Sunday, November 14, 2004
butterfly The Butterfly
Michael Tan
"Mum, i'm back," I called as i stepped into our flat after school. Usually Mum would reply, urging me to take my bath, eat and then do my school work. But this day-March 14, 1961- there was silence.
I walked into the bedroom the entire family shared. Mum was sitting at her dressing table, tears streaming down her cheeks. She looked up and said, "Your sister die this morning."I just stood there, not knowing what to say. I was ten years old and the concept of death had no real meaning to me.
I was trying to make sense of the situation when i found Elizabeth's school bag, sitting on a small table in the corner of the bedroom. The rectangular brown hard-case bag lookedas if it was waiting to be claimed by its owner. I knelt down, moving my hands slowly acroos the top of the bag, trying to sense my sister's presence. I opened it. Evrything was neatly arranged-exercise books on one side, textbooks on the other and her pencil case in between. There was also the black palstic headband that she had worn to school that morning.
I took out some of her excercie books. As i turned the pages, i could see a few "Good" and "Very Good" remarks on her English exercises. However, it was clear that Mathematics was her weakest subject. There was also an English Textbookentitled First Aid. The top right corner had a dark blue stain- i had accidentally spilled her bottle of ink refill on her books. I carefully returned the books to their original positions andwondered if Sis would be upset that i had gone thorugh her possessions. That evening i stood on the balcony, watching evry bus that pulled up at the stop opposite our building. I was hoping to see her appear from a bus, any bus, but to no avail.
"Is she coming back?" I kept asking my mother. "Why can't she come back? Why did she have to die?" Mum could offer neither comfort nor meaningful answers to my ceaseless queries. AT about nine o' clock that evening, a black butterfly flew into the kitchen. It fluttered around the hall and landed high on a wall. "Don't chase it away," Mum said. When i turned in for the night, the butterfly was perched in the same place, but by the nect morning it was gone. Only the did i remember what had happened two days previously.
That evening, as usual i had watched for Bus no.2, which brought Sis home fr. school. Several buses came and went, but there was no sign of her. I began to worry. Finally, i saw her step off a bus just as the streetlights were flickering on. I ran to the door bec.sometimes gave me sweetsd when she got home. Not than evening- she was in a hurry. She explained that she had forgotten to complete an art project that was due next day. RIght after her bath and dinner, Sis sat down at our round dining table. A single yellow bulb, not verybright, cast a shadowof her on the floor as she started to work on her painting. I went to the table to see what she was doing. "Dont spill my paint" she cautioned.
Sis divided a rectangular piece of drawing paper into twelve equal boxes, four across and three down. In each box, she painted the same butterfly in a bold black outline. Each butterfly had curly antennae and triangular wings. The wings had slanting lines and dots. She allowedme to help color in the background of each box. I filled alternate boxes with pink and yellow. It was late by the time we finished. Now, the day after Sis' death, i remembered that the butterfly that had flown into our flat lokked a lot like the one in her painting.
Every morning Sis left very erasly to catch her bus to school. Normally i was still asleep, but on the day she died, for some reason, i woke up at 5:30 i walked out of my room to find her rushing around, getting ready for school. That morning she didn't have tiome to finishher breakfast. The stairwell in our bldg. was rather dark, and i held the door open so that the light fr. our flat could help see her way down. It was about six o' clock when she left. "Bye, Brother" she called, as she turned to go. I had no idea that this would be the last thing she wouldever say to me. I still remember that very last glimpse of her goind down the stairs her back towards me. She was wearing her blue school unifrom. One hand hel her school bag and the outher bounced in the air as she sped dwon the stairs. She was only 14 years old.
Years later i learned that Sis was actually my adopted sister. It didn't matter - I felt the bond bet. us had remained strong despite the passing years. Even now, i wish i could have stopped the clock on the night bef. she died. For decade i didn't know the cause of her death - I wasonly told that she was founs lying in the school lavatory and couldn't be revived. However, just recently i obtained a copy of her death certificate, which said that she had suffered a cerebral hemorrhage. I belive the butterfly that flew into our flat actually Sis returning to pay us a final visit bef. moving on to the next life. One day I too will make this journey, and i will finally see her again.
Stupid_Doug sitting... waiting... at 11/14/2004 05:00:00 PM | 0 comments
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[ 'bout me. ]
"raymond j. san diego. aka monmon / momon / esdi / sd. Graduating psych student.
Gemini. Suffers from bipersonality disorder. Could last a day without talking.
Or could be the most manic person the next minute. Also suffers from sleep paralysis.
Loves the color green. Love dogs. Loves to sweat it out. Loves spongebob.
Frustrated cook. Frustrated singer. Frustrated instrument player.
Too optimistic.Too passive at times that he would laugh about things.
Too preoocupied with himself that he's talking in third person. "
[ Speak up!. ]
