Glide on, Little Butterfly

**********

The last time I saw my mother, I took her picture. That was just nine days ago. As I take the keys from the ignition and reach to open my door the realization floods my mind. Those are the last pictures of my mother. Maybe they will be the last pictures anyone will ever take of her, although right now that thought is a little melodramatic. Mellow dramatic. Like smooth jazz. Sounds so hip. Yes, just add some Euro-Lounge Chill Out music and that will make things just perfect.

We had been celebrating Natalie's fourth birthday. Alex and Rosalie wanted a Halloween theme and requested that we all come in costume. Being married to a former college theatre major made this no problem for me as any opportunity to dress up was grabbed with gusto by my beloved. All morning I had watched Scotty assemble our pirate costumes, with painstaking attention to detail. Our closet was raided for all the necessary accoutrements...jewels, swords, guns, powder horns, scarves, shredded swashbuckler blouson top. Then came the makeup application. Bloody gash across the eye for him, beauty mark for me, his pirate gypsy wench. Next came the skull and crossbones tattoo expertly applied with Sharpie marker on his chest. I did put my foot down when I saw my facial-hair impaired partner lift the Sharpie to his upper lip. "That's a permanent marker!" I cried in a panic, deftly switching the pen for an eyebrow pencil with the eye roll and sigh perfected by many a wife.

As we prepared to leave for Alex's, Scotty, with excellent foresight rushed back into the house to pack a few costume pieces for my parents. Cowboy hat, vest, bandana and pocket watch for Dad. Mom would be given a lovely black hat and burgundy feather boa. Scotty and I were the only adults to arrive in costume that day. Even Alex and Rosalie opted to remain costumeless.

I stared, dumbfounded, at Alex when he answered the door.

"I didn't think anyone would actually do it," Alex shrugged.

"Helloooo! I'm married to Costume Boy! You are so lame," I step past him to lift Natalie and spin her about while delivering the eye roll perfected by many a big sister.

Long since immune to my reproaches, Alex handed Scotty a paper plate and pointed to the fried chicken and mostaccoli platters (the prefered birthday food of pirates everywhere) and returned to his less flamboyant guests.

While I continued to work on my "slightly miffed pirate wench" look, Scotty grabbed the costume bag and set to work on my parents, who willingly complied with his efforts to transform them. Dad immediately launched in to John Wayne impressions while mom just giggled and rolled her eyes in the manner perfected by every mother-in-law in mock protest of her son-in-laws antics.

I sat next to Alex with my plate and watched them. It was unusual to have both parents together since their divorce 15 years ago but they actually seemed comfortable right now. From a certain angle it almost looked like they were enjoying each other. I couldn't help but smile as I took a bite from my plate.

"Mmm. Mom's potato salad is excellent! Did you try it?"

Alex agreed. "I think this might even be better than Dad's."

"Hey, next year you should tell them both to bring it and not warn them. We'll have a German potato salad competition and everyone will vote."

Recalling the endless debates between them on who was the better cook, Alex cracked up. "That would be perfect!"

"Hey, I meant to ask you, do you know Sam? I saw you had responded to his comment at my blog. He went to school with me."

"Really? Remind me. I'm not sure if I remember him."

Just then my mother walked up to join us. “We’re talking about Sam Martin, Mom.”

“Oh! How is he?”

“Doing well. He and Alex recently met through my blog but Alex didn’t realize we went to school together. Sam had put up a comment about his work at the…”

I stop and watch my mother turn and drift away while I was in mid sentence, trailing her boa behind her. I watch her in amazement.

Alex chuckles, “She’s like an eccentric heiress. She hasn’t got the money, but she’s got everything else." Then in a whimsical, pseudo British accent his eyes follow her path, "Glide on, Little Butterfly. Glide on.” He sweeps his hand waving her on her way.

"Daddy, it's time for cake!" Natalie interrupts us.

"That means it time for pictures, too!" I run off to fetch my camera as Rosalie places the candles.

I don't know when the roles changed but somewhere along the line I became to family archivist. That had been my father's role for many years as he was rarely without his camera. Now it was my turn to document our rites of passage. Of course, I thought Natalie's birthday was the event of the day.

Later that evening, unable to get the Little Butterfly character out of our minds, Alex and I handed Mom a balloon and instructed her to gaze dreamily into the distance, as though she is able to see something that no one else can see. Pose after pose, out mother allowed us to develop her character and mock her with all the abandon of wicked children realizing they are now too big to be spanked or grounded. She was powerless in the face of our mirth and allowed herself to be our plaything of the moment, laughing all the while.

The pictures were charming and some of my favorites of her.


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