Red Butterfly Read online

  Faces

  In daylight

  I check faces

  to find

  the mark of a thief:

  averted eyes,

  a haughty toss

  of the head,

  the glimmer of red

  in short black hair.

  But every face is

  blank,

  passive,

  inscrutable.

  I play clapping games

  with Xiao Bo

  extra loud

  to cover the throbbing

  of my loss.

  Breath

  I lie awake listening to

  breathing sounds,

  but there’s

  one that doesn’t fit,

  that echoes louder,

  every second more intense.

  Up on one elbow,

  I peer through the dim light

  of night in the room.

  Labored chokes,

  gasp!

  huge racking sobs

  gasp!

  Others are awake,

  whites of eyes gleaming in the dark.

  Get the ayi!

  the girl next to me whisper-yells

  as if darkness muffles her voice.

  It’s Xiao Bo.

  I pick my way through

  the maze of beds.

  Xiao Bo

  by the window

  shudders,

  shakes.

  He had a cough all day

  and wouldn’t eat.

  Now his skin

  burns.

  Gone

  There is no explanation

  when Xiao Bo

  doesn’t return.

  One day

  two days

  three days

  later.

  We ask,

  all of us who can talk,

  ask,

  but there’s only one answer:

  He’s at the hospital.

  What’s wrong with him?

  I don’t know.

  What’s he sick with?

  We don’t know.

  Will he ever come back?

  . . .

  Nothing

  I must protect Lin Lin.

  Toby depended on me

  to watch out

  for her

  and Xiao Bo.

  I failed with Xiao Bo.

  I ask the ayis if I can

  move my bed

  next to Lin Lin’s,

  but they don’t let me.

  Every day that Xiao Bo is gone

  another stone

  is added

  to my chest.

  I only let myself cry

  at night

  when no one else

  can see,

  when the flat pillow

  muffles the sound

  of my fear.

  Return

  Toby peers

  through the doorway

  on his first day back

  and my heart does three things:

  leaps,

  shudders, then

  plunges.

  Kara!

  he says.

  When I run to him

  he tries so hard

  to smile.

  How are you?

  Toby doesn’t need to say it.

  I see truth written

  in the lostness of his eyes,

  the way his gaze skitters to the spot

  where Xiao Bo used to sit

  on the floor,

  then skitter back,

  attempting to focus on my face,

  but failing.

  Xiao Bo will never come back.

  Small Hope

  I cry,

  cry,

  more than I cried for Mama.

  Xiao Bo was my friend, and

  in Xiao Bo’s smile

  hid

  a small hope for happy endings.

  Now

  even that is gone.

  Not the First

  Sitting at the table,

  one of the girls, Yang Zi,

  touches my arm,

  then withdraws her hand

  as if wondering

  if touching me

  was a mistake.

  He’s not the first,

  she says softly,

  continuing to draw

  Chinese characters

  in boxes

  printed on thin paper.

  My friend Xing Xing

  died last year.

  I glance

  behind us

  at Lin Lin

  rocking

  in her special seat,

  smiling

  smiling

  oblivious.

  Dance

  Toby stays

  until we go to bed.

  I think he feels bad

  he was gone

  when Xiao Bo got sick.

  He says good night to me,

  then pauses,

  second-guessing himself,

  before he squats to whisper,

  It wasn’t anyone’s fault,

  Kara.

  Xiao Bo inhaled a bit of food

  that caused pneumonia.

  His voice changes, turns

  husky.

  He’s at peace now,

  you know.

  The place where he is,

  he doesn’t need to rock

  in a wheelchair

  when he fancies dancing.

  He can stand,

  leap,

  twirl

  all he likes.

  Nothing’s holding him back.

  After Toby leaves,

  I close my eyes, only

  to spin

  all night

  hand in hand

  with Xiao Bo

  in my dreams.

  Summons

  Mornings,

  afternoons pass,

  with Xiao Bo’s empty space

  gaping, but

  hours filled

  feeding Lin Lin,

  drawing pencil marks

  on paper, even

  daring to trace

  the lines

  of the Gurnsey family

  from the photo,

  though they turn out so badly

  I throw them away.

