Broken Butterfly

Turning to face the old man, Rocky hesitated before speaking. "If you want me to hurt you, I will. Be prepared to feel pain, though; a lot of pain."

When Rocky first lost his job, he didn't have any plans. Weeks later, he still didn't know what to do with his future. The rent wasn't due for a few days. However, the man's constant nagging gave him a headache. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

"I'll be out by the end of the week."

"You have to give four weeks' notice to get your deposit—"

"Fuck the deposit. There's no way I'm staying in this dump another month," Rocky said, cementing his sudden decision. "Move out of my way now, Clarence. I'm off to find some boxes so I can start packing."

Walking with a lighter step than he had in years, Rocky turned his back on the man. Once in his car, he paused before driving away, pondering the recent changes in his life. Stagnant for so long, trapped in a dull and boring routine of his own making, he suddenly felt free and alive. Satisfied with his decision, he drove to town to look for boxes.

An hour later, with the back seat and trunk filled with boxes, Rocky returned to his apartment. First, he calculated what he would put into storage until he chose a new place to call home. Then he lined those items up on one wall of his living room. The opposite wall he kept for the personal items he would take with him. A call to a storage facility secured a unit for six months. With his energy high, he went into his bedroom, prepared to fill the boxes he had stacked there. He began with the closet.

"What the . . .?"

He stared at the books he pulled from the back of the shelf. A small journal slid to the floor. Even without opening it, Rocky knew the last entry had been while he was in high school. He wasn't sure why he stopped writing. He kept the book closed, not reading any of the pages. Instead, he looked at one of the yearbooks. Long forgotten memories rushed over him of his senior year in high school. He skimmed through the pages until he spotted a picture of Marco. His best friend since middle school, the two went to the same college where they met up with Greg and Calvin.

From skipping classes to dating, snippets of their years together made him homesick. The last contact he had with any of the group was at Calvin's wedding, soon after graduation. A week later Rocky had left town. Realizing how many years he let slip away without making an effort to stay in touch with any of them bothered Rocky. With the yearbook in hand, he stared out the window and grinned.

"That's it. I'm going home."

His destination decided, he grabbed a scrap of paper, listing everything he needed to do before leaving town. It was time to begin fresh.

* * * *

The area was the same as he remembered it, even though there were changes as well. Rocky pulled up to a gas pump at a convenience store and turned the engine off. Climbing out of his car, he filled the tank before going inside. The young girl working behind the cash register looked annoyed at having to put her phone conversation on hold.

"Can you tell me if the old Trenton Hotel is still in business?" he asked.

"Huh?"

"Out on Highway 18, near Mille Road."

"That's where the shopping mall is, mister. Where have you been, anyway?"

"Can you point me in the direction of a hotel then?"

She named a popular hotel chain less than a mile away. He hadn't even left the store before she picked up her cell phone. Rocky shook his head and left, thankful when he found the place she mentioned had vacancies. It didn't take long to secure a room.

While relaxing on the bed, he felt the old familiar rumble of the nearby subway train. More memories tumbled out, of favorite teachers from high school, cousins he lost track of, and his date on prom night. Each one brought another, building on the excitement he already had for returning home. Thinking he might find listings for his old friends in the phone book, he browsed the pages. He spotted Marco's name first. After writing the number on a small note pad, he closed the book and dialed.

"Hello."

"Marco?"

"Yep, who's this?"

"It's Rocky, Rocky Manville, from high school."

"Where the hell you been? Cal tried finding you a couple years back for the class reunion but he must have had an old number."

"Is he in town yet, then?" Rocky asked.

"He never left. In fact, you're the only one of us who took off. Man, it's good to hear from you. We should get together if you ever come this way."

"I'm free tomorrow evening, if you are."

"You're in town?" Marco asked, his voice rising almost to a screech.

"I just got in. Keb's still open?"

"That place will never change. You want me to call the guys and see if they can make it?"

"Sure, that would be great. Tell me a time and I'll be there," Rocky said, sounding more confident at seeing his old friends than he felt.

