Butterflies and a Frog

My sister was in love. Real love, the kind that made her cheeks red and her eyes sparkle. I often asked her what it was like and spent hours laying awake each night, trying to imagine. “Love makes your throat catch,” Marie had said, “it makes you afraid to speak for fear of what may come out.” Another time, she said, “Love riddles you with nerves and makes you sweat, it puts butterflies in your stomach when you look at the person. You’ll feel it when you’re older.”

At first, I wondered why anyone would want love, especially if all it did was make you feel as uncomfortable as Marie described. That doubt lasted for very little time because I decided to want love for the same reasons I decided to want anything- everyone else seemed to yearn for it and, more importantly, my sister had it and I didn’t. So when a boy from History asked me on a date, I was ecstatic. I went home and relayed the details of the day to Marie, assuring her that I loved the boy. She stared at me incredulously, almost mockingly, insisting that I was too young and too stupid to be in love, especially if I had convinced myself so quickly without reason. She asked, “Have you even felt the things that I told you about? The butterflies? The frog in your throat?” She had a point. I hadn’t.

I was disappointed, but not enough to give up. I would go on the date, which was planned for that evening. He would pick me up at five, and we would walk over to the diner on the main road. I was devastated at the curfew, which was set as early as seven, but I’d have to make do. My parents wouldn’t budge. I put on my birthday dress, the only one I had, and waited eagerly at the door. The boy arrived four minutes late, much to my annoyance. We set out in silence. Meagre attempts at conversation emerged from his side every now and then, but I was too busy to comply, I couldn’t be distracted. I was waiting for butterflies and a frog. At the diner, I ordered fish, because that’s what Marie had ordered on her first date. The boy had chicken. There was more silence, more conversational misfiring on his part, more waiting on mine.

I envied the sky, for it was blushing red instead of me as we walked home. I cast glances at him every now and then, though he was staring straight ahead. Halfway between the restaurant and my house, I felt something. Maybe just one butterfly, flitting around in my stomach. I smiled to myself. For the first time ever, Marie was wrong. I wasn’t too young and it wasn’t too soon after all! I started to break out in a cold sweat, and a new butterfly seemed to emerge with each step. I looked at him once more. The butterflies were starting to get unbearable. “It’s all a part of the package,” I told myself. We were almost at my house when the frog lodged itself in my throat. I could no longer reply to the occasional question. I couldn’t speak. “This is it,” I thought, “I definitely feel it”. Just as the thought crossed my mind, I bent over and emptied my dinner onto the pavement in heaves.

The boy couldn’t leave quickly enough. My sister didn’t say much, though my parents laughed at my decision to order seafood at a diner. I didn’t think about love that night. Instead, I thought ruefully about how Marie was always right.