  It comes suddenly,

  the day Toby tells me

  with a tremor in his voice,

  The director wants to see you.

  I am in the middle of feeding

  Lin Lin her porridge.

  But he makes me hand the bowl to him

  and go.

  Verdict

  The director

  sits behind her desk

  like a queen,

  elbows propped,

  red lips

  curved

  in a demure

  smile.

  Miss Li

  stands

  to one side

  with a notebook,

  her pen

  tapping.

  She’s had a haircut.

  Her bangs hang in eyes

  lined in bright blue

  eyeliner.

  My stomach

  flips,

  somersaults,

  rolls.

  I really have to pee.

  Everything has worked out!

  the director says

  and claps once,

  startling me.

  I took care of everything,

  she continues.

  Your new family will be here

  for you as soon as possible.

  New family?

  The words come out in a stammer.

  What happened to my—?

  No no no,

  she says in English,

  swishing away my concerns

  with a flip of her hand,

  her red mouth

  still smiling

  smiling.

  But why?

  The tightness of tears.

  The racing

  hear
tbeat

  of panic.

  Why can’t I be with Mama?

  The director’s smile straightens,

  a thin

  offended

  line.

  That situation was impossible,

  she snaps.

  They are fifteen years older than the age restrictions

  and they disobeyed the law.

  Impossible,

  she repeats.

  I stand

  on shuddering legs,

  reach deep

  to find my voice,

  the great,

  booming,

  sure voice,

  because if I don’t speak

  up now

  I never will.

  WHAT ABOUT ME?

  The director nods,

  folding one hand

  over the other.

  What about you, Liu Xiao Ling?

  What do you want?

  I almost forget

  Liu Xiao Ling

  is my name,

  the official name on paper.

  Momentary confusion

  makes me blink,

  falter.

  I try to rally,

  gather my courage

  because

  this is my chance,

  to tell her that I want Mama

  and mountains

  and family

  and home

  and the familiar

  but words don’t come

  because every hope

  has fluttered away

  like torn scraps

  of translucent paper.

  All that’s left are disappointments:

  Mama forgetting me

  when the ambulance door slammed shut;

  Daddy standing so still

  as they led me away;

  the look that passed

  between Jody and Willard

  when I begged them to keep me.

  Inside, I know

  nothing will change

  if I choose the familiar.

  I will always be separate;

  someone will always be sorry.

  My good hand clutches

  the stubby one at my chest.

  It’s impossible,

  I repeat.

  The director’s smile

  returns.

  She shuffles papers.

  You’re a lucky girl.

  You’ll be happy

  in Florida.

  Crash

  In the hallway,

  my heart beats to the tempo

  of my regret—

  What have I done?

  What have I done?

  What have I done?

  I can never go back,

  never go back,

  never go

  back.

  Blindly,

  I grab the photo

  of the smiling Gurnseys

  from my pocket,

  rip it

  into a thousand pieces.

  The bathroom

  is an empty,

  stinking

  place.

  The window creaks

  when I push it open,

  toss out

  all those shiny pieces

  that glint

  in pale sunlight

  as they flutter down.

  Nothing

  There have been packages

  from Florida—

  home-baked cookies,

  a purple, sparkly thermos

  that keeps water hot,

  a sweater with a reindeer

  knit onto the front, and,

  the day after I turned twelve,

  a birthday card with glitter and stickers.

  But not one letter from Mama.

  Tomorrow

  I have spent

  what feels like years

  waiting for spring,

  lying in a room

  shivering

  with other kids

  whose coughs

  and

  wheezes

  kept me awake,

  terrified that

  another one of them

  would slip away.

  But now

  warmth

  seeps through

  the metal frame

  windows.

  I begin to think

  maybe I won’t need

  my coat forever.

  It happens

  the same day

  the budding trees

  in the orphanage courtyard

  fracture

  into bloom:

  Miss Li

  says the dreaded/magic words:

  Your new family will be here tomorrow.

  Today

  A van waits

  with Miss Li

  and Toby

  to take me

  to my new family,

  who are staying

  at the Sheraton Hotel.

