Becoming A Butterfly (The Butterfly Chronicles) Read Free

lack of trying on my mom’s part; she layered, thinned, shined, permed, relaxed, and did possibly everything she could to make my hair beautiful. In the end, the blond of it played dirty and liked being parted on the side in an angle, not quite straight no matter how hard I tried. The few times I’d had bangs, they decided to part down the middle purely to annoy me. Glasses? Why yes, I did wear glasses. Of course, they had to have plastic frames because my lenses were so thick. No, I couldn’t wear the trendy square or designer brands. Dr. Monroe felt I needed the black, round-rimmed glasses. “They are more practical,” he told my mother, as she nodded politely. When we left, she’d cursed herself for not having a backbone to stand up to him, but she didn’t go back to exchange them either. She surprised me a few weeks later with new contacts, but I was never brave enough to try them, so they sat in my cabinet in my bathroom. She tried to dress me fashionably. I had everything in my closet that I needed to look trendy or even find my own style, but unfortunately I hadn’t accomplished that yet. I had all the tools; they just didn’t seem to have me. I’d wear a white top with a grey corduroy skirt and brown boots and think I looked fine. But once I was in the light of day, I’d realize maybe I should have worn the black boots instead, or maybe ballet slippers because it was a mild day. It was just enough of an afterthought that I always looked a little misplaced. I was determined to figure it out in those moments of awkwardness, but at the crucial times I always tended not to care as much as I should. Despite my fashion faux pas, my mother still tried. My bathroom vanity was lined with the highest quality products, and my closet was filled. When Nana finished the dishes, she sat down with me and started a mini-marathon of Hoarders I had saved on our DVR. Finally, after announcing three times that she was leaving, she went home.
     
    It wasn’t too long before my dad walked through the door. He always came home first. Mom usually worked into the evening. He went straight to the kitchen to decide what we were eating for dinner. My dad had short, light brown hair. He always wore a polo shirt and khakis. He owned his own insurance company on Main Street across from my mom’s salon. Everyone liked my dad. He always said the right thing, whether it was a joke or an encouraging pep talk. I was glad he was my dad too. He finished the Hoarders marathon with me just as Mom arrived. She ranted about her last two appointments cancelling. We grilled out and ate on the patio. In the summer time the patio is my parent’s favorite room. They sip their coffee from lounge chairs in the morning, read the paper or novels, or just sit out there and talk. They entertain company out there, and I think they would sleep out there if we’d let them. As Lana and I did the dishes, my friends arrived. Our house wasn’t fancy; it was an older house that my parents had rehabbed. They had improved on the updates too, like the gourmet kitchen, and giving me a connected bathroom. A lot of the homes in our neighborhood were rehabbed historic homes. My parents had also put a pool in the backyard like many of our neighbors. We had a large front porch with a swing and tall windows that were gorgeous in the winter time when they showcased our large Christmas tree. They both grew up in our town and knew everyone just as their parents had, and as I imagined I would.
     
    As my friends piled their bags in the entry way, their attention was drawn to the boxes sitting there.
     
    “ What are these?” Tasha asked.
     
    “ Mom, Nana brought your stuff from the attic.” I remembered that I’d forgotten to tell her or my dad. Mom appeared in the doorway, eyebrows furrowed.
     
    “ Why?” She approached the boxes and opened the top one.
     
    “ She cleaned out her attic.” I shrugged. She began lifting out dusty, stale clothes.
     
    “ OH. MY.