The Knife and the Butterfly

by Ashley Hope Pérez

  But today, when Group Guy asked us to talk about who we feel closest to, I thought, him. How twisted is that, for me to think of Azael out of everybody in the whole world? When I didn’t even know his name before?

  Even once I thought about how messed up it was, I still couldn’t get myself to think of anybody else. I know I have Meemaw. And Shauna, sort of. Maybe Janet, just a little. I used to have Cartoon and Slots. But none of them feel close. When I’m alone in here, they seem way far off, tiny specks like fleas.

  Azael’s big in my mind. Sometimes I’m lying here, and I think about that cloud crying bullets that maybe he painted, and I start thinking that things could have been different. If I’d lived in a different place. If I’d met him before Cartoon. If we got high together, even. I’ve known a lot of jerks I thought were my friends, but maybe he’d have been a real one. Maybe.

  All these ifs and maybes set off a lot of crazy stuff in my head, and even thinking of poor Theo doesn’t make me stop wondering about Azael.

  I want to tell her that she’s fucking crazy, that she doesn’t know me, that I don’t care about her. But I can’t, because no matter how hard I try to think of Regina or Eddie or Becca, I know that Lexi’s the one who’s most real to me now. When I close my eyes, she’s what I see. Not just a girl with big tits and blow-job lips, but somebody whose life is tangled up in mine somehow.

  I think about what Pakmin said, how she doesn’t know I’m watching her. Maybe he’s telling the truth, but it feels like she’s the only one who still sees me.

  Janet’s after me all the time to talk about it. When she starts up, I try to go someplace else in my mind. I think of Meemaw and how good it would feel to put my head in her lap so she could play with my hair and talk to me like when I was little, like she used to do when I got real sad. She’d play with my hair and I’d put my ear against her tummy and listen to it rumble, press my face against her T-shirt and smell the Tide and Downy. She would sing to me, too. A church song or maybe something by Johnny Cash.

  I miss her touch so much. I’d do anything to feel her hug me tight.

  Only two weeks before the trial starts. When Gray Suit came to see me today, I kept to myself, did what he told me to, and didn’t give him attitude. He gave me a funny look and asked if I was okay. He told me not to worry, said that we’re ready. Absolutely ready, he said. Slimy smile on his face.

  I nodded and even smiled back, playing the good-girl witness like I’m supposed to. But it made me feel sick. Liar. Liar. Deserves to be on fire. That’s what I hear in my head every time I go over the testimony with him. You can practice a lie until it rolls off your tongue like the truth, but it still leaves you feeling dirty.

  Six months ago you couldn’t have paid me enough money to do my homework, and now I’m so stressed out that I’ve done every single assignment for the whole week, and it’s only Wednesday. That’s some kind of messed up.

  One week left. I don’t know what to do with myself, so I get down on my knees and crawl under the sink. I run my fingers over what I carved there back when I thought I’d only be here for a few days, a week at the most. Back when I was still Sexi Lexi.

  It doesn’t seem real now. All those letters to Cartoon and Slots, and not a single reply.

  I picture myself up on the stand in the skirt and jacket Meemaw bought for me, probably off the sale rack in the old ladies’ section of Dillard’s. I picture the judge telling me to put my hand on a Bible.

  I’m scared shitless. Scared I’ll say what Gray Suit told me to, scared I won’t.

  My head hurts from staring at her writing for so long, but when I get to the last page she’s written on, I get this tight feeling in my chest. What trial is she talking about? Is she the one getting charged, or is she just testifying? There’s more questions than answers here, and time is running out on me fast.

  Whatever Lexi’s up to, it’s no good for me. But I know her fuck-ups and her moods, her silences and her scribblings. Already, I know her too much to hate her. She’s just a scared shit like Eddie or me or anybody, trying not to show how messed up she is.

  It’s no excuse for her bullshit. On the outside we’d be enemies. But in here, I need her. I need her to keep writing, to figure her shit out. I need her to be okay, to do right. Because if she doesn’t, I’m the one who’ll pay. That much I know.