  There are still days of work ahead—

  signing documents,

  presentation of papers,

  photos,

  medical exams.

  Then I will get a Chinese passport.

  After that we will fly to Guangzhou

  to the American Embassy

  for a visa.

  I will see a different

  Chinese city

  for the first time

  since Hangzhou.

  But today,

  today I will meet my family.

  I should feel excited, but

  all I can wish

  during my long march

  from the front door to the van is that

  Mama’s face will appear at the gate

  so that I can run to her.

  The Concept of Good-Bye

  The director

  stands by the van door,

  smiling,

  waiting to

  pump my hand.

  It is a pleasure to meet you,

  she says in stilted English.

  Then she wishes me

  a happy life

  in Chinese.

  The ayis

  have brought all the kids

  from my room

  out,

  even though it took

  several trips

  in the elevator.

  I try not to look too deeply

  into Yang Zi’s

  cloudy eyes, fearing

  what I’ll find there—

  hate?

  jealousy?

  because she told me

  she’ll never have a family,

  that she’s almost too old

  for adoption.

  Watch out for Lin Lin?

  I ask,

  bending to hug Yang Zi

  in her wheelchair.

  She nods

  into my shoulder,

  thin arms

  tightening around my neck.

  Next, I wrap my arms around

  Lin Lin’s taught shoulders.

  Her mouth hangs open.

  She cries in small gasps

  and hiccups.

  I didn’t know

  she could understand so much, especially

  the concept of good-bye.

  Good-Bye, Toby

  In the shiny hotel lobby

  by the elevator

  Toby says,

  Maybe it’s better if you go on without me.

  Here it is:

  the end I wouldn’t let myself

  think about.

  I say,

  Please come up with me.

  But Toby says,

  It’s time for your new beginning, Kara.

  I’ll say good-bye here.

  I say,

  Thank you for everything.

  Thank you for . . .

  but tears

  choke all the words I’ve been holding.

  Toby says,

  Shoot me an e-mail when you get settled.

  Let me know how you are.

  We’ll miss you around here.
/>   He holds out his arms for a hug.

  He smells different than I expected

  close-up,

  a smell that reminds me

  he’s not of the orphanage, but of

  far-away mountains,

  rivers,

  and crisp

  blue skies.

  Could I visit you and your mum

  in New Zealand someday?

  I ask.

  I’m counting on it.

  He ruffles my hair.

  He walks away, stooped

  as if he carries a mountain

  on his shoulders.

  At the glass doors,

  he turns,

  waves a last time.

  his mouth moving,

  Good-bye.

  They All Came

  There seem so many of them,

  too many

  for one small hotel room.

  They look like their picture,

  but now I hear voices that go

  with the smiling faces.

  Emily

  wears a lavender shirt

  with a ballet slipper on it.

  Rosalie

  has a red flower in her hair

  with a sparkly center.

  The red of it matches

  my butterfly clip

  that is gone.

  And the boys—

  David and Ethan

  are so tall,

  taller than their

  mother and father,

  who are now my mother and father.

  But I can’t think of that now, because

  the idea might

  crumble

  me.

  I shake hands

  with each of them

  and they say,

  Hey

  or

  Hi

  or

  Nice to meet you.

  My left hand shakes their right hands,

  my other hand

  carefully

  hidden

  inside my sleeve.

  Their mother pulls me into a hug,

  crying wet tears

  that smear my cheek,

  her thick sweater

  soft against my face,

  her smell like a flower market

  in summer,

  not a motherly smell

  at all.

  Please, she says,

  let me take your bag.

  Do you want to rest?

  Do you want anything to eat?

  To drink?

  They all

  look so beautiful,

  like movie stars,

  especially Emily,

  with her

  pink shimmery lips

  that are better than vermilion red.

  Will I ever fit with this

  glamorous family of

  Gurnseys?

  With a pang

  I miss

  Mama’s

  quiet ways,

  her measured

  gait,

  her soft

  voice,

  familiar

  supple

  clothes

  worn

  thin.

  Rescue

  Maybe my eyes look