The Author, the Painter & the Butterfly

After perhaps a very long time, the man had finally put in some effort. On that day his hands weren't caked in paint and the clothes he had on were in fact the cleanest he owned. As he walked into the cozy looking café next to the bookstore no one could have guessed who he was if not for the few streaks of bright paint he couldn't quite get out of his brown hair.

He walked up to the manager of the café and asked him to be led into the reserved room. "The Madame would like to be left alone for lunch" the manager told him eyeing the book he was carrying. The man smiled brightly at him. "She is expecting me" he said in a warm voice. "Do let her know I am here". The manager left with a suspicious huff. Then invited him into the reserved room five minutes later.

There were about six people in the room. All of whose faces you could tell from newspapers, magazines and television. Among them was a grey-haired woman who smiled up at the man from her seat near the window. "Do sit down" she called to him. "After all I have been expecting you, haven't I?" The young man smiled like a child caught playing a prank. and sat down in front of her. The lady raised her eyebrows "So what is this about?" she asked.

The man smiled and put the book in front of her revealing the brown paper package he was carrying behind it. "I wanted your autograph" he said with a smile. "And not stand in line?" asked the lady wryly. "No ma'am" said the man making the old lady laugh. "Very well" she said taking out her pen. That was when a waiter came up. "A citreous tea for me" said the lady. When the waiter looked at the man he smiled again. "Hot chocolate with cream and marshmallows". The lady nodded "Good choice" she said putting down her pen. Her smile turned slightly mischievous "So what did she say?"

The man blushed and as his hand went to the ring box in his pocket. "I am going to ask her today" he replied. The old woman smiled. "She is a good girl, do your parents like her?" she asked. "More than me" said the man little sullenly. The lady laughed. "Well, that's their loss".

"That's not all I came here for," said the man. "I am leaving the country tomorrow for my exhibition, so I wanted to wish you an early birthday and give you this" he said passing her the brown-paper package. The lady smiled "So you do remember that I am nine days away from sixty-five" she said shaking her head. "How time flies" she added opening the package and staring at the beautiful painting inside.

It depicted a butterfly, so vivid in its color and beauty that it made the world around it look like a faded photograph. "I knew it would look good in color," said the old lady. She was still looking at the picture when her literary agent came and told the legendary author of more than thirty bestselling books that it was time to go. "Well, that's that" she told the man getting up. "I know you have flight to catch tomorrow but do tell me how it goes tonight". "I will" the painter replied, his hand curling around the ring box.

As the author walked away, he was remembering the first time he met her, in front of his brownstone school building. He had come in last at a story-writing competition and was crying under a tree long after his classmates had left. "Stories wouldn't have survived this long if they were just written and told you know" he heard someone say. Back then she was a young new teacher and her hair was still the darkest shade of brown. "I hear you are a wonderful artist, so why don't you draw a story?" she had asked him giving him a paper and a pencil. The painter didn't know what had compelled him to sit there until dusk drawing that butterfly until every detail was perfect. He didn't know why the author had stayed with her. When he finished the picture, he had given the paper to her in silence. "It's the most beautiful thing I have ever seen" she said, "I wonder how it will look in color".

The painter had looked at her solemnly. "I will make another story tomorrow" he said. The young lady had smiled. "And I shall wait to see it".

His thoughts shifted back to the woman he wanted to marry. "I hope she says yes" thought the painter looking at the opal stone ring.

The author made a dissatisfied sound looking down at the picture she was drawing. "I can't believe I haven't gotten any better at this" she muttered. It showed a lopsided moon and a bunch of stick figures in a meadow. The stick figures seem to show people of different professions together on the meadow with big smiles on their faces. "A world of storytellers" the author said and then she shook her head. "I suppose I have to wait for sixty-five more years to see that." Then she saw the two framed pictures of butterflies and smiled.

"Then this old bird is ready to live for sixty-five more years" she said and she picked up another piece of paper and started scribbling. The sun was rising when she looked up with a bright smile. "Happy Birthday to me" she said exuberantly. This time the moon was a perfect circle.

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