The worst heatwave on record arrived the summer I turned nine. It showed up on a Sunday morning, like a traveling evangelist preaching fire and brimstone. Even the air was angry. The sky bruised over in grey and green, but rain never came. My mother opened all the windows to try and catch a breeze, even the one in my bedroom, where the screen was torn and gaped open like the mouth of a jack-o-lantern. It didn’t help much. Carrie had already asked twice if we could turn down the A/C.

“It’s not working right now. My mom said she’s going to call someone tomorrow,” I smiled.

The lie was almost a reflex. Born of my knowledge that Carrie’s house shivered with artificial air in the summer.

“Ok,” Carried shrugged and wandered upstairs, her perfect corkscrew of a hairbow wobbling from side to side.

In the repressive heat of my bedroom, Carrie surveyed my floral comforter and the second-hand dresser I shared with my little sister, Jessie. I looked on from the doorway as Jessie did flips on the bed, newly aware of every imperfection. If Carrie noticed the lack of space or the way our closet door was really just a shower curtain strung across a tension rod, she didn’t say. Instead, she picked up a Barbie doll with a black and white polka dot dress. The doll was attached, via a pink toy leash, to a small plastic poodle.

“Hey, I have this one too!” She flopped on the bed with Jessie, who screeched with delight to be included.

I could see the exact shelf in Carrie’s room where her matching doll sat along with a dozen other Barbies, all smiling out over their Dream House and the delicate lace of Carrie’s lilac-colored bedspread. I had envisioned them all sitting there so organized and neat when I asked for the Barbie with the plastic toy poodle. How I squealed with delight when I tore off the birthday wrapping paper to reveal that signature pink. I knew it didn’t mean I’d suddenly move to Carrie’s part of town or magically wake up to a dad to play basketball with in the driveway, but still, I clung to the sliver of sameness the Barbie provided.

Later, when the sink was filled with the soapy remnants of pizza and the counter was sticky with ice cream, my mom ushered us up to bed. The smell of our manicures lingered in the still air as we climbed the stairs. I squished into Jessie’s bed with her, grateful I could give Carrie my own twin bed on the other side of the room. The “Glam Glitter Pink” shade I’d used to carefully paint my fingernails was already chipping off, but I didn’t care.

Jessie saw the shadows first. Her tiny painted nails dug into my shoulder.

“Janey! Wake up!” She gestured toward the wall.

The shadows jutted up from the foot of the bed in odd angles and then darted toward the timid glow of the night light. I unclenched Jessie’s fingers from my arm and glanced over at Carrie. Still asleep.

“Jessie, they’re just shadows. Go back to sleep.”

Jessie puffed out her bottom lip and widened her eyes till there seemed to be more white than brown.

“I think it’s a monster!”

“Ok, fine. I’ll take a look.” I took a deep breath and scooched to the end of the bed. The bedsheet clung to my legs and tangled at my feet.

“Janey! Do you see the monster?”

“There’s no monster. Come on, take a look.”

She was hesitant but clambered down to the end of the bed with me. When we peeked over the edge, I watched her face change in the rosy gleam of the night light. Her mouth traded its puckered tension for a goofy smile.

“Are those…butterflies?”

I nodded. They fluttered around the light, helplessly pulled to the dim glow. Every so often they landed on the edge of the nightlight and the patterns on the wall stilled.

“Butterflies?!” Jessie shouted. I pressed my finger to my lips to quiet her.

“Did you say butterflies?!” I turned and saw Carrie out of bed.

Jessie squealed again and pointed toward the light. Carrie peered at the nightlight, a quizzical expression on her face.

“Those aren’t butterflies. They’re moths. Just bugs, basically. What are they doing in your room?” Carrie sounded let down.

“They must have gotten in through the ripped screen.” My voice rose at the end in an almost question. I felt heat radiate out from the pit of my stomach, like eating soup on a day that’s not quite cold enough for it.

“They are too butterflies!” Jessie pounded the mattress in defiance.

“They are not. Butterflies have big colorful wings. See how those wings are small and just different shades of brown? That means they’re bugs, not butterflies.” Authority punctuated Carrie’s words.

I could feel the heat spreading up from my stomach to my face. Jessie ignored Carrie and jumped up and down on the bed.

“Janey! We have butterflies in our house!”

“Moths, not butterflies!” Carrie’s voice was rising to match the pitch of Jessie’s squeals.

