Butterfly Whispers in Twilight: Images, sights, visions in view of butterflies in flight. There it was, a beautiful pond surrounded by ladies, praying in repeated chants to keep a wish, begging for a release of someone or something controlling their lives

By Sandra-Lee Hutt

Lovella is the great-great-grandmother to the Townes family generations. It was during the 1800s that Lovella survived a vicious attack by a ferocious feline that wandered from a forest in Asia. This attack occurred during Lovella's third pregnancy of the first male child born into this family. This attack occurred in the backyard of her home while she was roasting pig, a cat ran toward her from the woods and knocked her down to the ground. Her screams were heard, and a pack of wolf dogs chased the feline away. The attack was so vicious it left permanent physical and mental scars on Lovella. The birth of the child was full-term although questioned by the doctor as to why the baby was born hissing like a cat and born with teeth and the "eyes of a tiger." Each time the baby boy named Timothy hungered for milk and food, his cry sounded like a "cat's meow." As the years went by, the child grew to speak well. He would experience temper tantrums all continued past the age of two. The family kept him close to home and never revealed to any family members or friends of the attack that Lovella experienced during her pregnancy. His favorite play area was in the backyard, as he was often seen scratching the bark on every tree in the yard. To this day, his name "Timothy" is embarked in a tree that still stands. There would be nights when Timothy would awaken and go to the kitchen pulling fruits from the refrigerator leaving large bite marks in unpeeled fruits and vegetables. Evaluations and testing from therapists, psychologist, and psychiatrist all revealed that little Timothy was born with a gene that carried a trait in the DNA that all males born into this family in future generations would carry this gene can never be removed.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Mar 3, 2020
• ISBN: 9781645449812

Book preview

Chapter 1

My Mother, Your Grandmother

I wonder how my mother would survive a time of trauma, days of drama and doubt and full of worries, dreams of fantasies, and many days spent on a couch, sipping double shots of whatever beverage. Hidden, deep in a closet full of clothes designed for each occasion were open bottles of Brandy, Vodka, and Wine to sip the flavors meant to enhance moments spent with a man who really lacked good intentions on having a future with her, but his touch felt so good just to get her through each day and night. It had; a substance which filled tomorrow’s thoughts, a fantasy of what life could be from his promises, which really was a forever dream to her thoughts in the dawn shadows of tomorrow’s tones in twilight.

My daughter really doesn’t need to know the flight of my fantasy. She doesn’t have to feel my pain, nor does she have to see the scars, bruises, and burns he left on my body. She loves the smell of the flowers and the taste of chocolates left by him each time my fantasy gets fulfilled. For she will remember the words spoken by her grandmother to stay away from the pretty boys who will pick a flower from the garden, who will go to the corner store and buy the biggest chocolate candy bar to feed her sweet tooth, the one who never tells the whole truth. Days of plenty were lived watching my daughter enjoy a whole lot of chocolates and smelling the fragrance of plenty of roses from her daddy. Did she hear the cries, moans, and groans in the night? It was all pleasure and pain, and it took all that to keep and gain the attention from the man I couldn’t let go.

Twilight tones shadow each season that sounds the echoes from a grandmother who prays for the release of her daughter’s fantasy, which gives life to a memorable event created from night screams.

This is the day that Monday’s dinner will be good and well prepared like Sunday’s dinner. Hot rolls, steak, potatoes, fresh collard greens in fatback to match that smack on Momma’s behind from Daddy’s big fat hand, a match to that bold print in his pants that had all the ladies in the neighborhood sway past our house just to say hi and take forever saying bye. Momma had a way in her voice to let the ladies know that this was not the day or the time to hug the chair, which fit their behinds. This must be the night when Momma and Daddy were gonna get busy because my homework was always checked early, and my bath water was ready as soon as I walked in from school even if the sun was shining bright. Momma and Grandma often repeat to me about the days when children were seen and not heard. Now, its children are heard more often than seen. It was the time that control was never a question or choice. The only good sound coming from a child’s voice was from singing in the church choir.

