Butterfly Refuge (Fiction)

***

I hated the way Dr. Payne made eye contact with her laptop more than with me. I don’t know what they teach in medical school these days, but it doesn’t take a genius to know it’s not a good idea to tell an old man grieving his wife of fifty years that he has dementia, then simply walk out of the room, leaving him alone. Yet there I was. Gloria Payne was the youngest and my least favorite of a family dynasty of doctors, but given the way medicine has shifted from the personal to the technical, I doubted I could find anyone better. I liked her grandfather best, then her mother, and I outlived them both.

I looked down at my scrawny legs dangling over the medical exam table, and my thoughts turned to Martha. She came with me to all my doctor appointments, and we agreed that I should be the first one to die, but that wasn’t what happened. She went too quickly. Had it really been only six months since I’d lost her? My eyes clouded and I rushed to clear them. Any minute now, the doctor or nurse would return, and I had no intention of looking weepy.

The hair on my back and shoulders stood up suddenly. The air around me cooled. I briefly wondered if someone had opened the exam room door, letting in a draft, but the door was closed. I heard the snap of someone’s fingers, and a figure appeared directly in front of me. I flinched, then blinked hard, expecting the strange figure would no longer be there. But it was. It held out its hand in an accommodating gesture.

“Don’t be scared, Chuck.” Its melodic voice was oddly familiar to me, but what surprised me most of all was that he called me Chuck. Ever since I was a teenager, I had insisted everyone call me Charles, even my parents. The creature continued, “Has it been so long that you forgot me?”

My heart leapt as I remembered. I felt like I was eight years old again, running together with him in the woods, lying in the grass at night, staring up at the stars. “Philip,” I said, squinting to take in the figure I’d once called my guardian angel. Short in stature, certainly less than four feet tall, he wore red stilettoes, black dress socks, skinny jeans, and an orange and yellow Hawaiian shirt with the sleeves cut off, revealing muscular tattooed arms. The shirt was unbuttoned and revealed a nipple-free, bright green, hairless chest.

“Who’s in charge of your wardrobe?” I closed my mouth to keep from laughing.

Phillip looked offended. “I did careful research. I wanted to dress like a human to help you feel comfortable.”

“What kind of research?”

“I found a two-dimensional portal called Instagram. I blended several popular fashions.”

I could no longer hold back my laughter. He was stunned for a moment. “It’s the combination, Phillip,” I said. “You’re all over the place.”

He dismissed me with a flick of his wrist, and an enormous smile spread across his face. “Ah, Chuck, it’s good to see you laughing.”

I took the time to examine him more closely. His head was rounder and his neck shorter than I remembered. His eyes were golden, with cat-like vertical pupils. He had no eyebrows and was as bald as a cue ball. He looked very different from my memory of him, but I had no doubt it was my guardian angel.

“It’s been a long time,” I said. I did a calculation in my mind, determined to prove the doctor wrong about the dementia: 99 minus 13. “Damn it, Phillip, it’s been 86 years. Why now? And what’s with the ears? I don’t remember them being pointy.”

“This is my true form. I hoped illusions would no longer be necessary.” His eyes narrowed. “And how about you? You sound grumpier than I remember.”

My hands tightened into fists. “You’re the one who claimed to be an angel, not me.”

“In that, you are mistaken.”

Phillip’s reply surprised me. “What do you mean?”

“You decided to call me your guardian angel. That was your label.”

“And you never disputed it.”

“Your Catholic upbringing told you to believe in guardian angels. You were so fragile and vulnerable. So very…human. It would have been cruel for me to contradict you.”

He moved closer, and the tattoos on his arms appeared to move. Tigers and bears and horses rippled and galloped across his forearms and I stared, mesmerized. “If you’re not an angel, what are you?”

“A friend. Can’t we just leave it at that?”

“Some friend. You abandoned me.” My insides churned and I looked away.

“Puberty makes it difficult for humans to see creatures like myself,” he explained.

The last time I saw Phillip, I was 13 and dressed in a white suit. I’d just completed the Confirmation rituals. Phillip was by my side, as he often was. As I looked up at his pale human-looking face, framed by golden hair, something changed: his appearance shifted from solid to translucent, then back again. He seemed to know what was coming next, because he gave me a somber look. “So long, kiddo,” he said, and then disappeared. I never saw him again.