"Make it seven and we'll have a beer. Hey, this is great. It's been too long, man."

"Yes, too long," Rocky said, thinking of all the years he wasted.

* * * *

He was the last one to arrive at Keb's. Rocky spotted the others leaning on the bar, laughing as they had so many times before in the past. They all looked the same. He was different, the outsider, and that realization made him hesitate.

"Hey, there he is!" Cal yelled, nudging Greg.

The trio stood to greet Rocky as he made his way over to them. Not one held their hands out to shake his. Instead, six arms reached out to draw him into a massive group hug unlike any he ever experienced. Talking and laughing at the same time, each one threw out questions and offered tidbits of information until it all blurred into a mass of words.

"Guys, give him some space, OK?" Marco said. "Let him get a drink, will ya?"

The men nodded and waited while the bartender took Rocky's order.

"How long are you here for?" Greg asked. "I would love to have you come by for dinner before you leave to meet the wife and kids."

"Same here, Rock. Mary Jane said you're welcome to stay with us while you're in town. We have plenty room," Cal said.

Rocky nodded at the bartender as he set a cold beer in front of him.

"Appreciate the offers, guys, and I'll take you up on dinners soon. First, I need to look for a place to live and check out the job market. I'm moving back."

The men stopped talking and stared at Rocky. Then they

"What kind of job you looking for, Rock? If we all put our heads together, we should be able to help you find something, right guys?" Greg asked.

"Hey, we'll have more time now that Rocky is back in town. He's looking worn out though, and my woman gave me a curfew, so I say it's time we go home," Marco said, grinning at each one as he spoke.

Each one tossed a few bills onto the bar before they headed to the exit. Rocky drove around town before returning to the hotel, unsure if he made the right decision.

* * * *

Early the next morning, Rocky left the hotel. While driving down Main Street he noticed a handmade sign in the front window of a small house announcing its availability for rent. Since he didn't have anything specific planned, he pulled into the driveway and got out of his car to look around. Pulling a small gardening wagon filled with weeds and brush, an older woman stopped a few feet from Rocky. She tugged her gloves off and wiped her brow with her shirtsleeve.

"I saw the sign in the window . . . Rocky Manville, ma'am," he said.

"Catherine," the woman replied. "It's a great place but the yard is too big for me to keep up anymore."

Rocky had already noticed the enormous flower gardens. They would take time to care for but he was sure he could do it.

"If you think you're interested, you're welcome to look inside."

Rocky smiled and went to explore. He roamed from one room to another, discovering vintage cabinets, a small cedar lined closet, and original hardwood floors. The last room he entered was a library. The urge to fill the shelves with books was strong. Clean and filled with light, the house was a complete opposite from his old apartment.

"What did you think?" Catherine asked when he joined her outside again.

"I just moved back to town and still need a job, so renting this place might be premature. I might not be able to afford it."

She tossed out a number lower than he expected.

"Take a few days to think it over and let me know what you decide. I'll get something to write my number on . . ."

Rocky waited while the older woman disappeared inside. She returned with a scrap of paper.

"Here you go. I'll hold the place until I hear from you."

"Thank you," Rocky said. "I appreciate that."

She smiled and went back to work in the flower garden. Rocky wanted to go to the hotel so he could think about his options, but he knew he needed to spend the day looking for a job first.

However, by mid-morning, while completing another application, he admitted he lacked the knowledge the jobs required. Discouraged, he stopped at a construction company. He wasn't too confident going in, but after talking to the owner, he realized he could do the job. The two men talked through the details so that by the time he left, Rocky had a job offer to contemplate.

Sitting in the hotel room that evening, he thought about his old life. Leaving a secure job, even one without any chance of advancement, wouldn't make sense to most people. Rocky found it difficult to explain his decision to himself. He didn't know how he would make anyone else understand. He opened his journal and began to write.

Failure: I associated myself with that word for many years. I moved away from everyone and everything I knew. I left town for what I thought was going to be something better instead of looking at what I had right in front of me. Once there, I existed for years. It took a stranger telling me she was dying to wake me up. Her strength amazed me then and it always will. Now I've moved back home, but what am I supposed to do? I know there's a lesson in all this, but I haven't found it yet.