Momma and I were real close on every subject, except on the subject of how the birds got their honey from the bees. Her answer to those kinds of questions were very vague. The answers were okay for the cute, little girls in the ruffle dresses who were poised from the fancy private schooling. But in my neighborhood, the girls needed to know why the word bitches was always heard coming from the corner bar. We needed to know what the word pimp meant and why we got whistled at and why there were whispers and promises of when we grow up, we would be full of glitz and glamour from all the guys in the neighborhood, who said that they would be waiting for us!

She grew up in Madison, Wisconsin, an area of many cultures, Caucasians, Afro-Americans, Latinos, Orientals, Native Americans, and Hispanics. It was a divided culture of opportunities for higher education. The growth in biotech, medical facilities, construction, and university expansions boost did exist in the struggle for rights for the freedom of speech. My mom, Lafaya Grover, was born to my grandparents, Dwayne and Hazel Townes, in the late 1960s just breezing in the 1970s. Like a blooming flower from a butterfly’s wings, she grew up in the neighborhood of the counterculture of Mifflin, Madison, to Wisconsin’s communities. She remembered well as she learned from an early age the real defined movement of politics. Grandma recounted of the days when voting for our folks wasn’t allowed and the birth of the constitution was the greatest page in history to people of all races and ethnic backgrounds.

Grandma said, Be a proud black and vote Democrat.

Grandma’s words stand for something and mean something. My mom told me, Now listen, Stella Grover, I have big dreams for you, my baby, to grow up smart and keep that pretty smile, and promise me that you will be poised and full of promises, and stay away from those boys.

I just sat and listened to my momma and said, Yes, Mom. I couldn’t tell Momma that I had already made a promise to my girlfriends to puff up when we grow up for a pimp, who could bring me gifts and send me to live in big beautiful homes. See, Momma never told me about or spoke of pimps. So I promised Mom that I would stay away from the boys, and she was okay with that. Oh! how I love my mom’s dreams. To me, the title pimp meant a prize for pretty girls.

Conversations between my mom and I would last a long time if the subject was about education, so I would sit there and listen to how college was so important to her because she would not know how to write professionally and would never have been offered jobs with the local newspaper and publishing without her degree in journalism.

I said, Yes, Mom, and I would always look forward to her payday because I knew that it was going to be a trip to the mall for another pretty dress or outfit for me. I thought this was okay for now, but I was always dreaming about getting puffed out and up for my pimp who was going to buy me all the gifts. Momma asked me what I wanted to do when I grow up, and I told Momma that I wanted to go to college too! In my mind, I wondered if pimps ever showed up at the colleges. I was going to ask Momma about sex and also if she knew any pimps. Every time I tried to ask Momma about sex, she would always say that when I get older, she will explain everything to me and for me to go play and not to ask her any more questions. Being almost fourteen years old, I had a lot of questions. I wanted to ask Momma why is that every time Daddy brings flowers and candy home, I have to bathe and go to bed early. It was at that moment, Momma said, Stella, it is time for you to go play outside and stop staring at me.

A day outside with my friends was filled with promises we made to each other and looks up and down the block to catch a wave and wink from the neighborhood pimps. We teased and joked with guys our age on the back porch of my house and met up at the roller-skating rink to compete with others on the rink floor. Saturday chores for all were always accomplished, including babysitting jobs for the girls and lawn duties for the guys. We all saved our monies for the nearest fast-food restaurants. It took my mind off the promises made to my girlfriends. Saturdays became a fun day, not lasting long enough, although there were restrictions and rules to follow from home. My friends and I all managed to make the best of our young years and look forward to college life. It was better than living in the days of my aunts and uncles and cousins who carried signs down at the college campus to protest the Vietnam War and voting and hoping for the Democrats to stay in office. My momma repeated often that if I wanted to continue to eat steak dinners once a month and enjoy trips to the mall, that I should vote Democrat when I reach the legal age to vote. I wanted to ask her if daddy teaches her to exercise from the things he learned in the gym where he works as an instructor. My daddy, Ray Grover, was always flexing his muscles and shadowboxing like he was in the ring with a real fighter. Momma did tell me that Daddy was her personal trainer in the health club when she met him years ago, and he helped her keep her membership down at the health club. She said he kept her physically fit.