“My sister told me that a moth got into her friends’ house and laid eggs in her hair and my mom wouldn’t let her go over there anymore. She said poor people always have bugs in their houses.” Carrie shivered and patted down her hair as though the moths had attacked her right there in my twin bed.

Poor people. The heat now filled my head. I imagined steam rising out of my ears and my mouth whistling like a tea kettle. I let it flop open like the tear in the screen, but nothing came out. I’d never heard Carrie use that phrase before. It was always in the back of my mind, hovering like an understudy just off stage, but she never seemed to know it existed. Except that I guess she did.

Jessie, a tornado of limbs wrapped in a flowery pillowcase, and still singing about butterflies, jumped on top of me, knocking me backward.

“Janey, what’s poor?”

In reply, I opened my mouth and bellowed for my mom at the top of my lungs. Almost before I finished saying the words, we were wincing in the harsh glare of the overhead light and my mom was standing in the doorway in rumpled pajamas.

“Everything ok in here?” her long dark hair hung down past her shoulders and the light reflected off her square glasses.

“Mrs. Jenson, there are bugs over there,” Carrie pointed.

“No, mommy! They are butterflies!” Jessie looked eagerly to me for support.

I bunched the fitted sheet under my hand. The yellow and blue flower print looked faded.

“Ok, calm down, everybody. I can get these little guys out of here. Easy Peasy.”

“No! I want them to live here, in our house. Please!” Jessie clasped her hands under her chin.

“They can’t live here, sweetie. They’ve got to fly home to their kingdom where they will transform back into their true selves…” She paused and lowered her voice to a whisper.

“The prince and princess of a magical faraway land. They only turn into these brown butterflies so they won’t be recognized when they go exploring.”

“A prince and princess? Do you think they will come back and visit us, Mommy?” Jessie was whispering now too. 

“Maybe one day, Jessie Bessie. But for now, we’d better get them back home.”

Jessie seemed placated and Mom winked at me. She ducked into the bathroom across the hall. A moment later she was back with a red plastic cup we used when brushing our teeth and a sheet of construction paper. She put a finger to her lips and tiptoed toward the nightlight. In one delicate sweep, she scooped up the moths and slipped the paper underneath the cup. 

“Now that that’s all sorted, you three need to get some sleep. Back in bed!” The light switched off and we were awash in the semi-darkness again. But without my mother’s presence, the heat brewed in my stomach. Carried sniffed.

“I don’t believe that story. But I’m glad your mom got those bugs out of here. She’ll have to get that screened fixed when she fixes your A/C.”  She patted down the mattress before climbing back into bed.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” I said to the sheet, still bunched in my hand. I stayed in the bathroom for a long time, willing my stomach to settle. But the longer I stared into the toilet bowl, the worse I felt. I gave up and headed to bed. In the hallway, I heard a quiet voice,

“Psst. Come here.”

From the hall, I could see my mom in bed. Her bedside lamp was on and she was sitting against the headboard with her knees up.

“You ok, sweetie?”

“I’m fine. Just feeling a little hot.” I kept my eyes fixed on the lamp just past her head.

She beckoned me forward and I stumbled toward the bed, anxious for the comfort of her presence. She put her forehead against mine, our faces curtained by her hair.

“Mom?”

“Yeah, sweetie?” She looked up at me, her blue eyes magnified by her thick glasses. I wanted to ask about the other things Carrie had said. About bugs in our house. About our torn screen. About being poor. But I was scared of the answers, so I let the question dissipate in the humid air between us.

“Thanks for letting me have a sleepover tonight.”

“Of course, sweetie. You’re my big grown up girl now, after all.”

“Good night, mom.”

When I got back into bed, I could hear Carrie’s measured breathing and knew she’d fallen asleep. She seemed unaffected, but I felt precarious, like I was on the edge of something I knew I didn’t want to fall into. Jessie was still at the foot of the bed, entranced by the space where the moths had fluttered around the night light. I climbed into bed with her.

“Do you believe what momma said about the butterflies, Janey?” She whispered. I looked at her. Her face seemed somehow smaller in the dim light.

“Of course I do.” I lowered my voice. “Who do you think knows more? Mom or Carrie?” She squealed quietly and squeezed her eyes shut tight.

“I can’t wait for those butterflies to visit our house again!”

I tucked the sheet up to her chin and snuggled close against her even though I knew it would only make me feel hotter. It was a different kind of heat though, and it soothed my stomach.

– Alexandria Faulkenbury