The Butterfly Effect

A Short Story by Scott Semegran

My daughters and I walked to the mailbox with hurried optimism. Sophia, my 6-year-old, ran in front, the mailbox key clinking on the keychain she grasped tightly in her little hand. My 8-year-old, Mia, held my hand and smiled at me while we walked.

"Do you think they'll be there, daddy?" Mia asked.

"I have a good feeling they will be."

"I sure hope so, daddy."

"Me too."

Sophia was already around the corner and running full-throttle for the mailbox, her little fists pumping, her little feet scurrying.

"Sophia is excited too, daddy."

"I can see that."

At the mailbox, Sophia inserted the key and opened the door. Plunging her hand in the mailbox, she pulled out a smallish cardboard box and placed it on the ground. She marveled at it like it was a treasure chest, an ancient lockbox filled with valuable things. Mia knelt next to it, placing her ear on top, closing her eyes as she listened.

"Do you think they know where they are?" Mia asked me.

"I would have to say no to that."

"Where do you think they think they are, daddy?" she asked.

"I have no idea what they are thinking. I'm sure they are confused, though."

"Can we take them home, daddy?" Sophia asked.

"Of course. Let's take them home."

Sophia leaned over to pick up the smallish box. And Mia also leaned over to pick up the smallish box. And within an instant, a shoving match broke out. They both wanted to be the sole carrier of the precious box. I placed my hands on their shoulders and leaned in between them.

"You two don't have to fight over them. You both can carry them home together."

They smiled and nodded. On each side of the smallish box, they carried it up the hill toward our house like a miniature funeral procession, like cute pallbearers. It was a sight to see. They could barely contain their excitement.

***

I slid the razorblade in the seams of the box and sliced it open carefully. I pulled the top open and emptied the contents of the smallish box on the coffee table. Mia immediately began inventorying the contents.

"Here's the... what do you call this thing, daddy?"

"That's the observation chamber."

"Neat. Here's the observation chamber. Here's the... what is this thing?"

"That looks like the feeder."

Sophia impatiently leaned over the box, ignoring her sister.

"Where are they, daddy?" she asked, curious and worried at the same time.

"I'm sure they are in there."

I pulled out a wad of marketing fliers and tossed them to the floor. At the bottom of the smallish box was an even smaller box, wrapped in an exorbitant amount of tape. I sliced the tape with my razorblade and opened the box. Inside, a round, clear plastic container housed what my daughters were waiting for: five caterpillars.

"Are they OK, daddy? Are they alive, daddy?" Sophia asked.

"Yes, baby. They are alive."

I raised the container so they could see the caterpillars. The bugs wiggled around inside the clear container, inch-worming their way around the perimeter, jabbing their heads back and forth.

"What are they doing, daddy?" Sophia asked.

"They look like they are dancing!" Mia said, laughing uncontrollably at the site of those worms wiggling. Watching them wiggle brought pure joy to their faces.

"Can I name them, daddy?" Sophia asked.

"Sure."

"OK, I'll name that one... Wormy! And I'll name that one... I'll name that one... Wormy!"

"You already named one Wormy!" Mia protested. "I want to name them too!"

"No! I'm going to name them!"

"I want to name them!"

I intervened again.

"Girls, it's time for the caterpillars to go to sleep. Mia, since you are the oldest, we're going to keep them in your room."

"OK, daddy."

"Can we both carry them, daddy?" Sophia asked.

"Of course."

The two cute pallbearers carried the wiggling caterpillars upstairs to Mia's room, where they were going to live for the next few weeks.

***

A few nights later, after watching the girls play outside, I was in the kitchen making dinner when I heard a blood-curdling scream from upstairs. I dropped what I was doing and ran up the stairs to Mia's room. The cat was slinking his way out of her room, looking guilty and annoyed at the same time. Mia was on the floor cradling the caterpillar container in her arms. Sophia was comforting her, patting her on the back.

"What happened, baby?" I asked, putting my arms around her.

"Merlot was trying to get the caterpillars." Merlot, by the way, was our big, fat Manx cat. Caterpillar slayer? I doubt it. Caterpillar sniffer? Most definitely. "He was going to EAT them!" she cried.

"Oh baby, I'm sure he was just curious. He wasn't going to eat them."

"Are you OK, Mia?" asked Sophia, a little more concerned for the caterpillars than her sister.

"Yes, Sophia."

"Can I see the worms?"

"Yes, Sophia." Mia handed the container to her sister. She held the container up so she could look inside.

"Look, daddy! Wormy is looking at me!" Sophia laughed. Sure enough, one of the caterpillars pointed his blunt head toward her, appearing to be looking at her. The girls giggled with excitement.