Visits to the home of my grandmother, Hazel Townes, was always the best place to be for comfort, love, and joy. I loved sitting on Grandma’s couch with a cup of tea to watch the news. My grandmother is up on the news, and she is a history book on wheels. I can ask her about any newsworthy event in history, and she can give me the year, date, and cause of the event. And yes, she is a Democrat and a faithful voter in each election. Her home is just a short distance from my mom and dad. Grandma is not comfortable with the suggestion of moving to the suburbs, away from Miffland and its culture. Grandma was one to quote poetry from some of the world’s treasured poets. Her own quote was, You must own the reflection, shine in the shadow of someone’s imagination. I asked Grandma about promises and pimps. Grandma’s eyebrows went north. Her wrinkles resembled flattened crinkles, and her slippers fell off her feet way past her toes.

Grandma said, Baby girl, where have you been, and who have you, my baby girl, been talking to?

I started to cry in Grandma’s arms that were wrapped around me for comfort.

Grandma said, I know you are young, beyond your years, and somebody needs to set you on the straight and narrow in your life. You speaking messages ’bout tales of fair ladies and stories of puppies without tails. Your daddy and momma and I work hard to give you a good life and a send-off to college.

I said, Grandma, I want to go to college, and I want gifts and gems and plenty of pretty things, and I want to live in a big house and be good to my man. I want more than chocolates and flowers once a month, and I don’t want my children to hear screams coming from my bedroom late at night.

Grandma looked at me and said, Screams! What are you saying?

My momma always seemed to be happy when Daddy walked in the house with chocolates and flowers, and it seemed that was when we had the best dinners of steak and best of Mom’s cooking. I just wanted to know why Momma didn’t meet up with a pimp who could give her more than flowers and chocolates. I love my daddy except when I always get sent to bed early following his gifts to Mom, flowers in one hand and chocolates in the other hand. My early to bed was interrupted with the crying, moaning, and sounds like Momma crying from their bedroom that kept me awake.

I wanted my questions answered, to know the true meaning of the word pimps, so instead of asking Momma, I decided to ask Grandma, only to almost hear the same answer that would come from Momma. Oftentimes, Grandma said, You are such a little darling that shouldn’t have those kinds of thoughts in your mind. Your momma will tell you when the time is right. You are a princess who will grow up to marry a prince, not a pimp. Grandma does not want to hear you speak that kind of language again. Grandma never told me which was better, prince or pimp. I learned, but it wasn’t that day.

When I was outside with my girlfriends, we always got winks and whistles from the men who leave from the bars, and we hear yells from them to the ladies calling out the b-word. I asked one of the men why they talk to the ladies in that fashion and why the ladies whisper, pimps. They told me that the ladies must earn their trust to be called by their real names. We were told that they got gifts and visits to beautiful houses and still showed a nasty attitude, so that was why they were called the b-words. I had asked my grandma what was going on down the street with the ladies. I never got an answer. Grandma just changed the subject and sent me outside to play. I made a promise to my girlfriends that someday, I would be full of glitz and glamour to get gifts and stay in a beautiful house. Grandma did finally talk to me one day, telling me that a pimp is not a prize, and their offers are not for a young lady. She said that I could get gifts and live in a beautiful home if I go to college, and my prince would find me just like in a fairy tale.

It was a Saturday morning. I was awakened by the sounds of excitement from Momma’s voice all over the house. She’s on the phone talking to Grandma and telling her about a letter she received from her brother, my uncle Kevin. He would be coming to town from California with his wife, my aunt Christine, to visit the family. I heard Momma tell Grandma how Uncle Kevin was now a newfound man, reformed and now in the church, holding down the attention of believers. I never knew his looks except from family photos since he left town when I was a baby.