Closing the book, Rocky sighed. That he wrote again surprised him. The words themselves seemed foreign yet after putting the first few thoughts onto paper, he felt more bubbling up inside. After thirty minutes, he had five of the creamy pages filled and a burning desire to continue. The sensation of his cell phone vibrating against his leg interrupted his thoughts.

"Hello."

"Hey Rock, you have any plans?" Marco asked.

"Not a thing."

"How about meeting at Keb's for dinner? You have to eat anyway, right?"

"Sure. What time?"

"About six?"

"See you then," Rocky said before hanging up.

Even though it was the middle of the week, Keb's was busy. Pushing his way through the crowd, he looked around until he saw Marco at a small table in the corner. He stopped at the bar to order a beer then skirted the dance floor to join his friend.

"What's happening with the job hunt?"

"I put applications into a few places and had an interview with the owner of a construction company. He offered me a job but I asked for time to decide," Rocky said.

"That's great. What did you have in mind for somewhere to live?" Marco asked.

"I found this amazing place to rent on the corner of Colonial and Main. The owner was there and let me look inside."

"I'm not stepping into your business but is it something you can afford without a job?"

"I have a few days to think about it and the rent is way lower than I expected. My old job didn't pay much, but I didn't spend anything, either," Rocky said.

He thought about the way he lived before he moved back to his hometown.

"Coming home was a good thing," Rocky said.

The remainder of the evening passed quickly as the pair relaxed. He returned to the hotel feeling confident for the first time in weeks.

* * * *

Rocky called about the house the next morning. Catherine agreed to meet him there to sign the lease and get the keys. She left after they completed the paperwork giving him possession. Rocky walked through the rooms, eager to make the house his home. The next day, he went back to get his belongings from the storage unit. Once there, he unlocked the door, laughing at the sight of his old furniture.

"Nothing here worth hauling back, you idiot," he said. "Maybe I'll just drop it all off at one of those charity places on my way out of town. I think that house deserves better things."

"Mister, are you talking to me?"

Rocky looked up to see a thin boy of eight or nine standing about twenty feet away. A quick glance showed an elderly man loading items into an old truck two units away. Noticing their torn and faded clothing, Rocky made a quick decision. He nodded and pulled out his wallet.

"Would you like to earn some money?"

"If my grandpa let's me."

"You tell him I have some boxes to go into this trailer. He's welcome to come watch to be sure you're safe."

The boy ran back to his grandfather, talking and pointing at Rocky, who waved and smiled. As he expected, the old man approached him.

"The world is full of dangerous people. My grandson says you offered him money," the man said.

"An honorable offer, I assure you," Rocky replied. "I thought I was going to take everything with me where I'm moving, but in fact I decided to drop several things off at one of the donation places in town. So I have to divide it all again. I thought he would be a good helper."

Seeing the old man look at his unit as if checking what was in there, Rocky took a chance and went on.

"In fact, if either of you see anything you could use, that would save me from hauling it away."

"Our house burned down and we're moving to where my aunt lives," the young boy said, turning to his grandfather. "Mama's in jail so I get to stay with my grandpa."

Seeing the faint red staining the older man's cheeks, Rocky ignored the negative aspects of the young boy's words.

"Grandpa's are pretty cool, aren't they? You know, I think I have something here you could do with yours," Rocky said, going into his storage unit and opening a big box. Pulling out his old baseball glove, he dug around deeper until he found the ball and held them both up. "What do you think?"

Excitement lit up the young boys face even as he held back. "Grandpa, is it OK?"

"Yes, Tommy, but mind your manners."

"Sir, thank you very much. I'll take very good care of them, I promise."

"You're welcome. How about we see if there's anything here you two can use?" Rocky asked, looking at the old man.

Over the next hour, they packed furniture and boxes into the back of the man's truck. Tommy chattered the entire time, talking about cousins and school. Rocky kept his questions basic, not delving into anything personal or private. Whenever he found a box of his old games or books, he made sure it got into their truck. He would have to replace some of what he gave them, but he didn't care. The look of gratitude in the old man's eyes would be with him forever.

