The Memory of Butterflies

by Grace Greene

“Roger and I are friends. Good friends. That’s it.” “Fine.” She shook her head. “You’re wrong, but have it your way. Tell me, then, if not Roger, then someone else? You should have someone special, someone all your own. A boyfriend. I worry about you, Mom.” “Well, don’t. If I meet anyone I’m interested in romantically, I’ll be sure to lasso and hog-tie him until you have a chance to pass judgment.”

Life will. That was something smart people said. Life will out. Life will find a way. I thought that meant life goes on and that whatever that basic, primal driver of life was, it won. Every time. It would push through and remind you, often with cruel strokes, that any pretense of human control was an illusion. We were