June In The Summer | H.S.

prologue

"She plays songs I've never heard. An old lover's hippie music, pretends not to know the words."

Canyon Moon by Harry Styles

Little blips of color flash their wings in the sky, so fragile, yet so beautiful. Butterflies. Floating on the cool ocean breeze. Traversing through the smog-filled atmosphere. Landing in the fields of flowers, looking for their next sugary meal. Their life is so small and short. And even though they are simple, they go through the most complex of changes.

When a caterpillar changes into a butterfly, their entire composition shifts. They become something completely new. Everything inside them twists and turns and reconstructs into a different creature. From simplicity to beauty. From never being noticed to being the only thing you can see.

Butterflies exist on almost every continent. One can walk down the street in the summer and see a jewel-winged beauty dancing before them, fluttering its wings so delicately. Butterflies have existed everywhere through every time period. They've seen the dinosaurs roam earth's valleys and they will likely see the downfall of humanity. It's very dramatic, but it's the truth.

Miami, Florida, 1999. Butterflies existed there too. Specifically, one existed on 67 Sunset Street. The little insect sat in its chrysalis, waiting to emerge and be perceived by Floridians and tourists. Its temporary home was placed on the side of a small, insubstantial motel tucked away in the least populated area of Miami.

Crescent Cove. The outskirts of the city. Close to the beach. The street stretched for about one mile. The sidewalks had cracks, like open wounds, where weeds poked through. There was a convenience store, a gas station, a motel, and a diner. That was it. It seemed like such an insignificant place for a butterfly to undergo such an important life event.

But as it goes, changes come when you least expect it, in places where change seems impossible. So the butterfly's cocoon was stuck to the rotting pink-painted wood of the motel.

The bug had been sitting there for two weeks, waiting for its moment. It underwent rain, wind, and immense heat just so it can finally be something to behold.

The butterfly in this moment certainly wasn't expecting to be aggressively thrown from its perch. The cocoon hit the ground with a small thunk. It seemed that all hope was lost for the little butterfly.

It appeared as though the cocoon was disturbed by the motel's door slamming as two people, a man and a woman, exited the building.

"I can't believe you did this!" the woman angrily shouted at the man. The man spun around on his heels and glared at the woman.

"Look. I had to help you. You shouldn't be mad at me for helping you."

"You didn't have to help me. I didn't need your help!" the woman exclaimed.

"Yes, you did, June-" the man started, but was cut off.

"Don't call me that. How-," June paused in order to better calm herself and lower her voice to a dangerous whisper, "How could you ruin Tricia's career like this? I'm not more important than her."

"To me, of course you are!" the man pleaded in desperation, "And don't act like this is all my fault. You need to take some responsibility. Tricia is fine. She wanted to help you. She loves you. You need to let people help you, JJ. Please, let us help you."

June narrowed her eyes at his words.

"Well, you already did that, didn't you? You decided for me," June took another pause, trying to keep her tears at bay, "Please, just leave me alone, Harry."

Harry stood still, unmoving. He was having a mental war with himself over whether he should listen to her or not.

"Please," June said again, barely audible this time. Harry took a deep breath. He could never say no to June. Not before, and not now.

"Ok. Fine." With that, Harry stalked off down the street.

Now with Harry's absence, June crumpled to the ground, overcome with grief. This is it. No more summers. No more smoking on the motel's rooftop. No more random drives at night with her boys. It's the end.

At this point, the tears were falling from June's face like rain in a storm. It probably looked like everyone she loved died. It certainly felt like that. June was encompassed in her sadness and almost didn't notice when her hand brushed up against something. Almost.

Through her tears, June looked down and saw a cocoon. The butterfly's cocoon. She figured it must have fallen from somewhere nearby. It looked like it was still alive, so she picked it up. She felt movement.

Another wave of grief wracked through her as she sat on the hot asphalt. This poor butterfly. Waited so long for change, but will never get it.

June thought to herself pessimistically how most change ends up unfinished, cut short by random disturbances or life itself.

An idea entered her head as she sat there, wallowing in sadness.

Perhaps this doesn't have to be the end. For her, or the butterfly.