"See girls, the caterpillars are fine. No worries." I said.

Just then, a dog snout invaded our space, sniffing loudly. Sophia screamed, lifting the caterpillar container above her head.

"Daddy, Abby's going to get the worms!" Sophia screamed. Abby was our Greyhound / Labrador dog. She, unlike the fat cat, would gobble those worms like jellybeans. No doubt about it. But Abby licked Sophia's face instead and the girls giggled hysterically. The worms were safe from harm and were put back on their shelf.

***

According to the instructions that came with the caterpillars, after about a week, webbing would appear in the container, the worm food would be about gone, and the fat caterpillars would hang upside down to form their chrysalides. And sure enough, they did. They stuck their fat butts to the top of that container and dangled stiffly. In about another week, the worms would turn into Painted Lady butterflies. The girls and I looked in with amazement.

"Why do they do that, daddy?" Sophia asked.

"So they can turn into butterflies."

"Why do they turn into butterflies, daddy?"

"Because that's what caterpillars do."

"Why aren't they born butterflies?"

"Because first they are caterpillars, then they turn into butterflies."

"Why, daddy?"

"I don't know sweetheart. That's the way God made them, I guess."

The two girls peered lovingly into the glass container. Since they received them, they bonded as much as they could with Wormy, Slimy, Wormy II, Slinky, and Cinderella. Those worms didn't know how good they had it.

"When they turn to butterflies, I bet they will fly to Mexico, daddy."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because that's where butterflies go to. They like to fly to Mexico."

"That's very interesting. Why Mexico?"

"My teacher says it's because it's tropical in Mexico."

"What else does your teacher say?"

"She always says she needs a margarita!"

I laughed one of those deep belly laughs that come straight from your gut. The girls laughed too. I then transferred the dangling chrysalides from the plastic container to the observation chamber where their transformation would eventually take place. I hung the observation chamber by a window in the breakfast room.

***

After a week of patiently watching the cocoons, the worms emerged as beautiful Painted Lady butterflies. It was a peaceful spring morning, cool and breezy and quiet. I was making a fresh pot of coffee in the kitchen, peaking over at the butterflies occasionally as I prepared the pot, smiling while thinking about how the girls would react. Eventually, I could hear the girls upstairs, waking up and moving around. I knew they would be excited when they came downstairs to discover what had happened overnight. They tromped loudly down the stairs. And then they screamed with excitement.

"Butterflies!"

I pulled the observation chamber down and set it on the kitchen table. The girls perched in their chairs and watched the bugs flutter around inside.

"They're beautiful," Sophia cooed.

"That one must be Cinderella," Mia said, pointing to the one with the brightest colors.

"That's Wormy!" Sophia countered.

"No, it's not. That's Cinderella!"

I placed my hands on their shoulders and leaned in between them.

"It's too early for arguing, girls. I haven't had any coffee yet."

"Can we let them go, daddy? Please! PLEASE!" they asked in unison.

"Sure, let me make a cup of coffee. Then we can let them go in the backyard."

I made my cup of Joe and the girls picked up the observation chamber and we made our way to the back patio. I sat down as the girls set the observation chamber on the ground. They peered in lovingly.

"Daddy?" Mia asked.

"Yes, baby?"

"Do you think they'll make it to Mexico?"

"I'm certain of it."

"Are you sure?"

"I have no doubts. Why don't you let them go?"

"OK."

They unzipped the observation chamber and pulled the top flap open. A slight breeze came over the patio and the butterflies lifted themselves out of the chamber, gently flying over the lawn. They turned in the air like a pastel tornado, serenely weaving in the air. My daughters cooed as they watched the young butterflies.

For one second, one split second, it was a beautiful...

natural...

moment.

But a second later, Abby the dog was flying through the air, her mouth open, her tongue out. She snapped the first butterfly out of the air into her jaws as quick as lightning. And before my mind could comprehend what was happening, she leapt up again for another one, gobbling it down with one gulp.

My daughters screamed. And I jumped up to lunge at Abby, throwing my hot cup of coffee off the side of the patio. I swung at Abby's behind but she continued on. She gobbled and snapped the butterflies out of the air until they were gone. The only remnants of the serene bugs stuck to her dog lips, wing particles and such. It was a butterfly holocaust. It was horrible.

My daughters cried and cried. And I felt like crying too, having witnessed their care for the cute caterpillars over the past couple of weeks. All I could think of was, "Damn dog!" I could have killed that damn dog. But why add to the bloodshed? I took my girls inside the house to comfort them. I thought of saying something about why Abby ate them but then I thought it was just be better if I kept my mouth shut. So I kept my mouth shut.

And I gave them ice cream for breakfast.