Chasing Butterflies by Amir Abrams

still breathing. Barely. P-p-leeeeease, you gotta send someone ASAP!”
    “Okay, Nia. Help is on the way. I’m going to stay on the line with you until . . .”
    I don’t hear anything else.
    I cling to Daddy, wailing at the top of my lungs.

17
    W hy won’t they let me see him?
    None of this can be any good.
    It’s a bad sign.
    An omen.
    All of this waiting.
    I am alone in the hospital’s waiting room.
    An utter wreck.
    Waiting.
    Waiting.
    Waiting.
    Watching the clock.
    Watching the doors.
    Watching the phone.
    Then I am up, pacing the floors.
    Back and forth.
    Up and down.
    Pacing.
    Pacing.
    Pacing.
    Wringing my hands.
    Hoping that everything is okay with Daddy.
    He never gets sick.
    Rarely catches a cold.
    And now he’s here.
    How can this be?
    I just want to see him.
    Just want to know that he’s okay.
    I can’t do this alone.
    But here I am.
    Alone.
    Waiting.
    Waiting.
    All of this waiting is driving me crazy.
    If the waiting doesn’t kill me, this dark cloud of doom hovering over me will.
    It feels like these white walls are closing in on me.
    I have no other family here.
    Except for Crystal and her family.
    I’m so glad I called her.
    She and her mom are on their way to be with me.
    My head is pounding.
    It feels like I’ve been sitting here for an eternity.
    Waiting for news from a doctor, or from anyone, who might be able to tell me what’s going on with him.
    Two fricking hours! That’s how long I’ve been sitting and waiting.
    And still nada .
    No word.
    Nothing.
    The thought of something . . . of Daddy not—
    Oh, God!
    I should have come right home from school.
    Should have looked for Daddy the minute I stepped across the threshold.
    I should have never been on the phone with Crystal.
    My conscience is burdened with “should haves.”
    I bite my lip.
    Then I jump when my cell phone rings. I fish it out of my jacket pocket and glance at the screen. I sigh a breath of relief when Aunt Terri’s name flashes across the screen. She’s Daddy’s older sister who lives in Georgia.
    Norcross, I think.
    I’m not really sure since I’ve never been out to visit.
    Daddy has two sisters. My other aunt, Priscilla, lives in Arizona. She comes to visit once a year. But I don’t have her new number.
    Daddy does.
    And it’s in his phone.
    So I called Aunt Terri. And it’s only taken her almost an hour to call me back, even though I marked the call URGENT .
    Still, I break down the moment I hear her voice.
    She waits for me to calm, then starts firing off a series of questions. What happened? What hospital is he in? What are the doctors saying? Have I seen him yet?
    “I’m still waiting,” I tell her after replaying the events leading up to now.
    “Well, keep me posted,” she says, sounding distracted. She sighs. “I knew something like this would happen one day. God doesn’t like ugly.”
    You knew what would happen one day?
    Does she know something?
    And what does she mean by God doesn’t like ugly?
    I wipe tears from my face with the bottom of my T-shirt.
    “Aunt Terri, you knew s-something was wrong with him?”
    There’s a brief pause.
    “Aunt Terri?”
    “Yes, sweetheart?”
    “I asked if you knew something was wrong with Daddy?”
    “Oh, I’m sorry. Something on the television caught my eye.” I frown. “But, no. I don’t know anything. All I was saying is, karma is . . . I mean, your father should have taken better care of himself; that’s all.”
    I swallow, thinking...
    More should haves.
    I knew this was a mistake.
    Calling her.
    She and Daddy have been estranged since forever.
    She—from what I’ve overheard over the years—thinks Daddy stole all of her and Aunt Priscilla’s inheritance when their mother, my granny, passed away, waaaay before I was born.
    So there’s tension between them.
    Still . . .
    She’s Daddy’s sister.
    She should be more sympathetic.
    Or at least act like she cares.
    But what do I know?
    I’m just a kid.
    “There’s really not much I can do from