The Butterfly Effect

“You’re drinking your life away.” Allan Ranker tried with out success to pull his best friend, Michael Verona, out of his self inflicted hell. Six months ago Michael had been a budding musician with the world at his feet. Today he was bordering agoraphobia, drinking like a fish, and wasting his talent writing love poems for pretentious self centered woman that didn’t deserve to breathe Michael’s air.

“Just leave me alone Allan.” Michael grumbled pulling the blankets back over his head. They smelled like sweat and old beer but it didn’t matter really, nothing did. He’d given everything he had to Julia, and she had left. No one needed him like she did…like she used too. He thought to himself darkly that if he hadn’t been so centered on his work, if he’d bought the clothes she preferred, then she would still be here. She wouldn’t have left him for her account executive. She’d said that he was a waste of her time and that she wanted to be more than the wife of a musician who didn’t care about “the big time.” He’d picked up a bottle of Tequila that day and hadn’t put it down since.

“Come on man this place looks like a pig sty.” Allan said kicking his way through the laundry that had amassed on Michael’s floor to loom over him. “I’m not going to let you just lay there and rot.”

“Why not?”

Allan smiled,” Because I have too much time invested in you and if you drink yourself to death I’ll have to waste time finding a new best friend.”

Michael laughed for the first time in weeks. Leave it to Allan to call something like his suicide an inconvenience. “You’re all heart.”

“Look I’m going to go to the store and get you some food that isn’t eighty proof and some trash bags so that you can clean this rat hole up. Why don’t you take a shower, get dressed and we’ll sit down and figure out a way to get her back.”

Michael sat up in bed his head swimming, “I don’t think I want her back.”

“Then what do you want?”

“I don’t know,” Michael shrugged feeling life slowly seep into his alcohol basted brain, “I just want to feel needed.”

Fifteen minutes later he was climbing out of the shower. He still felt like pond scum but at least he was clean scum. He finger combed his shoulder length black hair and took a look at himself in the mirror. The circles under his eyes were almost the same shade of brown as the eyes themselves. His high cheekbones were over pronounced by his recent lack of food and his usually toned body held the weight of his battle with unhappiness. He took the time to shave and put on some jeans and a t-shirt. He grimaced as he realized it was his band on the front of it, Gray Dawn. They were a dark industrial punk band that preferred to play small clubs rather than big concerts; he’d met Julia after one of his larger shows. She was from a rich upper class neighborhood and had been enthralled with Michael’s seemingly dark personality. She’d been shocked to find out that he was basically a cheerful sort of guy with an easygoing temperament.

Julia had pushed him hard to be a success, seeming always to want the bigger better deal, and Michael had just followed her. It was only when he’d been approached by another band and offered a lucrative touring contract, one that required him to leave Allan and the rest of his band behind, that he’d refused to do as she asked and Julia left. He didn’t remember much after that except a wish to retreat and lick his wounds. Allan must have thought that Michael had moped around enough and was going to bring him, whether he liked it or not, back to the real world. He sighed in resignation wondering if he were ready for the real world or not. Probably not. A knock on the door brought him out of his self-condemnation.

“Forget your key genius.” Michael swung open the door expecting to see Allan but instead he stared into the face of an angel.

“Well, actually no,” the angel smiled holding out a jar of pickles, “I’m looking for a helping hand.”

Michael just stared at her unable to even summon up an apology. Her golden hair streamed down her slim form to caress her slightly flared hips barely concealed by her short butter colored sun dress.

“My name is Kimberly Papillion, I live upstairs. I’m sorry to bother you but I can’t open this jar.”

Her gaze was the same gold as her hair Michael thought trying to comprehend what she wanted from him. “Umm…Papillion that’s French for butterfly, right?”

She arched a brow at him and then nodded still holding out the jar expectantly. A million questions ran through his mind as he continued to just stand there and stare at her. When had she moved in? Why hadn’t he seen her? There were only four apartments in his complex and to his knowledge none save his was occupied.

She drew the jar back and gave him and amused smile, “Of course if you’re busy I can come back later.”

“Later?” He replied stupidly.

“Are you okay?”

She had an unguarded joy in her expression that he had never seen on anybody before. He reached down gently removing the jar from her grasp and opened it. The thought struck him like lightning; she needed him, even if it were only for a few seconds, someone needed him.