I got up and went to the kitchen table to see if my dad left flowers and a box of chocolates for Momma last night. Momma wasn’t dressed in the long-sleeved dress or blouse that she always wore for days following the treats of flowers and chocolates. She was dressed in a pretty floral sleeveless dress, a match to the hot temperatures in the day.

I said, Momma, why are you so happy this day? Is Daddy bringing you some more flowers and chocolates?

She said, No, my child, your aunt and uncle will be arriving next weekend to stay with us for two weeks. She said that she had not seen her brother in twelve years or so, and it was going to be a big celebration for us all when he arrived. I expressed my joy in wanting to see my aunt and uncle. When I asked Momma why Uncle Kevin moved to California, there was a complete silence for a short moment, and then Momma said, It was for the better! Most times, people speak of the better after leaving the worst. That’s all the answer I got from Momma.

Momma told me that I would be meeting some more of my out-of-town relatives. Momma didn’t tell me what caused her and Grandma such excitement from knowing that my uncle Kevin was now newly formed and reformed. I spent the week helping Momma shop for extra food and polishing the silver and setting the dining-room table with her best china for the family guests when they arrived. I was getting excited because Momma took me to the mall to shop for a new dress and shoes for the big family gathering coming up. Momma took the car to the car wash and bought new car materials. The ride to the airport was filled with excitement, although Daddy and Grandma stayed home to allow plenty of room in the car for my aunt and uncle and their luggage. When we arrived in the airport and waited for the plane to land, my momma greeted my aunt and uncle with plenty of hugs and kisses, and they spread those hugs and kisses to me in a grand meet and greet. I was not expecting a reformed man to be wearing wing-tip alligator-skin shoes, silk suit, slick-down hairstyle, a gold initial on his front tooth, and the looks of Mr. T—all gold from here to there. They said he was newly formed. I wondered what reformed looked like. It was a real family reunion in the house and on the lawn full of friends and family. I didn’t know that Uncle Kevin was so well-known in our neighborhood. Even the pimps from the bar showed up and greeted my uncle Kevin like they were old friends.

Chapter 2

Inside a Poem

A week had gone by since the big family reunion celebrating the arrival of Uncle Kevin and Aunt Christine. Uncle Kevin seemed a little edgy, showing signs of homesickness from the sunshine state of California. Life here in Madison County was not quite the same as living in a big house up on those hills. Uncle Kev was so lucky to have all that money and a good reputation with his neighbors and his church congregation. I knew Aunt Christine was full of smiles every Sunday service in tithing from the money plates passed around in sight of stained-glass windows and walls of wood polished daily by the church workers. The pictures shown to us by Uncle Kevin was our great opportunity to see the stone outside of the church and the inside beauty of a large building of worship for the community. Aunt Christine was the lucky wife of a pastor praying and believing for her and all the people. She got her prince and pastor to be home with her every night.

In this second week of having out-of-town guests in the house, the celebrations continued with Grandma’s birthday coming in just a few days. Grandma would be facing eighty-seven years old and was full of spark. It was going to be a fun time for all of us, and we did this every year as a tradition for Grandma. Sorry for Grandpa who was ninety-one years old and living down south on the farm. He would not be able to join us. Every time I ask Momma when we were going to visit Grandpa in South Carolina, I get a short answer and a never answer. I thought it was a terrible thing for a family not to plan trips to see Grandpa. They said that he spent his days on the back porch after mowing lawns and planting flowers for the community. They said that Grandpa was a handsome man in his day, and the ladies in the neighborhood would stand on their front steps waiting for Grandpa to come home to Grandma, and once a month, Grandma would get flowers and chocolates from Grandpa.

Just a few hours to go before the party celebration for Grandma. It was a Saturday afternoon at one o’clock, the outside holding on to an eighty-eight-degree temperature with a little breeze. The house was full of people baking and doing all the preparations required for a birthday celebration. Uncle Kevin and Mom drove to the town’s best bakery to pick up the cake. The guest list for this party was for family and close friends. It wasn’t like Uncle Kevin’s welcome-home party of family, friends, and pimps from the