Butterfly- Ashita Agarwal: Pen- Magic ( Term 1- Short Story)

 

Butterfly

Ashita Agarwal: Pen-Magic Club

My dreams were still in vivid detail. I was eight that day, still just a little, naive kid. I was sitting in the school lobby, waiting for Dad to come and pick me up. When Ms Darlene, my third grade teacher, came to show me out, she was crying. She hugged me. 

“I’m so sorry, dear.” 

That’s all she said, before the police told me the details. My father had been murdered. His body had been found by an old lady in an old warehouse. They said he had been kidnapped. 

I’d been too sad to go to the funeral. So I cried, and cried and shouted. All alone. I never got to see Dad, finally at peace, resting in his coffin. I still haven’t. It’s hard to come to terms that my father, my full-of-life, amazing father, was gone from this world when he was the only parental figure I ever had- I'd never known my mother, she'd left us before I could make a memory. My eyes had been red and puffy for months- “Mia! Mia, are you okay?!”

With a start, I woke up. There was a black blur before I was being squeezed in a bone-crushing hug from my raven-haired, dark-clothed roomie, Astrid Richards.

“Mia! Oh gods, are you okay?!”

Astrid likes to contrast her cheerful, talkative, kind personality with the gothic look she was, for some unknown reason, obsessed with. This meant all black, or at least dark blue to match her already dark eyes and hair. Today it was the latter- a Burj Khalifa-long midnight blue tee over a really short pair of shorts.

“Mia.” 

A finger snapped under my nose. “Mia?”

Mia. Even after living as ‘Mia Sanderson’ for 15 years now, I’m still not used to it. In fact, I hate it. But my father’s nickname for me, Butterfly, is the best. He loved Greek culture. So he named me Vannesa, which, when translated from Greek to English,  is ‘butterfly’.

“Mia!” 

My head jerked up. “Yeah?”

“You’re doing that looking-into-the-horizon, brooding thing again.” I knew Astrid was smiling, but I couldn't bring myself to show my guilty face to her right then. She obviously cared a lot about me- above that up-curved mouth were worried charcoal eyes that wanted to know if I was alright after having the same nightmare I’d been having since…. Since he died.

“Oh. Sorry.”

“You know s'okay,’ she said. 'So, you fine? Need  a tissue or something?

“No, thank you. I’m fine. Just a bit nervous about the entire new-logo gig for Butterfly.”

Oh, didn’t I tell you? I, the 23-year-old Vanessa ‘Mia Sanderson’ Hayes, was going to redesign the logo of a company called Butterfly. Like my nickname. It’s the reason I accepted the offer.

The founder and current CEO of the company, Peter Gilbert, would have been the same age as my father, if he were still alive: forty-seven. He had started the company a few years after his death. No one’s ever gotten a picture of him, though. He always keeps to himself.

“Well, don’t be. You love art, are amazing at design and you’re just great in general. They’re lucky to have you.”

“Wow. Thanks, Astrid.”

“Welcome.”

Astrid went to my closet, took out a pair of clothes- a yellow button-down blouse and navy blue pencil skirt- and handed them to me. 

“Now get ready and go make an amazing first impression.”

*§*

As I drove in peace, a million thoughts were racing through my head. This was my first job. What if I made a horrible logo that Peter Gilbert hated? I would probably never be hired again if I blew this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity with him. This job could make or break the future of my entire career. And if I failed at making even one nice logo, perhaps I wasn’t good enough at something that I loved. 

Even though I wanted to just think ‘guess we’ll just see what happens’ and let it go, I just couldn’t shake off the feeling that something would happen today. Something big. Something that could change my life. But I wasn't sure if it was going to be a good or bad something.

*§*

Butterfly’s lobby was beautiful. It was a furnished, Greek space with white-washed walls and lots of intricately carved pillars. I was surrounded by bright blue upholstered sofas and smooth mahogany tables. A beautiful mix of ancient and modern.

A scrawny man sat behind a tall stone desk on a black chair, his pen making a rasping sound on paper that echoed in the calm silence. The clicking noise my heels made each time they hit the marble ground caught his attention, shifting it from whatever he was writing on that yellow spiral notepad to me. 

The man got up from his chair, picking up a writing board on the way.

“Hello, Ms…' He looked down to check his writing board. 'Sanderson, I suppose?”

