Red Butterfly Read online

  that fill the spaces in my backpack.

  It’s worse than

  the schedule at home,

  so much worse,

  because there is no red bicycle,

  no errands to run,

  nowhere to be

  but here.

  And worse,

  no Mama.

  I chafe,

  then

  make up my mind to ask.

  Pointing to the thin paper

  the others use, I say,

  Can I do that, too?

  The ayis whisper together,

  then ask Toby,

  who shrugs and says,

  Can’t hurt.

  But that’s not enough

  for them.

  They must get Miss Li’s approval too.

  She strides in

  wearing bright,

  beautiful

  turquoise pants.

  She explains

  through Toby

  that there’s no point

  doing the table work with the others

  because

  I’ll be leaving soon.

  Adopted,

  she says in Chinese,

  the word that used to be

  a mystery.

  She lays out the facts:

  It would be too difficult

  to catch up

  in the Chinese school system.

  You can’t read

  or write

  Chinese characters.

  Might as well wait

  to start school in America or Canada

  since that’s where

  you’ll be going.

  I say,

  What am I supposed to do

  all day?

  Toby says

  he could use some help

  with the CP kids

  if I’m so inclined.

  But I’m not

  so inclined.

  How can I

  help anyone

  when

  I can’t even

  help

  myself?

  Visit

  Jody and Willard

  sit in the director’s office

  side by side

  like clay statues.

  Jody’s voice is soft,

  still not Jody’s.

  I’m sorry,

  so sorry.

  Mom and Dad

  weren’t allowed to say good-bye.

  The officials were angry

  Mom stayed so long without a visa.

  They were also angry

  that Dad helped her.

  He’d been bribing everyone

  for years

  so Mom could stay.

  It’s all my fault.

  If I hadn’t gotten sick,

  if I’d never come to visit . . .

  Willard says,

  Now, now,

  it’s nobody’s fault.

  Everything was bound to fall apart eventually,

  and he gives me a look that tells me

  I should agree with him

  to make Jody feel better.

  I don’t know

  if I agree

  with anybody,

  though I hate

  to see Jody,

  booming

  loud

  Jody,

  quiet

  shriveled

  crying.

  Rain dashes

  the window glass.

  I imagine Mama

  flying away

  through this drizzling sky

  toward her mountains

  without me.

  Was she sad to go . . .

  or relieved?

  I turn that

  bitter

  question

  over

  and

  over,

  a sour lozenge

  on my tongue.

  The rain quickens,

  rattling the pane.

  Are you getting enough to eat?

  Jody asks.

  You look thinner.

  Are you brushing your hair?

  Maybe you could take me,

  I whisper.

  Now that I have the paperwork

  and an official name.

  I mean,

  if Mama and Daddy

  are in too much trouble . . .

  The look that passes between

  Jody and Willard

  tells me

  I’ve said something wrong

  again.

  I don’t think that’s possible,

  sweetie,

  says Jody.

  The word “sweetie”

  doesn’t sound right

  coming from Jody’s

  mouth.

  I nod,

  silent

  empty,

  stare at my hands

  until they

  leave.

  Better that way.

  Lost

  I almost wish

  they hadn’t come

  because at least

  when I thought

  Daddy was still in China

  I had hope.

  Three Weeks Later

  Toby tells me

  my picture is on a website

  showing older children

  who need homes.

  Your paperwork is done.

  Now we wait for a match.

  It won’t be long.

  But

  I don’t want

  any family

  except my own.

  Possibilities

  What about Jody?

  Could she adopt me

  and let me live

  with Mama?

  I’m desperate enough

  to ask,

  to push away

  the memory of the doubtful,

  sorry

  look

  between Jody and Willard

  in the director’s office,

  the look that said they

  wouldn’t want me

  even for a temporary daughter.

  Toby sighs.

  There are lots of restrictions.

  They might be the right age,

  but there are other

  factors—

  the Chinese government requires

  healthy bodies, for one thing,

  and a certain amount of money

  in the bank.

  I’m not sure . . .

  He trails off.

  I suck in a breath,

  try again.