  Praying ain’t the answer. I kick the problem over in my mind for a minute. I think about writing her a note, but as soon as my fingers close around the pencil, I start drawing in her notebook again. This time it’s a knife. Not one I recognize, though. It looks like something out of a Star Trek fan’s nightmare. A make-believe knife, a fucking toy. It’s not really made for fighting. It has a black handle in the middle and jagged blades that curve up out of the handle on both sides like horns. I’ve seen knives like this in junky neighborhood stores that sell shit to anybody who’s got ten bucks. A little case of knives alongside the glow-in-the-dark condoms, energy pills, and steel wool for crack pipes.

  Each line from the pencil finds its place easy; I don’t even have to erase. I wonder about Lexi getting her notebook back and finding the drawing. Will she think it’s a threat? Or is she the only one who’ll know what it means?

  I finish the triangular cutouts on the blades just as the light in the cell clicks off. I’m putting the pencil back under the mattress when my fingers brush against something metal. Becca’s necklace. Last week I unwrapped it from the wad of tape on her letter. I fold my hand around it and pull it out. The butterfly is cold against my skin, and I wrap the chain around my fingers. Using the light from the hall, I lay Becca’s necklace on the same page where I drew the knife. I fold the paper in from the edges and wrap it up tight around the necklace until there’s a little package tucked against the notebook’s spiral. The knife and the butterfly. I’m counting on Lexi to know what they mean.

  It takes me a long time to fall asleep. While I’m waiting, I apologize to Becca in my head, promising her a new necklace if she’ll just take me back when I get out of here.

  CHAPTER 31: NOW

  When Gabe brings breakfast, I hand him last night’s empty dinner tray with the notebook underneath it. He takes it without saying anything about the little bulge from the necklace.

  I lie on the cot and stare at the ceiling until it’s time for rec. Out in the courtyard, I’m too out of it to do pushups, so I just stare into the abandoned land past the fence. I wonder if maybe I’ll see Lexi’s kitten. But I don’t. Probably it got eaten by something. As a kind of experiment, I try feeling sorry for the cat.

  It doesn’t work. I end up thinking about lunch.

  Back in my cell. I think for sure I’m going to find out something from Lexi when Pakmin comes to get me for observation, but he never does.

  I make sure I’m awake when Gabe comes with the dinner tray.

  “Hey, Gabe, how come I ain’t had observation? Pakmin quit on me or what?”

  Gabe scratches his cottony white hair and shifts some cartons of apple juice around in his cart. “Hard to say, son,” he says finally, “but it’s chicken-fried steak tonight.” He hands me the tray with a piece of breaded grayish meat and some green beans before he shuffles on down the hall.

  Looking at the drawings in my black book is what I do to calm myself down and make the time pass. It’s like my rosary. But it’s a rosary missing the last bead. One blank page left in the notebook, and I can’t decide what to put there. When I think about what comes out every time I try to draw, I get a sick feeling in my gut.

  I leave my pencil under the mattress.

  CHAPTER 32: THEN

  I was putting buckets and gloves into my cart like I was just a regular shopper when Eddie finally came strolling in. He had a list of cans he was supposed to help me rack for this piece I was going to do for Becca. I had it all planned out, explained to him what to do a million times. But instead of going straight to the paint aisle like I told him, fat-ass Eddie wandered over to the snack section. He started sho
ving Slim Jims into his pocket, not even noticing that the hardware store clerk was staring right at him.

  I locked eyes with the black guy behind the counter and shook my head like I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. “Hey, cabrón, you got to pay for those,” I said plenty loud for the clerk to hear. I walked over to Eddie like I was trying to show him that I was serious. Once I got closer, I dropped my voice and told him in Spanish to pay for something and buy me some time. Then I said louder, “For real, man. Put ’em back or pay for ’em.” By then, the black guy was out from behind the counter and coming over to the aisle.

  Eddie made a big deal of pulling shit out of his pocket. He tossed all but one package of beef jerky back on the shelf. Then he grabbed a bag of chips.

  “You ready to pay?” the clerk asked.

  “Yeah, yeah,” Eddie said.

