(What can I say? I was in a bit of a songfic mood, and I always wanted to write something around the song "Butterfly" by Asian Kung-Fu Generation. The translation I used here is from AKFG Fan, a website dedicated to the band, in case anyone wanted to know. Any feedback on this is greatly appreciated!)
Butterfly
Using a heart like a sharp knife
I cross out the meaningless days with long and narrow cuts
Everything has piled up, like the past and boredom
I throw it all out on days when they don't burn the trash, just as it is
I bite my lip. Sitting next to Roy shouldn't be so frightening, but it is. I know he doesn't have x-ray vision or anything, but it still feels like he can see through the sleeves of my sweater and my pants legs. When he looks at me, it's almost like he can see that I spent another night crying, that I broke another promise. I don't make eye contact with him. I just stare down at my notebook.
"You alright?" he whispers to me in the middle of the lecture.
"Mm." I nod. I know he doesn't believe me, but he doesn't press any further. I'm thankful.
Like an unaddressed letter
We have nowhere to go and nowhere to stay
The dreams and hopes that have been dragged out
I throw it all out on days when they don't burn the trash, just as it is
Rebecca stares at me curiously, but she sneaks me in through her bedroom window.
"Another fight?" she asks, closing the window behind me.
I nod silently.
"Did he hurt you?"
"Not too badly." I trivialize the cuts and bruises because it could be a lot worse. I mean, at the very least I've got food and a place to stay, and Rebecca helps whenever she can. Still, she gets an ice pack for me and makes me some tea. While I'm there I forget about home and we talk about the stuff girls usually talk about. She tells me I should go out with Roy. I shake my head no because he's too busy flirting with other girls to notice me like that. I'm plain, boring, straight-laced Riza. I can only be a friend to him.
The semitransparent and unclear membranes envelope our world
My sense of reality for everything within five meters
Will disappear over time
And I'll begin to lose sight of things
"This isn't like you, Riza," Mrs. Campbell says, holding out an essay I wrote for her. It's completely covered in red ink. I can barely recognize that it's mine. "You were a straight-A student, and now you're falling apart. Is everything okay?"
I lie and say yes. I don't want her to know. She shouldn't have to.
"I think there's a problem we aren't addressing here. I'd like to have a conference with your parents."
"You don't want to do that," I say too quickly, holding my hands up. "My dad's really busy and stuff, and he doesn't like it when my teachers talk to him. He thinks it's a bother. He'll get really upset. Please don't call him."
Mrs. Campbell raises an eyebrow at me.
"I'm begging you, please give me another chance. I'll pull my grades up. I'll stay after school. I'll do anything; just don't tell my dad." A lead ball forms in the bottom of my stomach because I know I just nailed my coffin shut. Now she's going to be more determined to find out what's going on.
That night I don't go home. I go to Rebecca's house, and she paints my toenails. She tells me that one weekend we'll go to the mall and she'll get me some cute clothes because the guys would be all over me if I just dressed right. I don't say anything to that.
This light is like the haziness before it becomes dark
The phototaxis between positive and negative
I wonder if I'll become a butterfly once I've been destroyed
I sit in the park and watch the little kids chase butterflies. I remember doing that with Mom when I was little. She told me that butterflies start off as little caterpillars, crawling around and eating leaves. Once they get old enough, the start to form a shell to hide in for a while, a chrysalis. While they're inside the chrysalis, they go through this transformation, and when the chrysalis breaks open, they come out as beautiful butterflies. I want to become like that. I want to crawl into a sleeping bag and hide for a little while, and when I come out I'll be someone completely different. No one will recognize me as Riza.
I'm broken
I sit in a circle with Roy, Kain, and Jean. Jean reaches into his hoodie to pull out a joint. It shocks me a little, even though it shouldn't. I already knew Jean smoked; that was common knowledge. I just didn't know he smoked pot. Kain looks as nervous as I feel. Roy's expression hasn't changed. I watch as Jean produces a lighter and holds the tiny flame up to the joint. He inhales for a few seconds, then begins coughing. He passes the joint to Roy. Roy inhales, coughs, and passes it to me. I take it because I'd feel like a wimp turning it down. I inhale and cough almost immediately. It's a violent cough, and the smoke tastes disgusting. It's like vomit.
"Pass it, Riza," Jean says.
I hold the joint out, and Kain takes it, taking a hit. In a surreal way, my view of these three guys that I've known since I was little warps. Roy who used to play with toy soldiers and was on the park district soccer team. Jean who I had a slight crush on in junior high until he started making an endless stream of sex jokes. Even Kain who is scared of his own shadow. They're all rebelling, doing something illegal, dangerous, detrimental. And I'm now a part of it.
Until this dull pain has faded
If I can, I want to not throw things out, just like they are
When I get home, I start cleaning because that's what Dad expects me to do. He's not home, but I want to finish before he comes home. When he returns, I hide in my room and read overdue books from the library. Dad knocks on my door angrily.
"Do I need to teach you another lesson, Riza?"
I don't answer him.
"The past week your teachers have been calling me! Why? You know what you're supposed to do!"
I know, I know. I go to school, get straight-A's, then I come home and take care of your house while you go out drinking after work. And if I don't do that perfectly, you beat me until I figure it out. I don't say this, though. I don't dare talk back to him.
He opens the door and stares me down. I look up at him, something inside of me bubbling. This isn't the man I knew when Mom was alive. When Mom was here, he played games with me and bought me ice cream on Saturdays. It's like when Mom died, he died too. Now there's a stranger towering over me, raising his hand at me. It lands with a resounding smack, and when he hits me I hesitate for a second.
"You answer me when I'm talking to you!"