“Yes. And you are?”

“Walter. Walter Davis. But you can call me Walt”

I smiled at him, and shook his outstretched hand.

“Good morning, Walt. Because you know my name, I’m guessing you know why I’m here?”

“I do. Let me show you to Mr Gilbert’s office.”

I nodded my head at him as he took me to the elevator and pressed a button. 

“So, Ms Sand-”

“Just call me Mia, please.”

“Well then, Mia, I think you need to know that Mr Gilbert is normally a very upbeat person who likes to tell jokes to hide his sadness. There are rumours that he’s had a very… depressing past, to say the least. People think that he lost his daughter before starting Butterfly in her name.”

Ding! We stepped into the big metal box. Walt started to tell me more about the company. Apparently, Butterfly was a company that helped people deal with personal problems. A therapy centre. 

At the fifth and topmost floor, the bell sounded again and the doors opened. There were multiple glass doors lining both sides of the hall, each having a different set of people in suits and formal dresses. At the very end of the hall was a wooden door with colourful detailed drawings of plants and butterflies that came together to create the name Peter Gilbert.

Walt walked me up to it and knocked on the door. 

“Come in,” said a rich baritone on the other side of the intricately decorated wood.

He gave me a thumbs up and a wink. Walt turned around to walk back down the line of meeting rooms. Before he entered, though, he wished me a “good luck!” over his shoulder and stepped onto the metal floor. The doors of the elevator then closed on his pale face.

I pushed open the door . And when I saw him, I let out a surprised gasp and dropped the little black bag in my hands.

The man on the chair was dressed like any typical businessman would. Black suit, brown shoes, white tie. He looked like my father, but different. Like Dad would if he were older. So similar to me.

The same opal blue eyes, like mine. The sloped nose, like mine. Thinner mouth, with softer cheekbones now, but with hints of the same chocolate brown as the shade I had, showing in his salt-and-pepper hair. His face was covered in wrinkles, eyes filled with so much sorrow and pain. But you could still see that dull little spark of mischief.

And then I saw the photo in his hands, the one he was smiling so lovingly at. A picture my father had taken a few months before the… incident. We had an amazing trip to Paris, to say the least. The last memory I have of his carefree nature. My father had bought a new camera just for this special occasion. 

It'd always been my dream to go there. And when he finally announced that we were finally making my dream come true, I’d been so happy. I still remember how he’d made a french dinner to give me a clue. It’d taken a while for me to figure it out. But I did it. 

When we’d gone to the art museum, he’d taken a picture of me in front of every famous picture. And the one in his hands was me and the Mona Lisa at the Louvre Museum of Paris. And somehow, Peter Gilbert had it. To say I was angry was an understatement. 

“Are you some kind of pathetic stalker?! How did you get this picture of me and my father?!” I snatched the white picture frame from his hands and examined it. His head snapped up, and he just stared at me for some time. His smile faltered. I felt him looking me over, seeing how much I’d changed. 

“Vanessa?”

There was only one person in this world who knew my real name, who said it like that. Had that love as he said the name that I hadn’t heard in years. The name I loved. And he was supposed to be dead.

So I did the only thing my confused brain could think to do in that confusing moment- I nodded.

Immediately, he got up and engulfed me in a hug. I hadn’t realised how much I’d missed his warmth until I felt it again. 

“But h-how?”

These were the first few words that I was able to choke out since finding out that my father, who I thought was dead for 15 years, was still alive. Fat tears were now streaming down my cheeks, probably soaking his suit. But he didn’t make a move to wipe them off. He just hugged me tighter in response.

“I could ask you the same question, Butterfly.”

It wasn’t even that funny. In fact, it wasn’t funny at all. But I still laughed. He’s alive. He’s alive! HE’S ALIVE! 

But there were still a few questions I needed answers to. Immediately. I was so confused, my mind wasn’t able to take it all in at once. Is this really happening? for example. But there were more important questions that had to be addressed.

“I saw your funeral, you know. Your body in a coffin. They found it in the old warehouse, covered in blood. How are you alive?”

He faltered before answering.

“That was probably the guy who kidnapped me,’ he said in a low tone. Dad continued on in a whisper. ’I killed him. Killed him, Vanessa. With his knife. Then I left. I ran to the next town I came to and settled down there. Then, I started...this.” 