  They walked over to the counter together, the black dude watching him like a hawk the whole way.

  While the clerk was busy with Eddie, I walked real casual over to the spray paint aisle. I packed the cans into the waistband of my pants. It was January, so I had on Pelón’s big-ass Colts jacket. That made it easy to hide the cans, but I still couldn’t get everything I needed without Eddie’s help. Pinche Eddie and his snacks.

  After Eddie left the store, I zipped up my jacket and walked up to the front with my cart. I parked it near the counter.

  “Boss forgot to give me the money for his supplies,” I said. I knew the clerk would believe me because sometimes the guy I painted apartments for really did send me here to buy rollers and drop cloths.

  Then I was out the door and ready to kick Eddie’s stupid ass.

  “What the fuck, man.” I gave Eddie a shove when I caught up with him. “You were supposed to be helping me rack some pinche cans.”

  “Easy, little bro. Come on, I made you a diversion and shit, like in the movies, right?” Eddie laughed and offered me his half-eaten beef jerky.

  I pushed his hand away. “Why the shit do you think I gave you my backpack and the list of colors? I still ain’t got the cans I need. Now I got to hit up another store. And you were about to get your ass caught for shoplifting. You can’t be wasting your time on beef jerky, pendejo.”

  “Look, I bought you some Cheetos.” Eddie pulled out the package.

  “A la verga, dumbass,” I said, but I took the chips. “You’re coming with me to Home Depot, and you better not get lost in the snacks. I got to do the piece tonight so I can surprise my girl with it.”

  “Cálmate, Azz,” Eddie said. “I promise I’ll do it right this time.”

  CHAPTER 33: NOW

  I hang my head over the john and puke my guts out. It’s the third time this morning, and it’s not even breakfast yet. When I’m finally done, I rinse my mouth out and then wipe it with the back of my hand. I’m so dizzy I barely make it to the cot. There’s an ache deep inside my muscles. I try to sleep, but I can’t. It’s like an iron hand is squeezing my guts. I lie there with my eyes closed and feel the sweat bead up on my neck and face.

  The sound of the breakfast cart and Gabe’s shuffling step is sweet music to me. I must look pretty bad because Gabe asks me what’s wrong before I even tell him I’m sick.

  “Just woke up with my insides in a mess. Feels like I’ve got a hangover from too many hits of this place.” I try to smile.

  Gabe shakes his head and puts two extra pieces of toast on my tray. “Drink plenty of water, now,” he says. “You’ve got to hurry up.”

  He’s pointing a shaky finger at last night’s dinner tray, so at first I think he means I shouldn’t take so long handing it to him.

  “Here,” I say.

  “You don’t get it, son. You got to make some choices.” He gives me this look like I ought to know what he means.

  “Gabe—”

  “Time’s running real short,” he says.

  I feel what he means even though I can’t understand it with my head. I want to hurry, but I don’t know how. I lie back down on the cot and fall asleep chewing the crust of the toast. Dreams swarm over me like flies. Most of them are dark, and the me that’s dreaming is praying I will forget them before I wake up.

  I’m sick for two whole days, slipping in and out of a crazy, tripping sleep. At first I’m too out of it to care, but once I feel a little better, I realize that Pakmin hasn’t come to see me even once. On the third day, I ask Gabe about it when he brings breakfast. He frowns and repeats the stuff about hurrying up. But before he leaves I make him promise to see what he can do.

  Another day passes without a visit from Pakmin, and I start to get scared that my days of observing are over. How am I supposed to figure anything out from my cell? What do they expect me to do?

  Finally Pakmin shows up. I’m curled up under the blanket half asleep with my black book tucked between my legs when I hear his footsteps. I barely have time to hide my stuff before he gets to my cell.

  Even though it feels like it’s been ages since I saw him, he acts like nothing’s different. Like I haven’t been going crazy in here. I watch his face for any changes, but he keeps it blank. He lets me into the observation room and then leaves without saying a word.

  Lexi’s in the meeting room across the table from Janet. I’m kind of pissed to be walking in on the middle of the session, but I’m not about to complain. I pull one of the plastic chairs close to the window and listen.

