'Freeing the Monarch' by Peyton James

The tiny silver key rests heavy in my palm. I slip it back into my pocket before the weight of its
significance deters me. This is not the time to waver.

Creeping along the edge of the property, I wander through the smattering of trees until I find the
weathered log that hides my bounty. Disguised by dampened filth and dotted with rust, the metal
box inside the rotting hole contains my future. Our future.

Four long years of saving—of planning—and it all comes down to this. Today we run.

“Mommy?”

My head snaps up, and I shove the box back into hiding.

“Come see, Mommy.” Little fingers wrap around my hand as Sarah gives my arm a tug. “Come
see what I’ve found.”

She leads me through the patch of knee-high grass to the nearby shallow creek. Her brothers race along the soggy edge to catch a fleeing frog, shouting cries of triumph when they trap it.They’re in their element. Shoes soaked with murky water, mud smeared across their faces. Filthy, yet oh so happy.

“Look!” Sarah bounces over to a sawed-off tree stump and picks up the glass jar that's perched
on top. Arms outstretched, she skips back to me and pushes the jar into my hands. “Isn't she
beautiful?”

Inside, a brilliant orange butterfly rests unmoving on a twig. A sprinkle of grass and wilted leaves
litter the bottom of the enclosure.

“It’s a monarch!” Sarah beams at me, a grin so wide I can see her molars. “I made a home for her
with everything she needs. Cody said she’ll die in there, but Cody’s wrong. Daddy punched a
hole.” She taps the pin-sized puncture on the lid. “He said she’ll be fine.”

Bright blue eyes peer up at me. Questioning. Needing confirmation that her daddy’s right. I want
to tell her that caterpillars eat leaves and that her butterfly can’t live like this, but the words die
swiftly on my tongue. I can’t steal that pretty smile. I can’t kill her hope.

Cody hollers from the creek bed, the frog they’ve caught squirming in his grip. “Sarah! Hurry.
We’re letting him go.”

She rushes to her brother’s side, shrieking when the frog leaps from his hands.

Under my fingertips, the monarch thrashes inside her suffocating home, her wings ferociously
beating the glass as wildly as a butterfly can riot. She wants out. Needs room to breathe.
Slowly, I unscrew the lid, but pause. Will Sarah blame me if I set the monarch free?
As if sensing my unease, she runs to me, her blonde hair floating in the summer breeze. Her
sweet face grows serious. “Maybe tomorrow, Mommy. Maybe tomorrow we can let her go.”
Nodding, I twist the lid up tight and hand the jar back to my daughter. She sets it on the tree
stump and the monarch gradually settles.

Inside my pocket I rub my thumb over the tiny silver key. Maybe we can wait a little longer, too.

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'Freeing the Monarch' was first published in Lit Up in October 2018.