I turned to face the present-day, pointy-eared version of him. My voice trembled. “I took ‘Phillip’ as my Confirmation name. Did you know that?”

“I did not,” Phillip said with a sigh. “I am truly honored.” He took a step closer. “Do you remember the day after the funeral, after everyone left, and you were alone?”

My stomach twisted. Of course I remembered. I had the pill bottles all lined up as my wife’s death played over and over in my mind. I directed my rage at God. I was supposed to die first. He or She should have known that, must have known that. Must not have cared.

“Did you smell the hyacinth flowers? I hoped the fragrance would reach you.”

“It did. Martha loved hyacinths. I took it as a sign that she wanted me to move on with my life. I put the pill bottles back in the medicine cabinet and went to bed.”

“I watched over you that night.”

“What good did that do? You should have shown yourself. I was all alone.”

“Chuck, I tried. I really did.”

The tears I had pushed down erupted, and I couldn’t stop them.

“I’m here now.” Phillip put his hands on my shoulders, and his breath smelled of hyacinth flowers.

 “I was never the same again,” I said between sobs.

“I know.” Philip stayed close until the crying stopped.

“So, why am I able to see you now?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Phillip glanced at the chair where the young Dr. Payne had been a short time ago, giving me the diagnosis. The diagnosis. The end of my mind, and eventually my life.

“Y—you’re a figment of my imagination?”

“I am many things, Chuck, but a figment I am not.”

“What, then?”

Phillip twisted his lip. “Your mind opened up just enough to make it possible for you to see me.”

“Yeah, they call it dementia. It’s not generally considered a good thing.” My voice sounded more bitter than I intended.

“As it happens, I need your help,” Phillip said softly.

I was still staring at Phillip when a woman in pink scrubs came through the door. Phillip disappeared—no puff of smoke, no tingle of energy. I was staring into his eyes one moment and then at the wall the next. The nurse must have seen the confusion on my face.

“Are you okay, Mr. Avery?”

I rubbed my face. “I’m fine.”

“Dr. Payne asked me to take your vitals again. Your blood pressure was a little high when you first arrived.”

She took to the task with practiced efficiency, and my 99-year-old body, accustomed to medical procedures, responded to all her demands, leaving my mind free to speculate.

There were two possibilities. The first was obvious and the most likely: my dementia had caused me to hallucinate Philip. My older brother had always laughed at my preoccupation with him, calling Phillip my “imaginary friend,” with the emphasis on imaginary. My parents reiterated their belief in guardian angels to come to my defense. I was in my twenties before I realized they hadn’t believed in him either. Had I always been prone to hallucinations? Was Phillip’s re-appearance confirmation that my mind wasn’t sound? Perhaps things were worse than even Dr. Payne had realized.

Possibility number two was that Phillip was real, and there was more to this world than meets the eye. If true, then I had to accept that Philip wasn’t my guardian angel, and in fact, was more magical than spiritual. I’ve seldom thought about magic, but given my present circumstances, I had nothing to lose and much to gain by embracing this second possibility.

As soon as the nurse left, Phillip reappeared. “Will you help me, Chuck? It’s important.”

“But why me? What could I possibly do to help you? And why now, after all these years?”

“Where I come from, time runs differently. It would take too long to explain everything in words, but you are my only hope at this moment. Will you trust me?”

I looked into his captivating golden eyes, and I remembered how easy it was to trust him when I was little. When I felt alone or afraid, when my brother picked on me, Phillip was always there for me. Why not help him? What did I have to lose?

“Okay,” I whispered.

“Then take my hand, please, and I will show you where I come from.”

My hand looked small in his, almost like a child’s. His skin was frigid, his grip strong. He helped me down from the examination table, and I reached for my walker. He shook his head and put his arm around me, helping me hobble over to the wall. He waved his hand, and the wall glimmered for a moment, revealing a lush wash of color. Where there had been a wall, there was now a valley. We stepped through the wall to it, and I found that I no longer wore a hospital gown. Instead, I was dressed in the dark blue suit I’d worn to Martha’s funeral. I was still an old man, but stronger, and more energetic. I stood without support.

