Page 79 of Butterfly

It wasn’t fair on Leo, or Maggie, or Howard, who’d been putting so much work in, and it wasn’t fair on Teddy either.

It all felt surreal when the day arrived.

Seinfeld told him to pack a bag of belongings just in case he got lucky. All Ollie put in the clear plastic bags were pages and pages of Teddy’s words of his stories about his childhood, the dreams he sometimes had that he wanted to share and sweet nonsense he sometimes wanted Ollie to hear.

Teddy stood beneath the window, putting on a smile that had no hope in hell of reaching his eyes.

Ollie dropped to his knees, removed the bottom drawer, and placed it on the floor. Teddy cocked his head as Ollie reached beneath and pulled out a drawing.

Of course it was a butterfly.

But this one was a peacock butterfly.

This one was in colour.

And it was Ollie’s best one yet.

He handed it to Teddy, who took it with shaking hands. He looked at the picture like it contained the secrets of the universe.

Ollie removed one last thing before slotting the drawer back in place.

“This butterfly wants to visit,” Ollie whispered. “I’ve spoken to Captain, Jack and Green. They’re all more than happy to write out the visiting slips for you, and letters too. You just need to point each word out like you do for me.”

Teddy continued to stare at the butterfly. He traced it with a finger.

Ollie bit his lip. “Or maybe you could write to me yourself.”

That got Teddy’s attention. His head snapped up.

Ollie held up the booklet. It was a handwriting book for children. He’d asked Maggie to send one in for him. She hadn’t questioned why.

“I thought you could learn to write with your left hand.”

Teddy’s throat bobbed as he swallowed.

“I know I’ve mentioned it before, and you always said you’re not worth it.” Ollie couldn’t keep the bitterness from his voice. “But we established I’m always right.”

Teddy snorted softly.

“You’re worth it,” Ollie said firmly. “But the question is…amIworth it?”

Teddy frowned until his eyes were slits.

“Am I worth learning how to write for?”

When Teddy didn’t answer, Ollie sighed. “I was kind of hoping for a yes.”

Teddy nodded, but it was slow, reluctant almost.

“Whatever happens today, I will keep you in my life. I’ll write. I’ll visit. I’ll even pick up your calls. It’ll be harder to understand you over the phone, but we’ll manage. I’ll probably just rattle on about rubbish, just cough three times when you’ve had enough or something.” He laughed softly; it was that or cry. “Please, Teddy, I did this for you. Please dothisfor me.”

Teddy took the booklet.

“You don’t get letters, or phone calls, or visits. But if I get out of here, that’ll change. You’re always going to have me, no matter what happens.” Ollie sighed. “Not to mention… there’s always the strong possibility I don’t get released.”

Teddy huffed and dropped the booklet and drawing on the bed so he could fold his arms.

Ollie lifted his hands in surrender. “I’m only saying.”

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