Red Butterfly Read online

  eye,

  force a smile

  that’s meant

  to convince Mama

  I’m okay.

  I think of Mama

  when the light flashes

  so bright I blink,

  think of Mama

  when Toby says,

  Great shot,

  and leans to show me

  myself on the screen:

  a girl

  too skinny

  with long,

  unbrushed

  hair

  and

  no smile

  to be seen.

  I thought

  I was

  smiling.

  How Far?

  Can I ride my bike

  from Tampa

  to Bozeman?

  Toby laughs.

  No idea,

  never studied American geography.

  We look at the world map

  on the wall

  in the empty office,

  Toby and I

  combing the whole USA

  with our gaze.

  It takes awhile

  to find Montana

  way up north.

  Easier to find Florida

  in the south.

  So many boxes

  in between

  with names I can’t pronounce, like:

  Alabama

  Mississippi

  Oklahoma

  Kansas . . .

  I imagine mountains

  and mountains

  and mountains

  between them

  and my hope

  flops.

  I thought

  I could live in Tampa

  and ride my bike to Bozeman

  on the weekends.

  Delay

  Toby wants to hear me sing

  “Away in a Manger”

  just like I’ll sing it

  in the Christmas show.

  After I sing

  he says,

  Not bad.

  You can hold a tune.

  But he looks

  distracted.

  Hey, do you mind

  if we walk?

  He starts off

  fast

  before I can answer.

  We round the

  main building

  three times,

  me running,

  Toby’s short legs

  going like engine pieces

  right

  left

  right.

  Finally he says

  quickly,

  without looking at me,

  I’m afraid your foster parents’ actions

  have mucked things up a bit.

  Chinese officials have to travel to

  America to meet with this congressman.

  It’ll take a while to decide

  who you’ll go to.

  The Gurnseys were ready to come to China

  to bring you home

  before this happened.

  I shove my cold hands

  in my pockets,

  imagining those big-smile people

  crossing the ocean

  to take me away.

  I say,

  But maybe now Mama and Daddy

  can take me to Bozeman.

  Toby takes a deep breath

  and blows it out again.

  I don’t know if contacting their congressman

  will do any good,

  to be honest.

  All it’s managed to do

  is slow the whole process,

  keep you here longer.

  How much longer?

  I ask.

  Toby shakes his head.

  He doesn’t know,

  nobody does.

  I stop at the bathroom,

  stand in the farthest stall

  from the door,

  fumble in my coat pocket

  where I stuffed the picture

  of the Gurnsey family.

  They’re still

  smiling

  smiling

  smiling

  strangers.

  Newspaper Star

  Toby rushes into the classroom

  where I’m doodling

  on lined paper

  while the other table kids

  write characters

  row after row

  after row.

  Kara, look at this!

  He lays a newspaper

  covered in English writing

  across the table.

  The ayis lean in to look.

  On the front cover

  in big black letters it says:

  BRING KARA HOME

  There I am,

  the picture Toby took with his camera.

  Where did this come from?

  I ask.

  It came in the mail for you.

  The director’s already looked it over.

  There I am again,

  with Daddy and Jody

  in Hangzhou

  on a stone bridge.

  Daddy holds me,

  my thin legs dangling like

  puppet legs.

  A smaller picture

  shows us sitting together

  on our living room sofa.

  The familiarity of the painting

  of limestone peaks in fog

  hanging behind our heads,

  even the diamond pattern on the old couch,

  squeezes my heart with longing.

  My hand holding the paper

  shakes.

  What does it say?

  one of the ayis asks.

  Even the other kids

  look curious enough to speak.

  The article says

  how much my parents love me,

  how much they want to bring me

  home to America,

  how difficult it is to adopt

  because of

  all the rules.

  It even says Mama’s church

  where she plays piano

  is raising money

  for my adoption.

  “We’re going to make it,”

  says a quote from Mama.

  “We’re going to bring Kara home.

  I can feel it.”

  Dream

  Tonight

  I fall asleep

  with the newspaper

  under my pillow

  so no one will take it,

  and dream of blue sky

  and a brand-new red bicycle

  that can fly.