“Thank you.” She said looking at him in a pondering, “I think I know you.”

“You do?’ Michael desperately searched his memory for any sign of her, but couldn’t even remember passing her on the street. How could he have missed her?

“You’re Michael Verona right, from Gray Dawn?”

He nodded impressed that she’d even heard of him, “How did you know that?”

“It’s on your t-shirt.” Her grin was infectious as she winked and tuned with her pickle jar to leave. “Thanks for the help Superman, you’re my hero.”

“Kimberly?”

“Yes?” She turned back to him cocking her head in a puppy-like fashion.

“Anytime you need me, my door is open.”

“Just remember you said that.” With a chuckle she went back upstairs leaving Michael to wonder.

By the time Allan came back with the food Michael had returned his house to a semblance of normalcy. There was still the lingering smell of alcohol (probably coming from the laundry in the corner) but Allan noted with relief that the blinds were open and Michael was in the kitchen doing dishes.

“What happen man? You get a visit from the ghost of Christmas past?

Michael made a rude gesture from beneath the suds but declined to answer.

Allan, never one to take a hint, continued, “I knew I was an awesome motivational speaker but…”

“Keep dreaming,” Michael said flinging dishwater everywhere, “I’ve got to find a way to have her and I’m not going to find it in the bottom of a bottle.”

Allan made a face and leaned against the door jam, “Did she call you?”

Michael shook his head, “No she came over so I could open a jar of pickles.”

“She drove 15 minutes so that you could open a jar?”

Michael scowled, “No, she lives upstairs.”

“Julia moved upstairs?”

“Julia?” For a moment Michael frowned in confusion, “What are you talking about?”

“What are you talking about?” Allan demanded.

Michael shook his head laughing, “Never mind about Julia, I’m talking about Kimberly.”

Allan sat the groceries on the counter with a huff, “How did you manage to wake up, get sober, and grow a new heart, in the half hour I was gone?”

Michael clapped Allan on the shoulder sending soapsuds flying. “I didn’t need a new heart mine turned out to be fine. What I do need is your help.”

Allan grumbled, “You need somebody’s”

Kimberly smiled with a look of triumph as she took an overly large bite of pickle. Michael Verona. She’d debated with herself for days on what she would say to him if she bumped into him in the hall, in fact she’d still been entertaining herself with scenarios of what would happen when she’d been thwarted by the jar of pickles. It seemed like the most natural thing in the world to take the jar down to him and see if he would open it. Men loved that damsel in distress kind of thing and no one could play distressed better than Kimberly. She’d seen Michael a few times in concert at The Copper Tea Kettle and, besides being one of the hottest guys she’d ever seen, she admired the way he lost himself in the strong beats of his music. She wouldn’t call herself a devoted fan, but she had known about the touring contract and had admired Michael for standing up for his friends. She sighed softly wondering how it would feel to be defended with that much devotion. The thought had no sooner taken shape when she felt a soft fuzzy head push itself into her empty hand.

“What are you up to Attila?”

Kimberly’s dog Attila looked up at her with adoring brown eyes and half a shoe string hanging out of his mouth. She’d found him under her car last Christmas and had decided that he was the perfect gift for the season. It had taken her three baths and twice that many towels to reveal a half starved little hair ball with a black and pink speckled tongue. Ten months, two vet visits, and half a ton of dog food later that “little hairball” had developed into a monstrous dog. He was good at eating things that were, for all intents and purposes, inedible and for that reason could not be trusted to stay by himself in her apartment. She shook her head ruffling his fur as she pulled what remained of her running shoes out of his mouth. She didn’t bother scolding him, for she’d learned long ago that it was an exercise in futility and instead went to refill his bowl. She pondered for a moment what she was going to do with him when she had to go somewhere that he couldn’t ride along. In her other house her next door neighbor had let him stay in her yard while Kimberly ran errands. Kimberly thought herself very self sufficient in a scattered sort of way, but she’d been accused more than once of ignoring the laws of personal space. She’d grown up in a small town and tended to treat everyone, regardless of the length of their actual association, like family. She grinned as she recalled her meeting downstairs. Michael HAD said that his door was always open if she needed him.

