Some children are born caterpillars, but I was born a butterfly. Before I learned to walk, I knew how to fly. The flowers beckoned me to tickle their stems with my bare toes and stroke their petals with gentle fingers - -but as a butterfly, I found the sky more compelling than any rose.

I remember one day when my aunt planted me on the ground as she hung laundry up to dry outside. The sun's presence intensified the scent of the magnolias, shaking an aroma in between vanilla and faded rosewater into my parents' bedroom sheets. I rolled a purple pebble in between my thumb and pointer finger until my skin turned sore and then cast the tiny stone at a bird a few feet away. The bird ruffled its feathers and glared at me. I seized a clump of dirt and harassed the bird again, this time encouraging it to leave. It fluttered into the air, soaring increasingly higher with every second until it disappeared into the clouds. 

"Bye-bye", I mouthed, too stunned by the sun to a bid the bird a more eloquent farewell. The massive orange globe pulsed in the sky like God's ever-blushing heart. An airplane whistled above me and two larks chirped of love and spring, but nothing captivated me more than the bloody ball beating light-years away from me. My eyes began to tremble - -perspire even - -as I gazed into the sky. Images from the womb, visions of the hospital room where I first entered this world, pictures from my first birthday party, and flashes of random auntents throughout my six years of existence hit me. There were red balloons and freshly-cut grass, wet cement and clumps of straw, splintered wood and cotton dresses…

I wiped a shivery tear form my eye. Last Sunday's church hymnal echoed in my mind and the duck from the pond down the road bit my finger.

"Ouch," I whispered. The fire in the sky smiled as I licked blood I shed three months ago. Somewhere I smelled popcorn and saw mosquitoes hover over a baby girl in a plaid bonnet. I called to the infant, but she ignored me and stuck her pinker into her navel and gurgled something incoherent instead. 

"Hey," I shouted. The baby scrunched up her nose and shoved the pinkie farther into her little belly button.

"HEY!" But the baby was gone and all around me there was blackness.

"Mariposa," my aunt said as she patted my cheek. "Mariposa?" I looked at her, surprised to find myself on her bed.

"Yes, Aunt?" I answered groggily. It was more of a question than a statement. 

"You fainted." 

I nodded and summoned a soft white kitten to sit on my mind's doorstep.

"You should never stare at the sun like that," my aunt chided. 

The kitten pawed something in front of her and then yawned.

"You know, Mariposa-even butterflies can only fly so high."

A swallowtail landed on the kitten's forehead and I closed my eyes. I would show my aunt just how high I could fly again tomorrow.