The Butterfly Manifesto

It was the following Wednesday, and my driver was loading my suitcase in the truck of the car. I stood in my pea green coat and dark skirt with stockings, readying myself for the flight to Minnesota. From my previous experience flying First Class I knew how smooth my transit would be, and even appreciated that I wouldn’t even have to carry my own suitcase. It was also nice that in 1999 there was no TSA and the only thing you needed to do to board an airplane was walk through a metal detector.

I got in the backseat and pulled out the Wall Street Journal I planned to read for the flight. I thumbed through a few sections as we cruised down Lake Shore Drive, and I noticed that the lake was on our left. We were heading in the wrong direction.

“Robert, I thought we were flying out from O’Hare. Are we going to Midway instead?”

“Yes ma’am.”

I shrugged, and continued reading my paper. I had no memories of flying out from Midway Airport; I suppose it would be the first time either myself or Matthew ever went there. It was a short drive to Midway, but Robert drove past the signs leading to the departure gate and instead he pulled around, approaching a gate on the opposite end of the field. It slid open, allowing the car into a lot next to the tarmac where it pulled up to a small white jet. The pilot was standing next to the airstairs.

As Robert parked and ran around to open my door for me, I opened the ledger Linda had given me for the flight. The fine print read ‘Charter // N-Number 472LC // Signature FBO’ which I had dismissed as gibberish when I looked at it the previous week. Apparently Linda had chartered a private jet to bring me home to Minnesota. Is this my life now? I thought to myself as I walked to the jet, Robert trailing me with my bag. I tried my best to look casual.

The cabin wasn’t large; I had to duck while moving inside while the pilot showed me where the mini-fridge and the bathroom were. It wasn’t spacious, but for only one eighteen-year-old girl there was plenty of room. Once I was onboard, the pilot and co-pilot scrambled for a few last-minute checks before pulling up the stairs and initiating takeoff. We were in the air in minutes; the plane apparently climbed very fast and I was pressed into my seat, still in wonder as to how I ended up here.

We landed less than an hour later, though not where I thought we would. I had called my parents to expect me at Minneapolis International, but where I landed was a sparse airfield that I vaguely remembered being a few miles away from my parents’ house. The pilot carried my suitcase to a small building labeled General Aviation, leading to a small lounge with a cigarette machine, an old TV, and a bored receptionist. I asked her if I could use her phone, and quickly dialed the house, praying that Mom and Dad hadn’t left yet.

“Hello?” my brother Tim answered.

“Tim! It’s Maya. Are Mom and Dad home?”

“No, they left to pick you up like a half hour ago.”

“Crap. I’m at the wrong airport. You know that airfield out east? I just landed there.”

“How did you end up there?”

I sighed. “It’s a long story. Is anybody there that can pick me up? I’m kind of stranded here.”

“I guess I could,” Tim answered. I had forgotten that he had just turned sixteen. “I’ll be there on the next commercial break.”

After about twenty minutes of watching the Weather Channel, the only station that worked, I saw my old Toyota Camry pull up to the door. Tim piled out, his football jersey under his winter coat, and spotted me alone in the lounge. “Ride’s here,” he mumbled as he gestured to the car before walking back outside, leaving me to haul my suitcase by myself. I climbed into the passenger seat, the car grumbling like a sick horse, and we started for home.

“How’s tenth grade?” I asked, making conversation and ignoring the oily smell of the car.

“It’s good,” he said idly. “Every one of my teachers wants to know if I’m your brother, and my math teacher Mr. Erikson always asks about you. Even my football coach seems to remember you.”

I wasn’t really expecting that. Matthew never made waves in high school, and despite being the older brother it was Tim who was the Golden Child in that timeline. Tim was a star athlete, whereas Matthew wasn’t. I had an odd sense of satisfaction that in this timeline I was the Golden Child.

“I guess you’re living under my shadow, eh?”

Tim shrugged. “Whatever. It’s not like we’re competing. You were the brain; I’m the athlete. It works.”

It occurred to me that the brotherly rivalry that Matthew and Tim had didn’t exist outside of my head. I suppose I wasn’t a rival because I was just an older sister. I doubted Tim even had that many memories of Matthew anymore; he was young when I was shunted back in time, and eight years of growing up with an older sister named Maya rewrote his perspective. I couldn’t help but be a little competitive, though I doubted a valedictorian could hold a candle to the star linebacker.

After the car pulled into our driveway, Tim dashed back into the house leaving me to haul my suitcase through the snow once again. He was casually back to watching TV as I stripped off my boots and coat. The house felt smaller than when I left; it was still home, but also a place that had moved on without me for a few months. Returning home as a college student felt exactly the same as it had for Matthew.

My bedroom was a lot emptier since unlike most college students I brought most of my possessions with me. After phoning Linda to see if she could page my parents at the airport, I glanced around the barren room, my eyes falling on photographs from high school I had left hanging up. Many of them featured Catherine and me, happily posing for the camera.

I slumped on the edge of my bed, holding a photo of the two of us in our cheer uniforms. Not for the first time did I feel a pang of isolation. I might be soaring as a popular undergrad, a teenage rock star, and executive of a multimillion-dollar firm, but it didn’t matter. When the pace of my new life slowed down, I knew that by all rights I shouldn’t be here. I was just a pretender, and Catherine probably knew this, too.

Putting the photo aside, I sighed. I stood to unpack, and on impulse my thoughts shifted. Specifically, deciding which lie I was going to go with when Mom and Dad arrived from the airport.