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“And so afraid of change in a world that never stops changing. So let the walls come down, the world will never stop changing. (Never stop changing, never stop changing, never stop changing.) Ay, mariposas, don’t you hold on too tight. Both of you know it’s your time to go; to fly apart, to reunite. Wonders surround you. Just let the walls come down. Don’t look behind you, fly till you find your way toward tomorrow.” - Dos Oruguitas, Encanto
One of her first dates with Pedro was a picnic at the local park. They found a beautiful spot full of flowers, on a small hill overlooking the rest of the park. There, they spread out their bright yellow blanket and sat down to eat. They’d each contributed to the meal, and Alma remembered how relieved she’d been that her cocadas had turned out just the way she wanted them; she’d never been big on desserts, but Pedro had mentioned they were his favourites and she so badly wanted to impress him.
They clicked together so perfectly and Alma couldn’t remember ever being so happy before. She would have been content to simply sit and listen to Pedro talk about his poems and short-stories forever.
Pedro’s explanation of his writing cut short with a quiet, startled huff of laughter.
A butterfly had landed on his nose. It was a yellow butterfly and Alma swore she could see a tinge of gold to its wings. It gently flapped its wings and didn’t seem in any hurry to leave Pedro’s nose.
Alma giggled and wished for a camera.
“I think she likes you,” she said.
“Well,” Pedro said, smiling at her. “I like her too.”
It should have been a ridiculous moment, smiling sappily at each other while a butterfly made itself at home on Pedro’s nose…But Alma felt so, so happy, overwhelmingly happy.
In that moment, she was certain she would marry this boy.
The butterfly only flew away when they took each other’s hands. They both watched it go, flying away over the flower beds, swings and fountain, until it was out of sight.
They finally had a proper park and playground in the village.
A place to play wasn’t exactly a priority, compared to housing, a schoolhouse, shops and a doctor’s office, but a small group of parents pointed out how bored and restless children would surely wander and God knew what trouble they’d get into then. They’d already found multiple groups of children trying to sneak into the jungle, for lack of something to do. They weren’t too keen on always playing in the growing market square.
Tiredly, Alma reflected that she couldn’t even blame the children. At that age, she surely would have been bored too, eternally stuck under her parents’ eye, or always playing at her house or a friend’s house, with nowhere to go and not much to play with in the way of toys.
The idea of her triplets wandering into the jungle, however, made her blood freeze.
She quickly spoke with her council and they gave permission for the new park and playground to be built.
“Can we go, Mamí?” Pepa asked eagerly, tugging on Alma’s skirt. “They have swings.” How strange to think that her three five-year-olds had never seen a swing in person; only illustrations in books.
How could Alma deny such a simple request?
It was a rare opportunity to spend all day with her babies. She led them to the park, smiling graciously at anyone who called out to her and praying no one would disturb them.
Pepa ran straight for the swings, gleefully giggling with a rainbow appearing in the sky and sunshine radiating from her.
“Careful, corazón,” Alma called as Pepa began to swing, kicking her legs with all her might.
Julieta’s curious eyes darted about everywhere, unable to decide what she wanted to do. She watched the other children on the roundabout and seesaw, took a long look at the climbing frame and shook her head, and took a cautious step towards the slide.
It was so like Julieta to closely examine all her options before deciding on what she wanted, even when it came to fun. Alma couldn’t help but smile.
Julieta glanced at her as if for permission. Alma nodded and Julieta hurried towards the slide with a smile.
Bruno was still holding her hand, looking around and biting his lip. He’d always been the shyest of the triplets and with his sisters running off in two separate directions, Alma didn’t doubt he felt torn.
Before Alma could make a suggestion (perhaps the roundabout, she didn’t want her triplets on the climbing frame), a butterfly landed on Bruno’s nose.
A yellow one.
Alma froze, her grip on Bruno’s tiny hand tightening. Bruno didn’t seem to notice; he was going cross-eyed as he tried to stare at the butterfly, giggling quietly.
“It tickles, Mamí,” he whispered.
“I’m sure it does, bébé,” Alma said, kneeling down. The butterfly climbed up Bruno’s nose to his forehead and settled in his hair. Alma feared it would get tangled in her son’s hair, perhaps injure one of its fragile legs, but only seconds later it flew away.