"No," I say quietly.
"What?" He grabs me by the collar of my shirt and shakes me. "What did you say to me?"
"I said no."
He starts to hit me repeatedly, knocking me to the floor. I can taste blood in my mouth. The pain is so intense that I can barely focus. He kicks at me, and I try to crawl away. If I could find something to protect myself with. Something to hit him with, to throw at him. I grab shoes, books, anything hard. I have to slow him down somehow so I can get out. I make it into the living room, and after pausing to quickly assess the situation, I grab a dusty lamp off of one of the end tables. He isn't far behind me, so I have to react quickly when I hear his heavy feet thudding against the floor. I brandish the lamp wildly, swinging, trying my hardest to land at least one critical blow. I manage to hit him in the stomach. He doubles over in pain. While he's on the ground I race for the front door, fumble with the lock, then run as far away from the house as I possibly can. I can feel some of the nosy neighbor's eyes on me, but I don't stop for them. I don't stop for anyone. I run until I reach Rebecca's house, ringing the front door frantically. Her mom opens the door, and she looks horrified.
"Riza! What's going on? Why are you –"
"There's no time, Mrs. Catalina," I say breathlessly. "Please, I need somewhere to stay. My dad and I got into a fight and I can't go home. Please."
She ushers me inside before anyone else can see me. Without hesitating, she calls the police. That frightens me more than my father because I probably still have pot in my system, and I don't want to go to jail and I don't want to go to a group home. Rebecca sits with me and holds my hand, tells me it'll be okay.
The semi-transparent and unclear membranes envelop our world
My sense of reality for everything within five meters
I won't forget it
We'll be connected forever
Staying with Rebecca and her family is weird, but they do their best to welcome me. They gave me the guest bedroom and while my dad was at work, I snuck back to the house to get some clothes and my school stuff. Rebecca helps me catch up with school. I'm actually eating decent meals.
It's weird, though. I'm in a completely new household where the way things work is different from what I grew accustomed to. Virtually no yelling or fighting, which is something that became a constant for me. It almost made me feel better because at least I knew what to expect. Their hospitality is scary, and it makes me wonder when it'll run out and they'll turn on me the way Dad did.
I go to my mother's grave. I lay some flowers next to her headstone, and I pray. At least I think it is. I'm not sure. No one ever really taught me how to pray, but I guess it something like talking to people who aren't really there and hoping that they hear it. It sounds crazy, but I don't know what else to do. It feels like I have something to say, something important, but I can't think of what it is. It makes me cry because she's my mother, and I should have something to say.
But maybe it's enough to want to say something, to have this feeling.
This horrible world I've given up on is calling us
But I've peeked ahead with my glass hopes and saw something there
"You've done really well, Riza," Mrs. Campbell tells me, reading over my latest paper. "This is the kind of work I expect from you all the time."
I smile softly.
"Have you thought about college? If you pull your grades up, you could get into any college in the country just about."
I feel my cheeks flush. I never thought about going to college before. I was too worried with what was going on right now that I never thought about the future.
"You mean that?"
"Yep." Mrs. Campbell grins at me, handing back my essay with "100%" written at the top.
This light is like the haziness before it becomes dark
The phototaxis between positive and negative
I wonder if I'll become a butterfly once I've been destroyed
Roy and I walk to school together. He slips his hand into mine. I blush because it's not something I expected. I thought he would just talk about how he doesn't want to go to school because the teachers are stupid and his dad is always pressuring him about grades. I guess that kinda makes it easier to understand why he gets high, but he doesn't talk about that. He doesn't say anything. He just holds my hand as we walk. I start to ask him why, but the question gets caught in my throat. In the distance I see Rebecca walking ahead of us. She turns her head around to steal a glance at us, and she smiles.
I'm broken
"I have a confession to make," Roy says. We're sitting together in the library, like usual. I was helping him finish his geometry homework. He puts away the notebook, though, and faces me with his eyes down.
"I know what you're going to say, and I have a confession to make, too," I say quietly.
"Huh?" He lifts his jet black orbs up with curiosity.
Hesitantly, with my stomach churning, I pulled up the sleeve on my left arm and rested it on the table. For the first time, I let someone see the scars I had put there. Some were small, minor, inconsequential, while the others were bigger and more roughly inflicted. Some were old and slowly fading away, while a few of them were relatively new and still left an impression. His eyes widened, and I kept my head down, scared to look at him directly.
"You wouldn't want to be with a girl like me, would you?" I grumble darkly. I force my head down even lower to hide the tears springing up.
"There's no one else I want." He lifts my head up by the chin to get a good look at me. "I had no idea you were in that much pain. I knew you were sad, but I didn't think it was that bad." His eyes tremble. "I…I'm sorry, Riza."
"It's not your fault."
"It is, though. I'm sorry I wasn't there for you more. I'm sorry I couldn't do anything to help prevent this. I hate it."
The tears are coming on full force now. I bury my face in my arms, crying harder than I ever remember crying. I hear Roy's chair scrape against the tile floor, and a warm arm rests on my shoulders a few seconds later. He doesn't say anything, and he doesn't have to. He just pulls me into an impossibly tight hug, and his smell fills my stuffy nose.
"My scars are ugly, aren't they?" I mumble. "They're ugly like the rest of me."
"No, of course not. You're the most beautiful girl I've ever seen, and your arm doesn't change that. You're still Riza, after all."
"You're just saying that."
"Why would I? You know I wouldn't say anything like that to you if I didn't mean it. Why don't you want to believe that someone genuinely cares about you? You deserve better."
"Thank you," I whisper. "No one's ever told me that before.
I wonder if I'll become a butterfly once I've been destroyed.