen her son. \u201cWhen they come just hold it on your lap. Make sure the picture faces the clearing.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nThey say nothing more to one another, instead allowing the sun to climb high into the sky. It tickles their face with warmth, love, and for a moment, a brief moment, Liv forgets why she\u2019s even there at all. Clouds roll over the clearing, some briefly providing cool shadows. These, though, pass and move to different skies as the sun climbs higher and higher and higher.\n<\/p>\n \nAll are settled in, not a voice or whisper penetrates the sound of the wind as it gently flows through the grass. All eyes, including hers, are pointed toward the end of the clearing. Many have already propped up their pictures, as if it would help if they were early. Liv never does this. She feels uncomfortable. She\u2019s happy that Will has followed her lead.\n<\/p>\n \nA couple of hours pass as the sun reaches its zenith. She can tell people are getting restless and it reminds her of the way anxious people fidget and shift right before a flight. This restlessness passes once the black cloud emerges from the open way of the clearing. It\u2019s small at first, but grows steadily over seconds, moments, minutes. Soon after, the first joyful cry echoes from the end of the semicircle close to where the cloud first came. Then, others join in as the kaleidoscope of butterflies dissipates to the edges, each finding a parent, son, daughter, friend.\n<\/p>\n \nLiv can\u2019t help the way her heart aches. Years of waiting to no avail have taught her to expect pain and disappointment. She tries not to feel so jealous of those just beyond her as they reunite with someone they lost. She\u2019s happy for them, at least she thinks she is. It\u2019s difficult to wade through the unfairness and confusion. It\u2019s hard to start with joy.\n<\/p>\n \nShe watches a small butterfly\u2014a Western Pygmy Blue, she thinks\u2014as it breaks from the cloud that is now rolling past her for the trailhead. She watches as this small, beautiful creature hovers over Will\u2019s picture, as if it were studying a beautiful painting at a museum. She lands, then, atop the paper, and Liv can see the look of surprise and wonder on Will\u2019s face. Tears form easily and fall helplessly to the ground. He reaches out and Liv knows he wants to squeeze his daughter so tight. Instead, he whispers something private and inaudible and it\u2019s enough to make Liv look away.\n<\/p>\n \nAll around her the once silent field echoes with the strange medley of grief stricken joy. Butterflies of all kinds pass by her for other pictures or none at all, many simply disappearing into the trees where they will land and enjoy the encroaching evening sky.\n<\/p>\n \nShe doesn\u2019t notice the others around her as they leave, folding chairs and picnic blankets. She almost doesn\u2019t notice Will as he stands and stretches, eyes red and strained. \u201cI could hear her,\u201d Liv hears him say, though not to her. \u201cI could really hear her.\u201d\n<\/p>\n \nHe packs and leaves without saying goodbye.\n<\/p>\n \nSoon she is alone with only the disappearing light of the sun to warm her. The field is empty save for the last straggling butterfly as it flaps its tiny wings for the forest beyond. She looks to the trees and wonders at the strange sight, a thousand pairs of wings as they open and close, each to the rhythm of their own heart.\n<\/p>\n \nLiv sighs and puts the picture face up on her lap. She stays this way for some minutes, not caring that her car is the only one left in the lot. Her eyes are still on the empty field and she determines right then and there that she will try again next year.\n<\/p>\n \nShe isn\u2019t looking when he comes, not flying, but crawling through the grass below her. His wings are wet, new, unusable. Each perfectly crafted leg works brilliantly with the other as he crawls up to rest on her belly.\n<\/p>\n \nAs he always does.\n<\/p>\n Joshua Green is a husband, father, and speculative fiction writer with a Bachelor of Arts in Urban Studies. When not reading, writing, gaming, or chasing his two children around, you can find him outdoors disc golfing. For more information on previous and upcoming publications you can find him on Twitter at @byjoshuagreen.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" She calls her husband before dawn calls the sun. \u201cHello?\u201d he says. His voice is tired. She knows he\u2019s been sleeping. \u201cHi, honey.\u201d Her voice is shaky from the caffeine. She normally doesn\u2019t drink so much, but she can\u2019t afford to sleep after her shift. She can\u2019t risk oversleeping on a day like today. \u201cAre …<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":107207,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[3,20076],"tags":[20077],"class_list":["post-137942","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-fiction","category-tcl-36-summer-2020","tag-the-colored-lens-36-summer-2020","entry entry-center"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/137942","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/107207"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=137942"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/137942\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":137943,"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/137942\/revisions\/137943"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=137942"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=137942"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=137942"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}