It flew across the playground to the swings, hovered for a moment, and flew to the flowerbeds, soon lost among the many butterflies there.
“Can I swing with Pepa?” Bruno asked her.
“Of course, Brunito,” Alma said. She led Bruno over; Julieta ran over and joined them just as they reached the swing. Her giggles were breathless. Pepa on the other hand, whooped as she swung, screaming, “I’m flying!”
Bruno glanced over at the butterflies and smiled at Alma as he jumped onto the swing.
She had to push Julieta and Bruno. Unlike Pepa, their feet didn’t touch the ground.
It was Mirabel’s third birthday and Isabela had made Casita and the garden blossom.
With all the beautiful flowers, came butterflies. Some even got into the courtyard. Isabela laughed delightedly when she found some in the flowers around her door.
“There,” Bruno said, balancing Mirabel on his hip and pointing to the trio of butterflies hovering around the backdoor. “See, Mira?”
“Pretty!” Mirabel cried, clapping her hands. She wriggled so much that her new glasses began to slip down her nose. Alma was quick to push them back into place, smiling at the child. She was such a ray of light, always giggling and happy.
Somehow, Alma wasn’t surprised when one of the butterflies left the others and flew to her sweet Mirabel, landing gently on her little nose. Mirabel giggled again, more quietly now and surprisingly held still.
She wasn’t surprised that the butterfly was yellow either, with hints of gold to its wings. It was a beautiful little creature.
Alma had always loved butterflies, right from when she was a small child.
The butterfly stayed put, even when Bruno kissed the top of Mirabel’s head and her granddaughter cooed, “Hola, little butterfly.”
Bruno’s nickname for the child, mariposa, felt more fitting than ever.
The butterfly didn’t leave until Julieta came looking for them, to get Mirabel into her new dress. Even then, it only rejoined the others around the door, lightly flapping its wings.
Julieta carried her daughter back inside, while Mirabel excitedly rambled about the butterfly. She proudly proclaimed the butterfly was her new best friend.
Bruno ducked his head, smiling as he knocked on the doorframe as he went back inside.
Alma stayed where she was, watching the butterflies.
Always a butterfly. Always a yellow one.
She didn’t dare examine that thought too closely, but she smiled anyway.
“I asked my Pedro for help. Mirabel…He sent me you.”
As Alma pulled her granddaughter into her arms, the sun broke through the clouds. Mirabel’s arms wrapped around her and Alma let herself cry as first one butterfly, then two, then dozens appeared.
A massive swarm of beautiful golden butterflies surrounded them, swirling and spinning, brushing against Alma’s face and arms; they swooped and fluttered, hovering around Mirabel.
As if in silent agreement, the butterflies all flew towards the mountain, to the new open pass. They flew towards the dawn.
Except one.
A single butterfly landed on Alma’s nose.
She held perfectly still; she had an arm around Mirabel and held her hand, keeping her granddaughter close.
As I should have done all this time, she thought with another pang of regret. All the same, she smiled at the butterfly, remembering how cross-eyed Pedro and Bruno had gone all those years ago; she remembered how full of hope and grief she’d been.
It’s alright, amor, Alma thought. We’ll be alright.
The butterfly flew away, towards the riverbank. Hand in hand, Alma and Mirabel left the river.
Alma would have expected the butterfly to leave entirely, but it didn’t. It stayed where it was on a flower-dotted bush. As soon as Alma looked at it, it began to fly again, towards the trees. It stayed there, hovering at the tree-line.
Only seconds later, Alma heard hoofbeats and a voice she thought she’d never hear again; “She didn’t do this!”
Bruno burst through the tree-line on a horse. He didn’t seem to notice when the yellow butterfly landed in his hair.
Oh, Pedro, Alma thought fondly through her shock. Thank you.
Fifty-one years ago, a butterfly led her to Pedro. Now, in the dawn of a new day, butterflies surrounded her as Alma finally allowed herself to process all the grief she’d pushed down- in more ways than one. After all, Mirabel’s nickname had always been mariposa.
And those same butterflies, the golden-winged ones and the golden-hearted girl, brought her son home.
For the first time in a long, long time, Alma was not worried about what tomorrow would bring. As Mirabel said, nothing could ever be so broken that they couldn’t fix it together.
And she knew Pedro would be watching his family with pride the whole time.