  If You Were Me

  If this were your choice,

  who would you live with?

  I ask Toby

  the next day.

  Toby is the safest

  person in the world

  to ask,

  though sometimes he makes jokes.

  Like right now:

  I’ve heard the climate in

  Florida is fantastic . . .

  Toby!

  I swat at him,

  but he ducks away,

  grinning.

  All right.

  He stops spoon-feeding

  Lin Lin

  for a moment.

  I like it when his eyes

  look faraway

  because it means

  something important

  is about to come out of his mouth.

  There are good things

  about both families.

  I know it’s hard to imagine,

  but I think you’ll be happy

  in either place

  because you’re

  a happy girl.

  I’m feeding

  Xiao Bo

  porridge

  with his favorite

  red spoon,

  wondering how Toby

  can think

  I’m a happy girl when

  I’ve been so unhappy.

  But I know Mama,

  I say,

  my throat constricting.

  I
don’t know

  those other people.

  Toby nods.

  Yes, but there are

  new beginnings in every life.

  As long as you’re loved

  and safe,

  Kara,

  you’re home.

  Hanging On

  The Gurnseys send me

  another letter.

  I sit on the floor

  in the hallway

  to read it.

  This one

  does not have

  even one single

  exclamation point.

  Dear Kara,

  We wanted you to know why we are hanging on.

  We don’t want to give up your file

  unless we’re sure you

  can be adopted by your former foster parents.

  We want you to be happy,

  but we don’t want to lose you

  to anyone but them.

  We’ll wait as long as we need to.

  Love,

  Marilyn & Keith Gurnsey

  Truth

  After reading the letter,

  I sit still,

  my back against the hallway wall,

  thinking.

  Truth

  was never something

  Mama gave me, but

  here these strangers

  hand me truth

  when they don’t even know me,

  as if I deserve it.

  With Mama

  I was always

  too young,

  not ready.

  She sheltered me

  until the shelter crashed down

  on both our heads.

  I show Toby the letter

  and ask,

  Is there any chance

  for Mama?

  Toby eases Lin Lin

  into her special seat

  and straps her in.

  They might have made an exception

  to the age rule

  if your mum knew the right people.

  But since she broke the law

  it’ll be harder for her to argue her case.

  Toby always

  gives me truth.

  It’s like medicine—

  hard to swallow,

  but good for me.

  Holiday

  The Christmas program

  is scheduled for

  December 15

  because most of the foreign volunteers

  leave on Christmas holiday

  to Phuket,

  Cebu,

  or Panang.

  Even Toby is going

  to Bali

  with his roommate.

  You can take care of

  Lin Lin and Xiao Bo

  while I’m gone,

  right?

  he asks,

  tweaking my nose.

  You’re becoming an excellent

  physical therapist.

  His words

  warm me

  like I’m a radiator

  filling with hot water.

  I like it,

  I say

  and I’m not even lying.

  The Scarf

  The day of the Christmas show,

  Toby arrives earlier than usual.

  He wears nice clothes,

  a white shirt with thin blue lines

  and a red tie.

  He takes me out in the hallway

  grinning,

  hands me a pink bag

  with polka dots,

  thin, crumpled paper

  poofing from the top.

  A present,

  he says.

  I asked my mum

  to make it

  specially for you.

  I’ve seen Toby’s mum’s photo

  on his phone:

  her small glasses

  and curly hair

  that sticks up

  in spirals

  all over her head.

  His father died when he was small.

  I’ve seen

  New Zealand,

  where Toby’s mum lives,

  on the map.

  It’s not as big

  as America,

  but Toby says

  it has mountains too.

  I carefully remove the

  white paper

  and pull out

  the most beautiful

  lavender scarf,

  soft

  like bird feathers, delicate

  like cobwebs.

  I cannot

  breathe.

  Not that I’m a fashion guru,

  but I thought it might go well

  with the green coat,

  Toby says.

  You can wear it

  when you sing

  your song.