Dad gestured to the room we were in.

The waterworks had slowly subsided. My face was still wet, and I could feel that the top of my hair was slightly damp as well. 

“I-’ he started. But I cut him off.

“It’s okay. I’ve missed you so much.”

“Missed you too, Butterfly.”

I smiled and we stood there, hands around each other, in silence. Until the door opened. 

“Oh! I’m so sorry, David! Am I interrupting something?”

“No, actually, Audrey. Meet my daughter, Vanessa Hayes.”

She gasped.

“As in… as in the one who was murdered?”

“Murdered? You thought I was murdered?!”

He nodded, sadly.

“It’s the reason I didn’t go home. I thought you were dead. They told me you were. And-”

“Wait. The person who kidnapped you told you that I was murdered?”

“Yes. And I didn’t go back to check. It was so stupid of me! But it was too much to go back to the place that held so many memories of you! If only I had gone back, I would have seen you and this entire thing wouldn’t have happ-”

“You wouldn’t have found me. The police had already taken me to the orphanage by that time. They thought I needed immediate help after the shock of you dying."

He nodded in sympathy and understanding. I was once again surrounded by Dad’s arms.

But then he pulled back.

“Oh, yes! I forgot! Vanessa, this is Audrey Willis, or Audi. She is my personal assistant. Funnily enough, she drives an Audi.”

“Hi, Audi the Audi driver!”

I waved at her and offered her a shy smile.

She scoffed and rolled her eyes playfully.

“Your father made that same joke on my first day here.”

“He did? Well then, great minds think alike?”

“But fools seldom differ!”

Audrey smiled. I smiled back, more confidently this time. I like this woman.

“I suppose I should leave you both to get reacquainted. Have fun!”

And she left.

“So…’ I trailed off, not knowing what to say. ‘What now?”

We waited for an awkward moment, not doing anything, not knowing what to do, before he got up and hugged me again. I immediately hugged back.

“I love you, Butterfly. Words simply can’t express how glad I am to have found you again.”

“Me too, Dad. Me too.”

*§*

A few days later, the same heading was on every newspaper in the hands of almost the entirety of Berkley: 

Butterfly CEO reunites with “dead” daughter

19/09/18, Curtis Kirk: On September 15, Mia Sanderson, an emerging logo designer, reunited with her father, Peter Gilbert, CEO and founder of Butterfly. Both had been under disguise- the famous David Hayes we hought had been murdered, found out his daughter, Vanessa Hayes was still alive, contradictory to what his kidnapper so many years ago, on that faithful March of 2003. 

Vanessa had spent the past ten years with a roommate at Evita Towers named Astrid Richards for five years after gaining independence from Saint Mary Orphanage when she turned eighteen- Vanessa has neither sibling nor mother. Her parents don't have siblings, or a known parent. Both met at an orphanage as orphan kids.

 She is now a responsible young adult who wants to follow in her father’s footsteps. She says, “my father created Butterfly in my loving memory. As appreciation for this beautiful gesture, I will take over the company once he retires. I hope to hear all of your problems and help you fix them.”

*§*

“Butterfly, you ready?” Dad called from the living room. 

“Almost!”

Today was the one-year anniversary of our little ‘reunion,’ as the tabloids called it. Next year, we'd also be celebrating the one-year anniversary of the day I became the new CEO of Butterfly. He'd decided to retire early. The two reasons we were going out for dinner with Astrid. It’s the least I could do after lying to her for so long. Astrid was still angry.

I quickly took a peek at myself in the mirror to make sure I looked fine. I had decided not to go with anything fancy. My reflection wore a crisp yellow shirt over a dark blue pair of jeans. It's hair was pulled into a ponytail.

Suddenly, the bell rang. 

“Is that Astrid, Dad?” 

“I think you’d better come and see for yourself, Vanessa.” 

Oh, no.

Real name meant it was serious, and his voice sounded nervous, two things I found out after a year of living with him, he wasn't often. Normally, he was happy-go-lucky, always making terrible dad-jokes that he had in an infinite amount. This was probably very important.

I rushed down the stairs. What I saw was very unexpected. 

Standing on our doorstep was a lady whose golden eyes were the only facial feature of hers visible under the hood over her head. A lady who looked and sounded very, very familiar…

“Hello, my daughter.”

*§*