The Patron Saint of Butterflies(35)
“I’m gonna go outside.”
Nana Pete looks over at me. “I don’t think—”
“Just to get some fresh air,” I say. “Don’t worry. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” I walk for a while along the white halls of the hospital, reading signs that say things like PEDIATRIC UNIT, THIRD FLOOR, and VISITING HOURS WILL BE ENFORCED. I can’t believe how big it is! Long, immaculate corridors filled with closed doors stretch out like pearly highways and then disappear around a curve. Every few minutes I jump as a female electronic voice fills the air, informing people that visiting hours are almost over. Then, when I turn a corner just beyond a door marked SCRUBS, a horrible shrieking sound fills my ears. A large blue sign on the opposite wall indicates that I am at the PEDIATRIC BURN UNIT. Suddenly a woman with a paper mask over her mouth rushes past me, toward the room where the screaming is coming from.
“How’d you get in here?” she barks. “You’re not sterile! You have to leave!” She pushes open the door to the room. The horrible screaming gets louder, the sound of someone being tortured. Sounds I’ve heard before. I turn around and run in the other direction. A hundred yards down the opposite hallway are the front doors to the hospital. I make my way toward them and stop in surprise as the wide glass frames slide open automatically. I’ve seen these kinds of doors on Days of Our Lives lots of times. Someone is always rushing through them just as the music swells and the picture fades. Turning back around, I walk up to the doors again so I can see them yawn wide, like magic. I do it once more. And a fourth time.
“Those doors aren’t for playing around with, young lady.”
Startled, I turn around to see a woman frowning at me over a pair of pale blue glasses. She is sitting at a desk with INFORMATION in gold on the front, tapping a pen against the bottom of her chin.
“Sorry. It’s just … I’ve never seen … I mean, I’ve never gotten to use doors like that before.”
“You don’t get out much, do you?” the woman asks dryly. Her lips are painted a bright orange color and she has pale, watery eyes. Coils of long blond hair are piled so high on top of her head that it looks as if they have exploded straight out of her skull. She unwraps a roll of red circular candies and holds the tube out in my direction. The silver paper on the outside reads CHERRY LIFE SAVERS. “You want one?” Red food. Forbidden.
“Why do they have a hole in the middle?” I ask, popping one into my mouth.
The lady sucks on hers and studies me for a minute. “Where’re you from, Mars?”
I look up at her, suddenly aware of how stupid I must sound. We’re out here now. In the real world. I’ve got to get a grip. Quit asking so many dumb questions. Taking a step backward, I give her a small laugh. “Yeah, Mars,” I say nervously. “Next stop is Pluto.” I wave. “Thanks for the candy. And stuff. Bye.”
The cool air hits my face as I step outside and slump down on an empty wooden bench. It feels good against my sweaty skin and I sit for a minute, letting it wash over my face. The cherry candy makes a sour pocket on the back of my tongue, but it tastes good, like it’s waking me up. I reach inside my pocket and take George out.
“Hey, buddy.” I stroke his broken ear gently. “How you doing? You okay?” George blinks and then gives me a little nod of his head. I take a deep breath. “We’re out of there, George. For real. Mount Blessing and Emmanuel and all the rest of the Believer freaks are history.” I close my fingers around his tiny shape. “I’m not gonna tell anyone else this, George, but I’m a little scared. I really am. I don’t know what’s going to happen or even what we’re gonna do next. I don’t want Nana Pete to get in any kind of trouble. I was thinking on the car ride here that, you know, if anything happens, like Emmanuel coming to get us, or Agnes’s parents finding us and dragging us back, that I’m just gonna run away. I can’t go back there, George. Not ever. As scary as it is out here, it’s ten thousand times worse back there. I’ve gotta go my own way now.”
Without warning, a man and a woman burst out of the automatic doors and run down the cement path. I shove George back into my pocket.
The woman, who is about my height but heavier, is running ahead of the man. She is wearing a white skirt with yellow tulips along the bottom, a white sweater buttoned up to her chin. She is laughing and making whooping sounds. The man, dressed in a light green coat and blue jeans, follows her. Suddenly the woman stops and, turning, throws her arms around him. When she kisses him, her hands move around toward the back of his head, through his dark hair. He kisses her back deeply.
Something stirs deep inside me, watching them. This, this is what Emmanuel almost beat me to death for doing? When they break apart, the man puts his arm around the woman and draws her in close against his chest. Together they walk down the rest of the path. I stare after them as long as I can, hoping they will stop and kiss one more time. If it was Days of Our Lives, they would still be kissing and music would be playing in the background. But just as quickly as they appeared, they turn a corner and disappear from sight.
I stand up and start walking around the outside of the hospital, looking at the sea of cars in the parking lot, the crest of hills in the distance. Halfway past the emergency room, I’m distracted by several peony bushes, some of which have already started to bloom, and a small cluster of Clouded Sulphurs, which are fluttering around one especially large flower. Leaning in, I study the butterflies, examining their delicate antennae, already heavy with nectar, and their pale yellow wings, which are the color of the sky just before a winter sunset. I count the butterflies silently. There are six of them. I will make a note of it later in my butterfly notebook.