After paying Tommy for his help, they waved and drove away. With his storage unit empty, he got into his car and left town. His mind raced the entire way back to what he already called home.

It was dark by the time he pulled into the hotel parking lot, but he felt wide-awake. Long into the night, he thought about the old man and his grandson. Were they there as a message to him? What was he supposed to learn if they were? With the sun beginning to fill the sky, Rocky finally fell asleep.

Waking mid-morning, he showered and drove to the house. There he unpacked the few boxes he ended up taking with him before leaving to deal with the utility companies. From there he stopped at a furniture store, choosing a bedroom set as well as a sofa and recliner. While there, he added a dinette set then arranged for delivery. Next, he stopped at a department store where he picked out towels, linens, and even dishes.

Each time he spent more money he thought of Tommy and his grandfather and knew he was right giving them as much as he did. When he finished shopping, his car was packed, and he was exhausted.

Once he got back to his house, he emptied the car, stacking the boxes and bags in the bedroom. Then he grabbed his journal and began to write.

Helping Tommy and his grandfather was a good feeling. But I wonder if I would have even noticed them a few weeks ago? I shut myself off from the world before. It was as if I blocked everything out around me and existed in this small tunnel, only seeing far enough to survive. What changed that day I quit my job? What happened to make me see beyond that tunnel?

Moving back home is proving to be a good thing. I wouldn't have found this house or reconnected with the guys from high school.

Not stopping there, Rocky filled more pages. He wrote until his pencil went dull, a sign to him it was time to quit for the night. Driving back to the hotel, he decided not to take the construction job. Although it would pay the bills, it wasn't what he wanted to do. No, first thing in the morning he was going to the newspaper office and see if there were any openings for staff writers.

* * * *

Stepping inside the front office at Daily Chronicle reminded Rocky of the years he delivered the paper as a kid. Back then the Chandler family owned and operated the business, with improvements made as each new generation took over. After asking for an application, he sat at the small table pointed out to him by the receptionist to complete the form.

Because his skills and experience lacked in several areas, Rocky worked hard at the essay questions listed at the end of the application. Pleased with his answers, he returned the form to the desk and left, hoping he would end up with an interview.

With his furniture delivery set for that afternoon, he decided to stock up on groceries first before going home. Never one to cook much before he moved, everything looked appetizing as he pushed the cart down the aisles. Checking the time, he added cleaning supplies and paper goods before turning to the checkouts.

Back at his house, Rocky placed the last of his groceries in the pantry at the same time the doorbell rang. Two burly young men unloaded his new furniture from the truck while he stayed back, only directing them to the approximate positions for each item. After they left, he sat on his sofa, relaxing with a can of beer. The ringing of his phone startled him.

"Hello."

"Hey Rock, the wife and kids are gone tonight and I thought if you were free we could have dinner," Greg said.

"Come on over. I'm in my new place, on the corner of Colonial and Main. The house is white with a light green garage—"

"I think I know the place. Do you want me to pick up a pizza on the way over?"

"That little place on Lake Street still open?" Rocky asked.

"You mean Nelson's?"

"Yeah, that's it."

"I'll be there as soon as I can. Be ready to chow down," Greg said, laughing before hanging up.

Rocky took a pile of empty boxes into the garage. After washing his hands, he set the table, straightening the place settings as the doorbell rang. The menu might just be pizza, but Greg was his first dinner guest, and he wanted the place to look good.

* * * *

Greg hadn't stayed long but Rocky enjoyed the evening. After he cleared the table and took care of the trash, he went into the library. There he opened his journal to empty his thoughts onto the pages.

It was possible Moira made me understand what others already knew. There are people who come into our life for a short time. Tommy and his grandfather needed not just the furniture I could give them, but the hope for a brighter future that went with it. The pride I saw in them boosted me, too.

When I look back at these pages, I wonder who wrote them. Never did I think I could put words to paper such as this. The writing is mine. The words came from me. Maybe one day they will make sense.