The Blue Butterfly by Jay Carnine
Tuesday, October 1, 2002
The Blue Butterfly
Circa 1953 - 1955
Sometimes I wasn’t so sure about Jr. High school. Between math class which I totally hated and fights which I wasn’t too fond of cuz I lost most of them, seems like stepping up into Jr. High wasn’t quite what I expected. There were times when it just wasn’t much and times when it was totally worthwhile. Trouble was, the worthwhile times were few and far between. At least they were lately. And that didn’t even count getting chewed out by the math teacher. I mean, who cares about math? All I could see that it was good for was keeping track of your money and since I never had too much to start with and what I did have was soon gone, not much math was needed there. I think it drove dad nuts. I was lucky to get a C in math and most times it was a D or a D+ if the teacher felt extra generous or extra sorry. I never was sure which it was.
English though, I loved English. Especially when they gave us reading assignments. It was never a problem for me. I read so much that when the teacher wanted a book report and the class started groaning, I just sat down and knocked one out before class was over. I think sometimes teacher thought I was cheating and doing the report from the book jacket. He always made a point to tell us that if we did a report off a jacket, he could tell. I’d say it was a BS story, but I liked the teacher so I just put it into that little category that we all use from time to time. The category of maybe so, maybe not.
Anyway, I decided to give it a test one day, went to the library, grabbed the first halfway obscure book I came to, read the jacket, made up a story to go with it and turned it in as the book report. Got a good grade too.
Life really changed when 8th grade rolled around. Me and the guys went to the school library to get a book that teacher said we had to do a short synopsis on. The way he explained it, it sounded pretty much like a book report to me.
Walking in the library door we were absolutely stunned to find a knockout, drop dead gorgeous young woman behind the desk. I mean, there was nothing wrong with the nice middle aged lady who was the head librarian, but holy smokes, this was a whole new ball game. I already spent a lot of time in the library, but after seeing her, I was there every chance I got. Not much reading was getting done either.
Miss Thompson was her name and her title was Assistant Librarian. She was, as they say, a vision of loveliness. Seems I wasn’t the only one affected. The gang of course, they didn’t miss a thing, but the other teachers, the men anyway seemed to like going to the library a whole lot. I mean, what the heck was the coach doing in there? He wasn’t married or anything, but it seemed like he was in there talking to her all the time. Trying to get a date I guess. After a few weeks he got tired of hearing her say no and gave it up. Never saw him in there again.
The rest of my time at Jr. High, at least as far as the library went was pretty darned good. At least it was until near the end of the ninth grade school year when Miss Thompson disappeared out of our lives. We heard stories, more than a few, although nothing too bad. The one that kept coming around was that she had a blue butterfly tattooed on her hip. I hadn’t heard it before she left and now I wondered how the heck a story like that, true or not, got started. It would have been quite a scandal if it was true .
So much to our dismay, me and the gang anyway and I bet a few of the men teachers as well, it looked like Miss Thompson was gone forever.
Seemed like summer slid by in no time. About all I remember is hitting the beaches and hiking around the hills above town, doing a little rafting on the river and that was about it.
Since I’d started school at four years old, most of my friends were old enough to drive a few months before the end of tenth grade rolled around. That made it really great. Having a car for transportation meant that when school shut down for the summer, we could go to the beach almost every day. For a while there I wondered how come so much freedom. Now that I think about it, it looked like mom and dad were happy to get us out of the house and as long as we stayed out of trouble they didn’t care where we went.
Course, one of the first things we did, whenever one of the guys could wangle a car on a weeknight was head for the library. It was fine with the folks, but I figured they knew that all we were doing was visiting the library for a few minutes, long enough to check out a book if necessary and then head out for an evening of running around town.
About the third time we did that one, we hit the library downtown, walked through the door and there was Miss Thompson. We hadn’t seen her for over a year, but if anything she was more beautiful than ever. It always seemed she had a nice smile for me and now and then a few extra words, but maybe it was my imagination or probably just that she knew me as a regular customer of the Jr. High library. Finding her there made going to the library really worthwhile. What it really made us was a small gang of dreamers. Dreaming about what I wasn’t sure, but heck, a guy could dream couldn’t he?
A little while after summer rolled in, some of the guys had jobs and that was pretty much the end of the free rides. So it was back to riding the bikes, hitchhiking or just walking all the way to the beach on the weekdays.
Imagine our surprise when we started going there on Saturdays and finding Miss Thompson laying on a towel pretty close to where we usually hung out. Geez...... she looked better in a bathing suit than our overactive imaginations had ever thought. She’d smile at us when we traipsed in over the dunes and sometimes she gave us a little wave. Every once in a while she’d be there with a guy that looked like he belonged in high school. We thought he was kind of young looking for Miss Thompson, but we didn’t know how old she was and had never asked.
We knew she was too old for us or maybe it was just that we were too young for her. The age difference didn’t slow us down one iota. Slow us down in thinking about her anyway.
