The Powdered House

Littleone has been hiding a secret from the world. One secret for each scar she bears. This secret she bears on the inside; it is her hiding place. She has built a safe house entirely from white powder. Rent is expensive but she is willing to pay if it means she can hide. She has lived in this powdered house for months, only peeks her head out to check the weather conditions of her life in reality. What she doesn’t see is the cracks in the foundations. This house could crumble and crush her. But she feels that then she would die happy.

She shows me this hiding place, only a picture, a corner, a whisper that it exists, and I ask her to trust me. I make promises to bring her out of this house, if only for one day. I invite her into my world, she doesn’t come. I open the door for her, she is welcome whenever she likes. I promise her that she is protected by the fiercest love, safe from harm. She nods and promises never to visit the powdered house again, promises to stay away. I am wary as she will crave that solace, her body will turn on itself to feel that safety, that happiness. I ask myself to trust her.

There is only one person I might turn to with a problem like this. Madame Butterfly has served as the wings to support the others that have come before Littleone, living in their own worlds. She has served as my wings. I trust Madame Butterfly.

I confess to Madame Butterfly about everything, the powdered house, the danger for Littleone, how broken and bruised Littleone is. Madame Butterfly sighs with sorrow that any should have to bear these weights, especially one as amazing as Littleone. We make a pact to save Littleone from her crumbling powdered house.

Littleone is panicked, frantic and afraid of the reality that is crushing her. I promise secrecy and safety, I hide her inside myself.

I lie, I hate that I lie but I have no choice. I cannot carry this weight on my back alone, and she lost emotional mobility months ago, numbed herself into a stupor to keep from letting the razor blade rotate ninety degrees. Down the street, not across the road: directions to the final kingdom. I look her in the eye and I lie. I ask her to wait.

Madame Butterfly is doing what she does best. She mingles and gratefully accepts compliments and criticisms. I approach her from behind setting my hand on her shoulder. She turns never breaking eye contact. I whisper to her, my lips close enough to her ear that I can feel her warmth. I whisper that Littleone is beginning to buckle; she can’t bear it any more. Madame Butterfly follows. This is when we find Littleone outside.

It is pouring rain, and the Littleone is perched on a concrete picnic table crying. These are not crocodile tears with heaving sobs but rather shaking rattling drops of fear, shame, pain, memory: barely noticeable with the swollen clouds weeping down on the world. She hugs her knees as if trying to disappear into a singularity. I cannot bring myself to touch her, comfort her: it is not my right. I have broken her confidence.

Madame Butterfly alights next to Littleone; they are the same size. The water is pelting now. The sky is sobbing. Littleone can only shake; her breath rattling her body. Madame Butterfly wraps her arms around Littleone providing comfort and love. Littleone has never known the love of a mother, only the harsh criticism. The harsh words that have eaten away at Littleone’s soul have no place with Madame Butterfly.

I try to justify what I have done. I try to explain what it is I intended. My words fall away like the water rolling down our faces. I hang my head as Littleone begins to sob. A voice like quiet thunder speaks.

Madame Butterfly is holding Littleone, speaking words of tenderness and caring. She is gentle like the breeze when a butterfly beats its wings. She breathes life into Littleone, shows her life on solid ground without pain. Littleone is confused and scared, waiting for the blow to undercut words of kindness. Madame Butterfly holds fast as Littleone rails against this love; when Littleone is exhausted she rests and Madame Butterfly is still holding fast. Littleone shows a flash of understanding, a flicker of hope in the back of her mind where part of her has hidden scared and crying for years.

Madame Butterfly speaks softly asking Littleone not to give up. She asks Littleone to hold fast to what is left of life. She asks Littleone to keep breathing. Then Madame Butterfly does something I have never seen, she cries. Her voice breaks almost imperceptibly. With the rain washing us the tears are almost invisible. But they are all there. Madame Butterfly opens the door she keeps locked tight, just enough for Littleone to catch a glimpse of the beauty life can hold. For a moment, Littleone hides safely. For a moment, all that has been done is undone. For a moment, Littleone realizes what it is to live.

Littleone clings to that moment. It is her safe house now.