“Poor Michael,” she said kissing the top of Attila’s head, “He just signed up for way more then he bargained for.

Allan walked into the Copper Kettle with a smile as he brought in the new song list that Michael had given him. It was good to have him back. Allan had been Michael’s best friend since high school and Allan had nursed him through more than one broken heart, but he’d been really worried this time. He had noticed Michael had been looking for the “forever” kind of love for the last year and had been all too happy when Julia had expressed interest. Allan had been disgusted when the closer Michael tried to be to Julia the more rules and standards she placed on him. Allan had told him more then one that no one, especially Julia, was worth jumping through that many hoops for.

“Are you here again?”

Allan glanced up to see Denise standing in the door way of her gallery, arms crossed with her usual haughty expression. He wasn’t sure how a woman who wore more paint on her clothes than she put on her canvas could manage to make his heart skip a beat, but she did. Her wild red hair was currently semi-restrained by a large silver clip. Her skin, when you could see it beneath the paint, was pale and lightly freckled in a way that made her look constantly innocent. It was when she opened her mouth that her real nature showed. No, Allan thought, that wasn’t true though she lacked the same verbal filter Allan did, she cared for everyone and everything in her vicinity. Whether it was a stray cat or a stray person, she found some way to show them that they mattered in the world. She was a creature that lived in chaos; Allan frowned glancing behind her into the gallery. It was always beautifully, albeit haphazardly, decorated in a way that made Allan’s fingers itch to straighten it. Any time he was foolish enough to try to add order to her life by folding towels or moving paintings she got offended and left. It irritated him that she could be so nonchalant toward his affection when she was the only other person besides Michael that he gave a care for. At the moment he was too pleased that Michael was rebounding to rise to her comment and settled for holding up the song list.

“Michael sent me with some show changes for this weekend.”

Her expression softened as he said Michael’s name and for some reason that irritated Allan too.

“How’s he holding up?”

“Worried about your investment?”

Allan could have kicked himself as he saw her face cloud with anger.

“No, I’m worried about my friend. You know what that is right? Friends? People who actually enjoy your company.”

Allan winced internally; she always knew exactly where to hit him.

“He’s back in the game, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“How so?”

“He’s going to try and woo the girl next-door.” Allan shrugged, “What can I say? The man is a glutton for punishment.”

He wasn’t sure what it was he said but Denise turned on heel and left without another word. Though the other guys in the band claimed a liking for him they were always suspiciously absent when Michael wasn’t around. Michael was sort of his ambassador to the world, laughing off his sometimes blunt statements and finding a way to soften his sharp edges. Until recently Michael had always been the buffer between Denise and him and he could see why. Even when he was practicing a non straightening strategy with Denise, he always found some way to say something that hurt her feelings. When Julia had appeared on the scene and taken an instant disliking to him, Allan had gone to Denise for help. He would have liked to think that they had grown closer in that time but their truce had only lasted until…well just now when he’d opened his big mouth again.

Denise came back in about half an hour while Allan was attempting to adjust the sound levels on stage. She didn’t say a word, just handed him a cup of black coffee and a small brightly wrapped package.

“What’s this?” Allan asked adjusting the bow symmetrically on the package. He didn’t notice Denis’s shoulders slump in defeat.

“The new artist that your band is booked to open with gave me a couple of prints to hand out. I thought Michael could use a pick me up.”

Allan smiled, “And the coffee?”

Denise shrugged, “Are you almost done?”

“Almost.”

“I guess since Michael’s back I’ll be seeing a little less of you than I have been lately.”

Allan raised his brow sardonically, “Are you going to miss me?”

“Sure, in about…” Denise checked her watch, “Sixty years.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be working or something?”

She laughed, “You really know how to make a girl love the hell out of you Allan.”

Love, that was a laugh. It didn’t take Julia’s betrayal to convince Allan that love was a fool’s game. He watched Denise heading toward the back office and vowed not to get caught up in its foils.