Like always though, somebody in the gang screwed the whole thing up. We’d see her at the beach and talk about her amongst ourselves sometimes, well.... actually every time. It finally came to a head when Bill, who’d been stupid enough to drag his pain in the ass nine year old brother along let him run loose.
The dumb little snot heard us talking about the blue butterfly tattoo and the next thing we knew he was over asking Miss Thompson if it was true and if he could see. She gave him a really
strange look and motioned us over. We didn’t know what to think.
I didn’t know what to think when she pointed at me and said, “You stay, the rest leave.”
Now I really didn’t know what to think. She got up, folded up her towel, got her bag and started walking toward her car. I didn’t think she was mad, but she probably was.
I was just standing there watching, kinda mesmerized like when she turned around, said, “come on” and started walking toward her little coupe. I followed along without a word.
She opened the door, said, “get in,” tossed her stuff in the back and got in.
I got in and I sure didn’t know what was going to happen, but you couldn’t have drug me out of there with a team of mules and a fat rope.
She looked through the windshield and saw the gang sitting on top of a sand dune about 50 yards away and watching us intently.
She turned toward me and asked, “What is it you want to know about me?”
“I’m..... I don’t know. I mean..... I’m not sure.”
“Surely there must be something?”
“How old are you?”
“I thought you were smart enough to know never to ask a lady her age. Or her weight. Remember that and your life will run much smoother. I’ll tell you anyway, I could buy beer legally three years ago. I know you’re terrible at math, but you ought to be able to figure that one out.”
“You like beer?”
“Yes. At the right place and the right time, I like beer. Surprised?”
“Yes. How do you know I’m bad at math?”
“I talked to your teachers. You were my best customer at the library and I don’t think you came in just so you could ogle me.”
“I like books, but it’s hard not to look at you.”
“That’s ok. It’s a compliment if you do it like a gentleman.”
“So how does a gentleman do it?”
“Casually, just glances, but the main thing is, don’t stare. Women hate that.”
“Ok.”
“What else?”
“What else?”
“What else do you want to know?”
“Who’s the guy we see you with now and then? Your little brother?”
“No, he’s my fiancee. Didn’t you see my engagement ring?”
“No.”
“Well, if you’re going to be looking at women, that’s a good place to start.”
“Ok.”
“He does look young doesn’t he? He’s a couple of months older than I am. My mom teases me and says I’m robbing the cradle.”
“He doesn’t look like he’s old enough to be out of school.”
“Well, he’s old enough to have spent four years in the Army and he was in the Korean war. He’ll talk about the Army, he has a lot of funny stories about that, but there are some things he won’t talk about.”
I started to get out and she said, “Where are you going? Don’t you want to know the rest?”
“The rest?”
“Yes. The blue butterfly. I’ve heard the stories.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Well, I’m going to tell you anyway. You can keep a secret can’t you?”
“Yes.”
“I’m serious, this is an important secret, but you’ll like it and if you can keep it a secret, you’ll like it all the better.”
“Alright.”
“See your friends over there on the sand dune?”
“Yes.”
“They’re watching pretty close, so here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going to pull one of my bathing suit straps down over my arm and slide down in the seat.”
“Oh man.....”
“Don’t get excited, just pay attention. When I slide down, you slide down too so that we’re both out of sight and then I’ll let you in on the secret.”
I didn’t quite know what to think, but I was pretty damn willing I want to tell you.
She did just what she said, slid her strap over her arm and slid down in the seat. I looked around and there wasn’t a soul in sight except for the gang who had abandoned sitting on the dune long ago and now they were stretching their necks and watching.
I slid down, looked over at her, she was just out of sight from the guys and she said, “Here’s the secret. I’m not going to tell you anything and I’m not going to show you anything. Your friends up on the sand dune can think what they want and if you’re as smart as I think you are, you’ll keep the whole thing a secret.”
I nodded my head, she sat up, fixed her strap, smiled and I got out of the car. I didn’t even look back after she fired the engine. The guys though, they couldn’t wait. They came boiling down off the sand dune just full of questions. All I told em was that she asked me to keep it a secret. They tried to get it out of me for a while, but I never said a word.
So here we are, many years later and I still visit the old home town once in a while. Most of the gang is still there and we’re still friends.
Every once in a while though, one of them will ask about Miss Thompson and the blue butterfly. I smile at them, but I’ve never said a word about that day at the beach.
Sometimes, some secrets really are worth keeping.
Absolutely beautiful story that is well written and one I could read over and over again and will...very nice.
Reviewed by Mary Erickson
4/27/2003
A poignant reminder of our youth and the innocense of those bygone days. Loved it.
Reviewed by Jennifer Cary
4/8/2003
Jay, You have an easy style that kept me glued to the end - there's always a teacher or someone like Miss Thompson I think in everyone's life (for me it was the handome Spanish teacher) - that makes it so easy to identify with your story of The Blue Butterfly. Very Enjoyable!
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