  But if I go to America

  with a different family,

  will they let me visit

  Mama and Daddy

  in Montana?

  Toby shrugs.

  It’s possible.

  A small hope

  struggles in my chest

  that my new parents will understand,

  that they’ll take me over the mountains

  to Montana,

  that maybe, just maybe,

  they’ll let me live with Mama and Daddy

  once they realize

  Mama and Daddy are my true family.

  What if I want to live with

  Mama and Daddy?

  Do you think they’d let me do that?

  I ask.

  Toby scrambles the long bangs

  that hang in my eyes.

  Your new family will want you, silly goose.

  They won’t come all this way to give you up.

  I’m not a silly goose.

  And I don’t want him to be right.

  The Lucky One

  I wonder about the other kids

  in my room—

  when they’ll be adopted.

  If new families want children so badly

  why can’t they pick one of them

  instead

  and let me go back to Mama?

  There isn’t an answer for everything,

  at least

  not a good one.

  Toby says most of the kids in my room
r />   won’t get adopted,

  their needs are too big.

  My needs are smaller.

  He says

  I’m the lucky one.

  The way most of the kids

  ignore me,

  they must think

  I’m lucky too.

  Too lucky to be a friend.

  From Mama

  Toby calls me

  out of the room

  and gives me

  a package

  from America,

  from Montana,

  for me.

  We move away from the other kids

  to an empty office with a world map

  pinned to the wall.

  I’m grateful

  because those other kids

  already don’t like

  that I have a backpack full of stuff

  from my old life.

  They don’t say so,

  but I know it

  from the way they watch me,

  pretending not to watch me.

  Mama sent me

  a pair of wool socks

  for the cold days,

  ChapStick,

  lotion that smells like

  white flowers,

  her favorite candy bar.

  Toby calls the box

  my American care package.

  I treasure Mama’s note most,

  brush the paper

  to my lips

  to catch any scent

  that might linger.

  I imagine her writing

  all these words.

  Kara, we’ve contacted our congressman.

  We’re going to try to bring you to Montana

  to live with us,

  to be our daughter

  once and for all.

  My heart swells

  as big as the blow-up ball

  Toby sometimes bounces

  between the kids on the floor.

  My chest aches

  with wondering.

  Maybe it’s not wrong to hope?

  Coat

  Toby brings me a green

  puffy coat,

  an early Christmas present

  from the foreign volunteer group

  that sponsors the orphanage.

  There will be a show,

  he tells me.

  Will you sing a Christmas song

  in English?

  The volunteers would be delighted.

  I accept the green coat

  two sizes too big

  because it’s getting cold outside

  and inside, too

  and no one has brought blankets

  for us to sleep under.

  I tell him I will sing

  “Away in a Manger”

  because Mama played it

  every Christmas

  and taught me to sing along.

  Even after

  we sold our electric piano,

  Mama’s fingers tripped

  over the table edge,

  her voice pale

  as breath mist

  in cold winter air

  singing about that baby,

  no crib for a bed.

  There are lots of babies here,

  maybe worse off even than baby Jesus.

  I’ll sing it for them.

  The Other Family

  An envelope arrives,

  this time from Florida,

  another place in America.

  The letter is all in exclamation points:

  We’re the Gurnsey family!

  From Tampa!

  We’re so excited to meet you!

  To bring you home!

  To be our daughter!

  Forever!

  There are six of us!

  But room for one more!

  Love,

  Your forever family

  They include a picture:

  two brown-haired parents

  two blond-haired older boys

  two black-haired girls

  kind of like me

  but with two full hands each.

  They all look so smiley

  I can see all their teeth,

  and they wear jeans

  and shirts with checks:

  orange for the girls

  blue for the boys.

  I stuff the letter and photo in the envelope,

  slip it in the front pocket of my backpack

  so the other kids don’t see.

  I’m betraying Mama

  just touching it.

  Dilemma

  After the new letter

  I wait for Toby

  to ask his opinion

  about this new family

  of smiley people

  who use words like

  “forever”

  when they talk about me.

  But Toby doesn’t come.

