â â a memory of their mother
âIâm sure sheâll be home soon enough, Willie⌠Donât forget your reading now; Iâll look it over next visit. Iâll bet your motherâs proud of your progress.â
The well meaning words of his tutor stung ever so slightly as the heavy oaken door closed with a gentle *thud*, leaving Wilson alone in the vastness of the house for yet another evening. The sun had long past began its descent in the sky, much like the corners of nine-year-old Wilson Percival Higgsburyâs mouth down his sun-freckled face.
It would be hours before his parents were home.
Pushing his spectacles up the bridge of his pale nose, Wilson picked up the book heâd been tasked to study and trudged up the long, winding flight of stairs, leaving the gleaming blue butterfly in the jar on the parlor table.
She was supposed to be home to see it emerge from its chrysalis earlier that evening.
It had been a tremendous occasion; heâd caught the caterpillar weeks prior, watching it closely and caring for it exactly as the textbooks had instructed, and today was the day it would hatch.
Snuffling softly in the quiet of the empty house, the boy dropped the heavy book on his un-made bed and slumped into the rickety chair by the open window. The last rays of sun peaked over the horizon, casting a hazy indigo twilight across the sky as a few stray tears dripped onto the wooden windowsill, salt mingling with the cool dusky air.
Heâd been so excited to show her...
It was long past midnight by the time the Higgsbury parents made it home, the crisp night air nipping at Annetteâs slender face from the open parlor window. She was just about to slump onto the sofa when a brilliant blue flittering caught her attention from the corner of her eye.
Annetteâs heart sank when she realised that sheâd missed it for her auntâs dinner party. She let out a soft gasp, putting a hand to her face before rushing for the stairs, hoping he might still be awake...
The boy had fallen asleep at the windowsill trying to watch the stars; his face pressed awkwardly against the aging wood, glasses askew. Annette watched his gentle snores with a regretful sort of smile, tiptoeing over and lifting him up out of the chair before making her way back downstairs.
When he awoke, Wilson was not tucked warmly his bed, nor was he slumped at the open window of his room as heâd expected. Rather, he found himself wrapped in his motherâs coat on the bank of a hill, a blanket of stars stretched as far as the eye could see, horizon to horizon. Blinking up at the galaxy in the sky, he felt a gentle arm around his shoulder.
âIâm sorry I missed your butterfly darling... Iâm sorry I wasnât there for you.â
Wilson turned to see his motherâs weary face, her eyes sorrowful and searching in the faint light of the moon. He tilted his head before scooting closer towards her, pointing up at the sky to show her his favourite stars.
Underneath the starry sky, Wilson Higgsbury broke into a smile.