Flora of all colors and shapes surrounded us, the likes of which could not be found on Earth. And yet, it all looked so familiar. “The Butterfly Refuge,” I murmured, remembering my fantasy world from childhood. Butterfly wings in shades of orange, green, purple, and yellow fluttered above me. Some were the size of my thumb, some as big as an eagle. They swooped close enough for me to see their kaleidoscope-like patterns, but not close enough to make me duck.

“Don’t get distracted,” Phillip said. His eyes darkened, and he pointed to a flat rock, next to a pond. “Look there.” I squinted at the scene before me. The boulder was either an altar or a table, and behind it stood a human-sized frog wearing an iron crown.

I don’t recall walking, but suddenly we were at the boulder, and the Frog King looked at Phillip and frowned. “Identify your witness,” he said. His voice had a liquid quality to it, slippery and wet sounding.

Phillip bowed deeply. “This is Chuck Avery, a human being.”

“He looks sickly, and his face is full of wrinkles. Are you sure he is human?”

“I’m certain, your highness,” replied Phillip. “He is what the humans call ‘elderly.’”

“Couldn’t you have brought a more suitable specimen?”

“As I’m sure you know, your eminence, humans age very quickly.”

“Very well.” A moth-sized, multi-colored fly had the misfortune of getting too close to the frog, whose tongue zipped out and caught it. His tongue shot back into his mouth, and he swallowed the fly whole. As if nothing unusual had happened, the Frog King scowled and looked directly at me. “And what say you?”

I took a step back, determined not to lose my balance, still trying to make sense of my current circumstances.

“I don’t have all day,” said the Frog King. “Are you, or are you not, a witness for the defendant?”

“Y—yes, your honor.” I glanced at Phillip, who looked worried.

“Then proceed. Describe your relationship to the defendant.”

“Phillip is—”

“Stop right there, human,” said the Frog King. “Who is Phillip?”

My teeth began to chatter. I pointed to the defendant, and the Frog King made a disgusted hissing sound. Then he wiggled his webbed foot at me, and I interpreted this to mean that I should continue.

“Well,” I began again. “Phillip was there for me when I was a boy.” My words came out in spurts as I attempted to regain my composure. “He—he listened to me. Helped me to not feel so lonely.” I was suddenly aware of how strange everything was. I looked around and saw all sorts of creatures sitting in rows, watching these proceedings. Some resembled animals that were familiar, like the tattooed tigers, bears, and horses on Phillip’s arms. Others were bizarre-looking, nightmarish, scary. As the only human, it occurred to me that I was the alien. I don’t think I ever felt as lonely as I did at that moment, and I faltered, almost dropping to the ground.

The frog sighed, looked off to the side, and a large snail approached. I could see a thick stream of goo flow out of him as he got closer. “Are you ready to call the next case?” the Frog King asked.

The snail nodded. Phillip looked frightened.

“Wait a minute,” I said, as energy surged through my chest. I didn’t know if profanity was allowed, but I didn’t care. “I’m not fucking done testifying.”

The Frog King looked back, seeming surprised that I was still there. “Then stop wasting the court’s time, and say something relevant to the charges against the defendant.”

I forced myself to take a deep breath, then another. “I will, as soon as you tell me what the charges are.”

The Frog King sighed and pointed to a creature with a man’s torso and head, and a horse’s lower body, who galloped over, put on a pair of glasses, and unrolled a scroll. “The defendant,” he began, and guttural sounds intermixed with high-pitched screeches flowed out of him. It took me a moment to realize that these sounds were Phillip’s real name. “—is charged with impersonating an angel in order to infiltrate the humans and organize a rebellion against the Frog King,” the Centaur finished. Rows and rows of creatures, silent before, now came alive in a cacophony of sound.

“Not true!” I had to yell to be heard over the barks, squeals, howls, yelps, and high-pitched buzzes.

“Silence,” demanded the Frog King, who then turned to me. “Is it your testimony that he did not pretend to be an angel?”

“He never claimed it or denied it.” I chose my words carefully. “I was a little kid. I believed he was my guardian angel. That was just part of my religion. Plus, I believed in all sorts of things then. Fairies and pixies.” My eyes scanned the valley and I saw tiny winged creatures peeking out from behind flowers. “He never said anything about a rebellion.”

“Do you deny that he brought you into my kingdom?” The Frog King was persistent, and I suspected he already made up his mind that Phillip was guilty.