  He’s on a trip in

  Southern China,

  Miss Li says

  when I sneak

  to the office

  to ask.

  I try not to let hurt

  dig a hole

  of resentment

  because he didn’t tell me

  he was going.

  Helping

  Back from the office,

  I pause in the doorway

  to watch one ayi

  haul the CP boy

  Xiao Bo

  from one side of the mat

  to the other.

  Aiya!

  she exclaims,

  wiping her forehead

  on a thin towel

  slung over her shoulder.

  Xiao Bo

  tips.

  She lurches to catch him,

  rolls him on his stomach,

  where he curls

  in a crooked ball.

  She is old,

  not as old as Mama,

  but too old

  to stoop

  and carry

  and drag

  a big boy

  like Xiao Bo.

  Ayi,

  I say

  from the doorway.

  Wo bang bang ni—

  I’ll help you.

  Her tense face

  slides

  into relief.

  Xie xie,

  she says.

  Thank you.

  Nervous

  How do I play

  with a kid

  who can’t move?

  I try to remember

  things Toby did.

  I drag over

  a special chair

  for him

  to sit in.

  The ayi helps me

  strap him into it.

  Here,

  she says,

  handing me a bowl

  filled with white

  mush.

  It’s time for him

  to eat.

  I’ve never fed

  anyone

  except myself.

  But we manage,

  one spoonful

  at a time.

  Laugh

  This boy,

  Xiao Bo,

  has a sense of humor.

  When I miss his mouth

  and porridge drips off his chin,

  he actually laughs.

  Person

  They may look

  too difficult

  to love.

  This boy

  whose crooked

  body

  won’t obey.

  This girl

  with her lopsided

  smile,

  hands held

  stiffly at her chest.

  But after days of this,

  when I

  sit behind

  Xiao Bo,

  he rocks back,

  smelling

  the same as I do—

  like the orphanage

  but mostly like a person

  with a little hope

  mixed in.

  And when his Velcro-short hair brushes />
  my cheek,

  we are two friends

  sitting together

  on a mat

  in the rare autumn sunshine.

  Photos

  Toby returns

  with photos

  on his phone screen

  of the Three Gorges Dam—

  the biggest dam in the world,

  which chokes the Yangtze River.

  He shows them to

  all the kids at the table

  and the ayis,

  then moves to the kids

  on the floor.

  I follow him around

  and look at those photos through

  three times,

  trying to wrap my mind around

  all he’s seen.

  China never does anything by halves,

  Toby tells me.

  I try to figure out what he means

  without asking him,

  but then he starts a list:

  Great Wall

  Forbidden City

  Three Gorges Dam

  Terracotta Warriors

  He counts them off on his fingers.

  China is an amazing country.

  Is that why you live here?

  For the amazingness?

  I ask.

  Toby smiles slowly.

  I’m here for kids like you

  and kids who can’t help themselves

  like Xiao Bo

  and Lin Lin,

  but I love living in China

  just because it’s China.

  You ought to be proud of your country, Kara.

  Opinion

  I ask Toby

  if we can go in the hall.

  That’s when I show him

  the Gurnseys’ letter.

  Congratulations!

  He side-hugs me.

  You’ve been matched!

  His green eyes hold exclamation points

  just like his sentences.

  Then I show him Mama’s letter,

  the part about the congressman.

  He blows out a big breath.

  That’s hard, Kara.

  I mean, I know they’re your family.

  He thumps my shoulder too hard.

  But people are arguing over you,

  that can’t be a bad thing, right?

  Now I have Toby’s opinion,

  but it doesn’t help.

  It should be easy to choose Mama

  and the life in Montana, because reaching

  her mountains has been my dream

  since I was little.

  But I worry because

  nobody’s asked me

  what I want,

  whether I want a big, matching family

  or one familiar mama.

  And I’m afraid nobody will.

  Portrait

  Let me get a shot of you,

  Toby says.

  Just one

  to send home to your American family.

  Which family?

  I ask.

  Toby shrugs.

  Maybe both.

  I sit on my hands,

  look into the camera’s

  reflective