Allan decided to stop by Michael’s to drop off Denise’s gift before he went home. He’d spent a lot of time with her recently and found himself a little lonely for company. Not just any company, her company. Before Julia, he and Michael used to split meals, work on music and basically hang out together almost every night. He’d respectfully backed out of Michael’s life when Julia had mad it plain that he wasn’t welcome. It had taken about a week for Denise to notice his late nights at the Kettle before she started inviting him to eat and hang out with her. He wasn’t quite sure how it happened but he’d come to look forward to her strange cooking concoctions and almost equally as odd sense of humor. He was still frowning when he knocked on Michael’s door. The soft thrums of music that floated through the hall stopped only long enough for Michael to yell, “Come in.”

“I come bearing gifts.” Allan produced the package with a dramatic bow and joined Michael, who was sitting cross legged, on the couch. He sat the guitar aside with a crooked kind of smile. “What’s this for?”

“Denise said it was a pick me up.” Allan ignored the look of amusement on Michael’s face, “So open it.”

A flurry of blue orange and red paper revealed a small print of a faceless woman standing on the edge of a building looking ready to fly. Her black hair floated all around her giving the impression of butterfly wings. The picture was signed and titled, “The Black Butterfly.”

“It’s beautiful,” Michael said stroking the lines of the woman’s face as though he could fill in the features, “But she looks so alone.”

Allan grunted, “Denise has a strange way of picking people up.”

“Where did she get this?”

Allan rose to go get a hammer and nail, “That’s the Black Butterfly we were hired to open for.”

“He’s a wonderful artist.”

“Denise seems to think so It’s all I’ve heard about for the last week.”

Michael smiled, “Jealous of the competition?”

Allan ripped the print out of Michael’s hand and headed toward the back of the apartment, “No. I pity the man that takes on that woman. She is the most complicated, pigheaded, unorganized female in the known universe.”

“Why do I get the feeling it is only the last part of that sentence that gives you pause?”

“Because,” Allan growled, “You are a romantic fool. Now where do you want this?”

Michael was still on the couch working on a song when the door sounded again. He glanced at the clock putting down his guitar and frowned noticing it was a little after midnight.

“What Allan don’t you get enough of me during the day?” He swung open the door to glare down at Kimberly’s cheerful smile.

“I don’t know about Allan, but I could certainly deal with a larger amount of your time.”

“Kimberly,” Michael stammered, “I thought you were Allan.”

“I get that a lot,” she teased, “Must be my manly knock.”

Michael felt himself blush…he was blushing…he was 27 years old man standing in his own living room blushing like he was 16.

“I heard you playing,” she smiled softly; “It was beautiful.”

“Uh, thanks.” He felt his color deepen.

They stood there gazing at each other a moment before she seemed to snap out it.

“Sugar?”

“I’m sorry?”

She held up a measuring cup, “I’m making cookies and I’m ¼ of a cup short.”

“I think I have sugar packets.” He offered lamely.

“Perfect.” She walked into his apartment and straight to the kitchen like she’d done it a thousand times, “I’ll help you get them.”

Michael silently thanked God and Allan for the sparkling condition of his apartment.

“They’re in the cabinet above the stove right?” She said setting her measuring cup down and opening said cabinet to produce the box of sugar packets.

“Yeah,” Michael said in amazement, “How did you know?”

“Great minds think alike.”

She began unceremoniously opening sugar packets pouring them one at a time into her cup. Michael refrained from mentioning that she could do it faster if she opened a couple at a time and instead grabbed a single packet and began to help her.

“So where do you usually play?” She asked sloshing a little sugar onto the cabinet.

“The Copper Tea Kettle mostly, but occasionally we get talked into a school prom, or a hall show, and some outdoors charity stuff in the summer.”

“That’s great. I’ve seen The Tea Kettle, it’s a really nice place,” She smiled at him seemingly impressed.

He shrugged dropping his gaze. He’d thought it was a great place too. Julia had always made him feel like The Copper Kettle was a waste of his talent, but it paid the bills, he liked Denise, and most importantly he was happy there. He took a pointed interest in the sugar.

“Ahhh, are you shy Superman?” She teased causing him to grin.

“I didn’t used to think so.”

“Well it’s very charming,” she frowned picking up her cup and glancing at the cabinet, “I think I managed to get more on your counter then into the cup.”

He leaned over to inspect their handy work with another shrug wishing he could think of something intelligent to say. “I’ll convince Allan to clean it up tomorrow.”