“I imagined a place called the Butterfly Refuge, and I admit that it looked a lot like this place. But Phillip never mentioned you and never, ever, spoke of mobilizing humans.”

I managed a quick look at Phillip, who was smiling.

His Highness gestured for me to approach the boulder, and we locked eyes. I saw into his soul, if he had a soul. I could tell the responsibilities of his office were too much for him, and he desperately missed swimming in the water. There was something else, though. A tiredness, a despondency perhaps. I sensed that he had lived too long, maybe centuries. It was then that I realized how alien he was, how different from human. He wasn’t a frog, either. He was something else entirely, something other. It scared the bejesus out of me.

As the Frog King broke our connection, I sensed his revulsion at whatever it was he saw in me. It was probably my grief. Good. Served him right. I held my breath, hoping he could also see truth in my eyes.

The Frog King turned to the Centaur and paused for a long moment, before announcing, “I formally proclaim the defendant not guilty.”

I let out a breath, and looked over at Phillip. He was still smiling.

“This case has exhausted me,” said the Frog King “Break for lunch.”

“All honor to the Frog King,” said the snail. The surrounding creatures bowed their heads and repeated the phrase. Philip and I did the same. The Frog King set his crown on the boulder and jumped into the nearby pond.

Phillip turned to me with tears in his eyes. “Let’s go before he changes his mind.”

“Phillip,” I said, grabbing his arm. I had so many questions, but I could tell that he wasn’t about to answer them.

He wiped away his tears and whispered “Thanks, kiddo, you did me good.” With a wave of his hand, the portal re-opened. The examination room waited for me, sterile and unchanged.

“Go now,” said Phillip. “Don’t worry about me.” I paused, not wanting to go, not wanting to leave the butterflies and the flora and the warmth of this otherworldly sunshine. Its warmth reminded me of Martha.

Phillip gave me a gentle push and the portal swished closed behind me. I stumbled back to my walker. Dr. Payne returned as I was struggling to re-tie my hospital gown.

“Charles.” She put her arm around me and led me to a chair. “How did you get down from the examination table without help?”

I smiled. “I’m full of surprises, doc.”

“I’ve got some bad news, I’m afraid.” Straight to the point, the one attribute I liked about her. “We have the results of your MRI. It’s not the slow developing dementia we thought.”

“That sounds more like good news.”

“I wish. No, you’ve got a brain tumor, and it’s massive.”

I just loved her bedside manner. “Surgery, then?” I tried to sound hopeful, gung-ho.

“Surgery would be far too risky at your age.”

I had to give her credit for not saying the obvious: if I had surgery, I would likely die on the table. I stood up, took a deep breath, grabbed my walker, and moved slowly toward the wall. Dr. Payne followed close behind. I did my best to imitate the hand gesture that Phillip had used, and was delighted when the portal reappeared, opening with a swish. I didn’t bother to check if Dr. Payne could see the portal too, I just cast my walker aside and stepped through, shielding my eyes from the bright sun.

Instantly, I was eight again, wearing shorts and my favorite baseball cap. The largest butterfly I had ever seen dropped down in front of me, and I climbed onto its back. I turned around to see Dr. Payne escort the old man away.

“Don’t worry, Mr. Avery,” she said. “I’ve already spoken to your granddaughter. We’ll do everything we can to keep you comfortable.” The portal closed, and the doctor’s office disappeared from view, leaving me surrounded by the hush of wings.

Martha had always loved butterflies. Maybe she was somewhere in the Refuge, waiting. Maybe Phillip could help me one last time. “Take me to Phillip,” I addressed my new steed. “And stay as far away from the Frog King as you can.” I never wanted to see that crank again. The butterfly turned its head slightly and nodded, then sprinted on legs that were far stronger than I’d expected. It spread its purple wings, which glistened in the sunlight, and we took flight.

Greg Nooney has worked as a mental health therapist for over 40 years, and is passionate about reducing the stigma of those with early childhood trauma. He is the author of "Diagnosing and Treating Dissociative Identity Disorder" (NASW Press, 2022) and "An Introductory Clinical Guide to Dissociative Identity Disorder" (PESI Publishing, Inc., 2024), and his short fiction can be found in Zoetic Press's NonBinary Review (no. 32), 101 Words, 50-Word Stories, and Defenestrationism.net.