The Butterfly Temptress

His name was Billy Pifer and he wasn’t anything extraordinary. As a matter of fact, by todays standards he was a bit of a geek, with his glasses and his fixation with law enforcement and photography. To everyone else he was just another boy. To me he was everything good in the world, everything I had ever thought a “boyfriend” ought to be.

It was in the span of time between when Sperm Donor was sentenced to work release and the time he came back to live with us. Middle school in a small Virginia town living in a rented house, or was it two? I can’t remember exactly how many there were, but it doesn’t matter. What matters is him and the things he taught me in those months while Sperm Donor was away.

Billy’s father was a police officer. He was tall and handsome but he had a gentle demeanor. When Billy told his father about me I remember how proud Billy said he was that he had raised his son to be such a gentleman. Though I never told Billy, I was glad too. At a time in my life when sex and relationships were far from a priority, he made it okay to be different from the other girls we knew. He made it safe to be me.

Though our relationship really wasn’t, it felt like it to me. His notes passed in the hallway, the feel of his warm hand holding mine in the gym, our lunch hours spent laughing and talking…it lulled me into a false sense of security. I believed that we’d always be just like we were right then but if we weren’t, we’d at least be friends.

Once Sperm Donor returned home everything changed. I never told Billy about the rape the day Sperm Donor came home. I was ashamed and embarrassed and if my own mother didn’t believe me, how could he? So I kept it quiet and went on as well as I could.

The last time we spent time together outside of school was a beautiful spring day. His father owneed a boat and had invited me to go with them for a day trip. The plans were made while Sperm Donor was still away and when the day came to go, he told me I couldn’t. I was heartbroken and beside myself, wanting more than anything to hold on to the peace I’d found in the friendship we shared. After hours of arguing my mother convinced Sperm Donor to allow it, but it was to be the last time.

I remember the boat, the river, and every detail about the day. My green shorts with my white rayon tank top and my prized Keds, my tie-dye sunglasses and my wavy hair blowing in the wind. I remember a simple lunch of sandwiches and the sweetest kiss good night that I have ever received.

When Sperm Donor decided that we needed to move, I was devastated. For the first time ever, I had friends. I was somewhat popular and people liked me. I could have phone calls and go to movies. I knew what it was like to experience a football game and I had fallen in love with cheerleading. For the first time, I felt normal. Sperm Donor hated it and that was enough for him.

Before I left, my friends had a going away party at school. Cards and balloons filled my locker and occupied the table at lunch. Billy barely kept from crying the whole day through. I remember the most intense awareness and keen aching in my heart as if it were only yesterday. As I opened the card from Billy who now knew exactly what Sperm Donor had done before his work release sentence and after, I knew I was in the middle of my first broken heart.

He had written notes by hand and photographed them. One told me he loved me. The other told me he always would. Still another had his phone number and address. The last one repeated his love and told me to call him if I was ever in trouble, that he would always be there for me.

I tucked the card and the photographs into my notebook and hugged him tightly. The smell of the roses he had given me made me cry that much harder and as the bus driver issued a final warning, I knew I had to let go. I knew that from that moment on even if I was alone I would carry him with me.

I still have the card and the photographs from Billy. I found them recently and though I know it’s crazy, I swear I felt that slightest ache in the deepest recesses of my heart. I wish, now more than ever, that I could find him and thank him for the difference he made in my life. The scent of roses has faded and the tear stains helped the ink to run, but I still keep them among my prized possessions. I was proud to have known him and honored to have had a piece of his heart, even if for the briefest of moments.

*Book Excerpt