There once was a middle school student who was extremely stressed about her semester exams. She hated to admit it, but she hadn’t studied nearly as hard as she should have, and was relatively sure she’d failed at least half of them. Her mom was going to be furious. The student pedaled harder, trying her best to think about something else. At this point, it was all she could do.
She was riding home after taking her last exam, hoping she would beat the rain promised by the thick wall of approaching darkness rolling over the horizon, when a distant figure appeared in the asphalt path of her bike. From behind, the figure seemed to be sitting in a chair, near an oak’s thrashing shade, bent over their lap. The asphalt flashed, the girl’s bike whistled as she sped by. But when she reached the other side of the path, where it turned sharply to meet the sidewalk that would take her the rest of the way home, she screeched her bike to a stop.
The figure she’d passed had been an older woman, large and squat as a pile of dough, rocking back and forth in a tattered black wheelchair laden with overflowing grocery bags. Hadn’t the girl promised herself she would do her best this year to follow her heart? While her head whispered of drug addicts, offensive presumptions, and what her mother might say, the girl’s heart urged her to see if the woman was alright. She turned her bike around.
“Excuse me,” she called, slowing to a stop as her bike drew near the elderly woman, “are you okay?”
The woman had been muttering something about not being used to "these things" anymore, but when the girl spoke she stopped her rocking and looked up. Her hands were digging into her right thigh; a soft mess of fat-stuffed striped leggings that looked far too tight. Her gnarled, thick-sandaled feet were wrapped in fluffy yellow hospital socks; her face was wrenched in a grimace that froze and softened when she caught sight of the young woman.
Beginning to doubt herself, the girl repeated, “Are you okay? Are you—er, trying to stand?”
The woman straightened, as best she could. Her short, fluffy ponytail was copper colored, white at the roots of her straight part. Round blue eyes rested in a tan face, its skin smoother than the student had expected. Her gaze was sharp, her mouth a trembling line. “Yes,” she said.
The girl climbed off her bike, started to rest it in the grass. “Do you need help? I can try to help you.”
But the woman shook her head. “No, sweetie, there’s nothing you can do.” She smiled ruefully and sighed. “My old legs are hurting me. I just have to wait it out.”
“Are you sure? I can . . .” The student’s eyes tracked the wheelchair, the asphalt, the grass, the roots of the oak, trying to find some way she could be of assistance.
“No, no, nothing you can do. Thank you, though. I appreciate it.”
The student’s face fell, but she didn’t want to press further. “Well, I hope you feel better, and have a good rest of your day.” She picked her bike up off of the grass.
“Wait.”
One leg over her bike seat, the student looked back.
The woman was smiling, and her eyes sparkled with the blue of a rainwashed sky. “You have a nice day too, sweetheart,” she called, waving as the girl smiled and sped away.
When the student reached the sidewalk, she paused for a moment to wave again at the woman. But when she looked back over her shoulder, the asphalt path was clear, the wheelchair, gone. Only a blue speck graced the space near the oak, a tiny butterfly that soon lifted into the air and disappeared against the darkening sky. “Strange,” she muttered. Then a clap of thunder roused her, and she sped towards home, fearing the rain.
She was turning onto her neighborhood road when her bike jolted upwards as it rolled over something sharp, and she heard the telltale hiss of air rushing out of her front tire. At the same time, thunder shook the air, and in the quickly-approaching clouds the girl saw a flash of lightning spear the oncoming darkness. Frightened, the girl leapt off her bike and knelt at its side, hoping against all odds that the tire would be alright.
It was flat. The girl rested her forehead against the tire spokes and felt tears prickle her eyes as the wind tossed her hair around her face. Walking home in a thunderstorm was the last thing she wanted on a day like today.
Once more, thunder boomed, and the girl looked up, shuddering, to see how close the clouds were.
Instead of the clouds, however, her gaze caught on the dancing flight of the butterfly, leaping and spinning on the wind. It swooped low, and its wings glittered a rare, dazzling, vibrant blue. Unheeding of the powerful wind, the butterfly landed on the seat of the girl’s bike, flapping its wings with a careless nonchalance.
“Oh no! It’s going to rain soon, little guy,” said the girl, holding out a finger in worry, “fly away somewhere safe.”
The butterfly moved one of its antennae. Then, as if it understood her, the butterfly lifted back into the sky.
The girl watched it go, then sighed and stood to her feet. She might not be able to beat the rain, but perhaps she could hide under someone’s porch awning until it passed. She took hold of the handlebars and started to push the bike forward.
It rolled smoothly. “What?” cried the girl, leaning down to frown at the front wheel. Gasping, she squeezed the tire, felt it firm and full beneath her fingers. “It’s fixed!”
Grinning, the girl leapt back onto her bike and rode home, made it inside just as the first raindrop hit the pavement. She went happily to her room, where she quickly fell asleep. As she slept, the bright blue butterfly darted past her bedroom window, and smiled to see the girl safely home, kindness repaid.