WRITERS ABROAD MAGAZINE: THE THIRD SPACE
Free At Last
BY CRILLY O’NEIL
Camille stared as the butterfly batted his
wings against the glass. If only I could
help him, he wants to escape. She watched
as he flew into the corner of the big
window looking for a way out.
The lush green gardens of Orange
Grove Retirement Village beckoned
from the other side of the window pane.
A soft breeze swept the fragrance of the old wisteria into the room. Camille watched as
some of the tiny purple flowers drifted from the veranda into the doorway.
‘If my knees weren’t so rickety, little butterfly, I would get up and open that door and
let you out. Trouble is, those nurses park us here after lunch, forget to shut the blinds, the
sun comes in, the room warms up and we oldies go to sleep. Then again, maybe that’s the
idea.’ Camille looked at George who sat next to her and smiled.
George was known for voicing his opinion - not that much of it made any sense these
days. His mind was scrambled. His hearing aids lay on top of a not-so-white handkerchief
on the coffee table next to him and this time he hadn’t heard a word. Yesterday’s
newspaper covered his lap.
‘I am talking to you, George.’ She tried again. ‘I don’t like seeing that poor butterfly
struggling like that. He’s trapped and will stay trapped in this awful room until someone
lets him out. Either that or he dies.
His eyes were closed and Camille watched the rise and fall of his chest for a moment
as he snored softly. Her thoughts drifted back. Back to the day when her body didn’t
hurt, when she could run down stairs two at a time. Back to when she didn’t have to
swallow pills for this and have assistance for that, back to a time when he was part of her
life.
Her children would never know the area of her heart that was closed to them. George,
the man she’d loved all her life, the man she had not seen for almost fifty years. He was
the reason she had chosen to come to Orange Grove.
He loved her for a while, she knew that. Until the day he’d said he felt caged like some
wild animal at a zoo and left. He’d married. She’d married. Lives had been lived. There
had been no contact and now, as she looked across at him, she knew he did not remember.
Gripping the sides of the armchair Camille pulled herself up. She stepped towards the
window and cupped her shaking hand around the purple butterfly, feeling its soft velvety
wings flutter against her fingers. Turning around, she began to walk towards the door as
she whispered – ‘Like trees in a forest, I was always there for him and now I am here for
you...’
They found her an hour later. Face down on the floor, wisteria petals caught in her
hair. The purple butterfly was gone.
11 | November 2016