  I wind the

  beautiful

  loveliness

  around my throat

  and say,

  I think I’ll sing better

  with it on.

  He has presents

  for all the other kids.

  Their squeals of delight

  echo

  into the hallway,

  where I remain

  to inspect

  every detail

  of my treasure.

  Christmas Show

  Miss Li pulls

  a small plastic package

  from her purse.

  Inside is

  a butterfly clip

  with

  red gauze

  wings.

  For you,

  she whispers,

  sliding the clip

  into my hair.

  Thank you for your help

  with my English.

  I guess I do help

  whenever I can,

  but not much.

  Just pronunciation of words

  and the English name I gave her—

  Jasmine

  because she said she likes flowers

  and Jasmine Li

  sounded pretty to me.

  I am breathless.

  Xie xie.

  No matter,

  she says in English

  and clip-clops away

  to rub

  blush

  onto

  someone else’s

  cheeks.

  All the kids wear makeup

  even if they’re only in the choir

  or performing little dances

  where they dip up and down

  or leap in circles.

  Even Xiao Bo

  wears lipstick

  and blush.

  He rocks

  in a borrowed wheelchair

  smiling huge,

  head jerking.

  The lipstick

  I’m wearing

  feels sticky,

  reminds me

  of Mama’s

  vermilion,

  makes me

  wonder

  about

  Zhao Bin,

  if he knows what happened to me.

  He seems now

  part of a whole other life.

  My Song

  I sing

  my song too fast,

  because no one

  told me

  my heart would

  leap,

  my underarms would

  sweat

  from all those

  staring eyes.

  The audience is

  mostly ladies

  in beige or brown sweaters

  with white, smiling faces

  and thin, clapping hands.

  Toby told me

  they’re the ones who give money

  so that kids can have surgeries

  and professionals like Toby

  can come

  to make the kids’ lives

  better.

  The director beams

  from the stage

  when the acts are finished.

  She declares

  it a success:

 
all the jumping and leaping

  of the little children,

  all the singing and smiling,

  all the makeup-smeared faces.

  We feast on cookies and juice

  from a table covered in a

  red cloth.

  I crumble a cookie

  into tiny bits

  for Xiao Bo

  so he won’t choke.

  A foreign woman

  pats me and says,

  Your English is so good!

  Her accent is strange.

  Toby says it’s European.

  In Sight

  Toby is only here

  for two hours today

  and then he’s going home to pack.

  He’ll be riding on a big airplane

  out of China

  to Indonesia.

  He showed me

  Indonesia

  on the map,

  a clump of

  islands under

  the Philippines.

  After

  only an hour

  Miss Li calls him away.

  Twenty minutes later

  he comes back.

  I’m massaging

  Lin Lin’s cramped feet.

  She smiles

  her tiny-mouthed

  crooked

  smile

  because she likes

  touch.

  Kara,

  Toby whispers.

  The director wants your adoption wrapped up

  by Chinese New Year.

  You’re only one year away from aging out.

  She’s putting pressure on the authorities

  to make a decision about your file.

  The end is in sight.

  His words

  clang inside me like a cymbal’s echo.

  I swing like a pendulum,

  one minute

  envisioning freedom,

  getting out of here

  any way I can,

  the next remembering

  Mama

  and realizing

  I could wait here

  for years

  if someone would promise me

  her.

  Christmas Day

  So quiet today.

  I’m the only one

  at the orphanage

  who seems to know

  it’s special.

  I wrap the scarf from Toby’s mum

  around my neck,

  pull on Mama’s wool socks,

  close my eyes, and

  wish for mashed potatoes

  and fried chicken

  like Mama used to make

  on Christmas Day,

  then go downstairs

  alone

  to the cafeteria

  to eat cabbage

  and boiled peanuts.

  Stolen

  I’ve worn

  Miss Li’s butterfly

  every day

  since the Christmas show.

  It hurt

  my head

  when I slept,

  so I laid it

  next to my pillow,

  but forgot it

  when I got up

  to use the bathroom.

  I was gone just five minutes, but

  when I came back

  it was gone.