  “What about family?” Janet is saying.

  “Mostly I think about him,” Lexi says.

  “Your father?” Janet asks.

  “No, him. Azael. I think about him a lot.”

  “As family?”

  Lexi shrugs. “I don’t know what as. He’s just there. I can’t stop thinking about him. What do you think that means?”

  “It means you’re telling the truth about your feelings, for one thing,” Janet says.

  “You think that really matters? Saying how you feel?”

  “It’s the starting place for knowing—for knowing who you are. And that’s everything.” She stretches her thick arms out, and I can see the big sweat rings under her armpits. I can tell that Lexi notices, too, because she looks away. But she doesn’t say anything about it.

  “You know what I feel the worst about?” Lexi says.

  “What?”

  “After everything that happened, I went and ate Mexican food with my friends. Had chips and salsa and talked shit like nothing was different, like nobody—I don’t know why I did that.”

  Janet watches her for a minute. “Would you do it again?”

  There’s a moment of silence, then Lexi shakes her head. Just barely, but she does. “The people I did it for, I haven’t heard from them. Nothing. Like I don’t even exist to them. But knowing that, knowing they don’t care about me, it doesn’t change anything. You still can’t take things back.”

  “No, you can’t. But you can own up to your mistakes.”

  “But who to? Who do you tell?”

  “That one’s on you, Lexi.”

  “Maybe I could—”

  I’m holding my breath, thinking, this is it, this is finally it. Here’s where I find out what’s going on. But then some middle-aged guy busts into the room, and a tall guard comes in behind him. The first man is wearing a suit. Is this the guy Lexi calls Gray Suit? His face looks like a tomato, and he’s moving so fast that his tie whips behind him.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he shouts at Janet. He’s got Lexi’s notebook in one hand. He turns to her for a second. “Not another word, Lexi. This session is over!”

  I stand up and put my hands on the window. I look hard at the notebook that the suit is waving around. I wonder, is the necklace in there? I wonder, what did he see in what she wrote that I missed? Then I remember that I’ve been out for a couple of days. She’s had the notebook back for a while. Plenty of time to take the necklace out. Plenty of time to write more. But what did she write?

  “How could you do this to her?” he demands,
getting right in Janet’s face. His mouth moves like he’s chewing on his own lip.

  “Stop it, stop it!” Lexi shouts at the suit, but he doesn’t listen to her.

  “Do you want her to stay locked up? Is that your idea?” he asks Janet.

  Janet’s face goes white. “What are you talking about? I only—”

  “I know what you did!” The suit slams the journal down on the table. “Get up, Lexi. You won’t be seeing her again.”

  “You can’t do that!” Lexi protests. “No way. Janet’s helping me. I’m finally getting my shit together. It’s for real. I—”

  “Get up!” he repeats.

  When she doesn’t, he grabs her by the wrists and pulls her up. He turns back to Janet. “What you did is so unprofessional, so outside the bounds of your position. I’m going to see to it that you never pull a stunt like this again.”

  “All I wanted was to show her how to be honest with herself,” Janet says real quiet, never taking her eyes off of him.

  Then the suit and the guard are dragging Lexi out of there. She’s crying hard, and she shouts over her shoulder, “I’m sorry, Janet!”

  I don’t even get what any of it means. I feel like I’m about to fall over a cliff, but I don’t know which way to step to stay safe. What does Lexi know about me? What did she see?

  I walk to the other end of the observation room and stare through the window onto Lexi’s empty cell. I think, don’t do me wrong, Lexi. Please don’t. I think about Eddie and how he needs me on the outside. I think about winning Becca back. I think about Regina and how I don’t want her to have to tell her friends that her big brother is locked away for good. It’s almost like praying except, really, I know I’m just talking to myself. I keep it up even when Lexi comes back and falls crying onto her bed. After a while, she gets out a pen and starts scribbling inside the pages of a fat book with the covers stripped off, probably her grandma’s Bible. I guess the suit kept her notebook, but she’s still got to write. I draw to know my mind. Lexi writes to know hers.