Butterflies and Hurricanes

A short story inspired by Iron and Wine, and sleepless nights.

Dear Danielle,

From the day you moved in to the farm, I knew I could talk to you. I had spent many a day alone, tending to the farm all by myself, with only the hens and the chickens for company. I never had a very exciting life, you know? And then there you were, sitting in your father’s jeep, a seven-year-old testament to the most perfect brown hair I had ever seen. You first came out and spoke to me when your father and mother told you to stop talking about your old life. That it was over. That you better move on. How you cried that night. And how I held you. “You’re always ready for a hug, aren’t you Kentucky?” you used to giggle. You ignored my actual name and re-named me after your favourite fast-food chain in the city. I didn’t mind. I never had a problem with anything you ever did. I was a new man. I was Kentucky, the farm boy. I loved it.

Every morning when you woke up, I was always there outside your window, with my usual toothy grin. I would already be at work, and you would rush out to greet me and plead me to join you for breakfast. I would always politely decline.

You always treated me with so much respect, Dan. You told me I taught myself how to stand on my own feet, that I welcomed problems with open arms. You told me that no matter what happened in life, I faced it with a smile. That I was always smiling. I told you I smiled only when you were around. I remember how you got me a brand new waistcoat one day, and I was never found without it.

I always hated those damn birds, I wanted to get rid of them all. You thought they were beautiful. You taught me how it is important to be nice and kind to everyone around. An act of kindness can never go to waste. I laughed at you when you told me Cinderella’s mother gave you that advice. You kicked me in the shins.

I’ve seen you grow up in front of my eyes. I’ve seen you blowing candles off your birthday cake year after year. I’ve seen you bawl with agony when your favourite rabbit died. I’ve seen you making the most perfect pancakes and omelettes. I’ve seen your fits of anger. I’ve seen you smashing your father’s car with an axe. I’ve listened to your poetry. I’ve listened to you crooning your favourite songs, lying next to me, telling me how you wanted to immortalize yourself at the Hollywood Walk of Fame.

What happened to you, Dan? Maybe it was me. Maybe I wasn’t a good friend. Maybe I didn’t notice how you started getting those dark circles under your eyes. Maybe I didn’t realize those stitch marks over your wrists. Maybe I ignored those bruises on your thighs under your denim shorts when we played hopscotch together. I overlooked your whole ‘emo’ phase. It’s a part of growing up, I thought.

And then, Dan, you stopped talking to me. We stopped spending time out in the meadows, getting wet in the rain, pretending to be cowboys with straws between our teeth. I know things can go crazy when you are fifteen, and I know how much you wanted to be free. You wanted to run unfettered into the exciting world outside of this farm. How well I understood you. My job, my life, everything is here on this farm, Dan. You think I don’t long to go see what lies outside? I stay rooted to my spot for days at a stretch. It is back-breaking work. But you gotta do what you gotta do.

I missed you when you lay in bed for days together, your eyes devoid of any feeling, and your body pale and motionless with all those drugs. I called your name when it rained, when there were rainbows outside, when there were new eggs to be collected from the hen pen.

You got lost, Dan. In a way, you had already left the farm, left me, left your family. You were already in another place. I remember the barrage of doctors at your place. A new one every few weeks. I don’t know what they said to you, but a little birdie told me they thought I was not a good influence in your life. I saw how he pointed towards me, and spoke his venomous words into your ears. I was hurt. I thought we could be friends. They misunderstood me. I never expected a lot from you. Only for us to share those beautiful moments together on the farm. Dan and Ken together, like we had always been.

So, here we are Dan, and I’m going to do something I should have done long back. I’m doing you an act of kindness, and I hope it won’t go to waste. It won’t. How can Cinderella’s mother be wrong? You won’t see me on the farm from tomorrow. It is time for me to move on this time, and look ahead. We’ve had a good run, you and I. Thank you for the memories.

Love,

Ken

Danielle rose from her bed the next morning, her head was hurting, and her pillow was stained with ink and tears. Her pen lay uncapped on the table, and crumbled pieces of paper were strewn all over. She didn’t remember when she went to sleep last night. She looked at the folded piece of paper on her table. She opened it, and read it, her hands trembling and tears falling from her eyes.

She got up slowly, and looked outside the window.

Kentucky, the scarecrow, was gone. And so was his usual toothy grin.