Later that day, I watched my children sail down the slide or attempt to touch the sky with their tiny toes on the swing set. My finger twirled a strand of hair, my mind preoccupied with questions for which the answers became more and more uncertain. Did Dante really love me? Would we really be together when he got out? What if-

“Look at me, Miss Weaver!”

Rubbing my eyes, I focused my attention on Alisha sliding arms raised and face full of joy. Behind her, for the first time, I noticed how beautiful the trees were. Each one adorned with gorgeous green leaves spreading out wide to brush the leaves of the tree adjacent. All around the perimeter of the playground, these trees, some farther apart than others, stretched their leaves to touch. How I longed to be protected under their shade! Lost in thought again, the sound of laughter found me. Girls at first, then a deep sound intermingled. The moment I looked up, my eyes met with Kent’s. He wore dark blue basketball shorts and a matching baseball cap. Every muscle in his arms boasted their strength as he turned ropes with a few of the older girls jumping double dutch.  I wanted to look away. I may have even tried. But my eyes remained fixed on his as if by some magnetic force. In an instant, my dream from the night before rushed to the forefront, chills traveling up and down my spine.

“Miss Weaver, can you push me?”  Ronnie called, swinging short, twiggy legs without success.

“Huh?” I mumbled, blinking.

“Can you push me?”

Dutifully, I pushed him on the swing, glancing back at Kent who was now jumping the ropes. I found it amazing that even though he was big and muscular he didn’t look at all strange jumping with those girls. In fact, he looked rather handsome, his strong legs moving up and over the ropes. My heart fluttered, beating like the wings of a million butterflies in my chest. Disturbed by its rhythm, I looked away, shaking my head as if that would loose the image from my mind.

Later, as the air conditioner hummed soothing white noise and the drawn shades dimmed the room, most of the children had collapsed under Sandman’s spell for naptime the moment their little heads hit the cots. Only Alisha was able to fend him off, wide awake tossing and turning. My thoughts did the same as I cut blue and yellow construction paper stars for arts and crafts later. Memories of Dante played in my mind like old re-runs interrupted by special news reports of Kent. And when I tried to change the channel to another episode of “Dante loves Tori,” Kent broke through again, smiling with those dreamy, cocoa-colored eyes.

Turning off the mental television, I stood and stretched my arms overhead. A crinkled stack of watercolor painted butterflies sat on the edge of my desk. Grabbing them and a container of thumbtacks, I busied myself hanging the masterpieces.

“Miss Weaver, can you read me a story?” Alisha sat crisscross applesauce on her cot.

I shook my head. “Lay down.”

“Please?” she batted long lashes over big brown eyes.

Putting the butterflies and thumbtacks aside, I went to the bookshelf and grabbed the first one I saw: a book of nursery rhymes. With her peering over my shoulder as I sat on the floor with my back against the cot I read: “Humpty dumpty sat on the wall. Humpty dumpty had a great fall-”

Someone knocked at the door. Hurrying to answer, I whispered: “Lay down, Alisha” before flinging it open. Expecting to see Danielle for our afternoon chat, I was totally unprepared for who stood on the other side.

“Kent,” I breathed.

“Hey, what’s up? I hope I’m not bothering you.” He took off his cap to reveal a freshly shaven bald head. “Is it alright if I come in?”

He walked inside, maneuvering between the cots, his footfall delicate on the commercial grade carpet. “I wish my kids would sleep like yours,” he whispered.

“Yeah, Jimmy had a time dealing with them by himself before you came. Maybe it’s just that age.” I pried myself away from the door to sit down at my desk.

Kent turned one of the small yellow chairs around to sit on it backwards. “I guess so.  Those boys are over there running wild as we speak.” He pointed in the direction of the temporary directly across from mine. “I mean, I don’t remember being that wild when I was eight. From what I remember-”

“Miss Weaver, you didn’t finish the story,” Alisha interrupted, sitting up on her cot.

“I’ll finish it later. It’s time to lay down now.”

“But I gotta go pee-pee!”

“You’ve already been twice. Go to sleep.”

“Please?”

“No. Now lay down.”

“Hmph!” She lay down for a moment, then popped back up. “Are you Miss Weaver’s boyfriend?” she asked Kent with a smirk.

He smiled. “No.”

“Yes you are! And you gonna kiss like my mommy and daddy!” she made kissing sounds against her hand.

My face flushed. “Alisha, if you don’t go to sleep now, you won’t get any ice cream later,” I warned.

“No!” she exclaimed, lying down quick and pulling her Elmo blanket over her head.

“She is so cute. I wish I had your class. How old is they? Three?”

I nodded. “And they’re a handful. Especially that one.” I smiled, gazing in the direction of Alisha’s cot where she was finally motionless. “But I love them though.”

“I know. I can tell.” He stared at me smiling. “I’ve been watching you.”

I shifted my gaze to my lap, tucking a runaway hair behind my ear.

Still smiling that 24-karat smile, Kent changed the subject. “Your friend Danielle told me a lot about you the other day.”

I swear, I’m gonna kill that chick when I see her!  I seethed inside. But to him I calmly replied: “Oh really?” and resumed cutting out stars to busy my restless hands.

“You’re not gonna make this easy on me, huh?”

Still cutting: “What?”

“Getting to know you.”

“Why would you want to know me?” I asked, pausing mid-snip.

“Because from what I’ve seen, you’re a kind, gentle, caring person.  And you’re beautiful.”

Beautiful? No one had ever used that word to describe me before. The butterfly wings fluttered in my tummy again, but I downplayed it. “Look thanks for the compliment, but uh…I’m kinda seeing someone right now.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“I mean, he’s in jail, but…”

Kent lowered his head for a moment. There was a smooth scar on top. I wondered how he’d gotten it. Then he stood to just above five feet, but still an undeniable presence. “And how long are you planning on waiting?” he asked.

“I…I don’t know.”

Replacing his cap, the lid obscuring his eyes, he strolled to the door. His hand on the knob, he turned to look back at me. “I hope this guy’s worth your loyalty.”

I bit my lip, hoping the same.

(From Secret of a Butterfly, pp.27-30)

We see one thing in the su pernatural, a whisper of something greater. But cry of the natural is so much louder. Look what I see, it shouts until your vision is cloudy and your path unclear. Can you think of a time in your life when you were faced with two different paths? Did you listen to the whisper or the shout? Until next time…