A Conversation About Butterflies (Part II of II)

Paul sighed, but he did as he was told, “My company sent me here on business. Just got in today.”

“Oh ya what do you do?”

“I’m an Account Liaison.”

“Are you a salesman Paul?”

Paul reddened a bit, perhaps humbled, “Yes I’m in sales.”

“You travel a lot?” the man asked while already polishing off his Coors.

“Occasionally, they usually send me out to talk down the pissed off customers from the ledge.”

“Ah we call that a ‘firefighter’ in my line of work.” The two men chuckled, neither too much.

“And what is that exactly?”

“Agh, I’ll just bore you.” The man waved him off and motioned to Dolores who already seemed to be looking at him. The man smiled, pointed to his Coors bottle and held up his forefinger. The bartender nodded amicably. “So do you like to travel?”

Paul sipped his Johnny Blue and thought for a moment. He wasn’t used to drinking this stuff and it seemed to be getting more difficult to corral his thoughts into something coherent. “What if I said I liked traveling but hated returning home? Would that make sense to you?”

“My boy, it would. It’s a characteristic of the human condition for some. Nomadic hearts.” The man pounded on his own chest as he finished the thought.

Paul beamed comfortably and leaned towards the man. “Sometimes it just feels natural to be heading…” Paul wondered if the liquor was hitting him harder than usual for some reason. Different brand? Paul thought he remembered that Walker was a higher proof that Jäger…but as he tried to catch the fact it seemed to run faster than his memory could keep up.

“You were saying?” the man spoke loudly, trying to get Paul’s attention.

“Oh ya,” Paul stalled trying to recall what he had been about to say. With some effort he recovered. “Heading somewhere, to be on the road or in a plane I guess.”

The man slapped the bar as if he knew precisely what Paul meant, “You my friend have The Monarch Complex!”

Paul looked at the man, his face conveyed confusion. He then looked to the glass that had held a fair amount of Johnny Blue, it was empty. This also seemed to confuse Paul, only because it had left him so quickly.

Dolores had made a point of tidying up the bar closest to Paul and his new friend.

The man sensed Paul’s puzzlement. “You see monarch butterflies tend to migrate in set patterns across generations. They head a certain direction until they stop, lay eggs and die. Then their offspring pick up the journey where their elders left off.”

Paul wanted to understand this, but the concept currently seemed over his head.

The stranger at the bar tried to explain further. “They- just like us- are searching for something. They don’t understand what, but it’s like they can’t be comfortable in their own skin.” 

Dolores had made a point of tidying up the bar closest to Paul and his new friend. Had Paul not been under the influence he would’ve understood she too was listening to this story.

“Comfortable…” Paul nodded with understanding. “Hey that’s a great analogy, but why do the monarchs head a particular way during migration?”

“That my friend is a question for the ages.” The man who had purchased an expensive drink for Paul and yet eluded any and all personal questions seemed satisfied with his statement, even though it answered nothing at all.

“Here let me get your next round,” Paul stood slowly, trying to reach his back pocket.

“Nonsense, I’ll take care of it. Of you sir, I’d only ask that you enjoy the city while you’re here.” The man smiled out of one side of his mouth, and waved, indicating it was time for Paul to go.

Paul who was satisfied in drink and his new found knowledge obliged the stranger. “Well, thanks…juth thanks.” Clumsily, Paul shook the man’s chubby hand.

The stranger succinctly pulled it away, letting Paul head for the door. A brief sheet of light entered the bar as Paul left, with the click of the door it faded.

“Nick, what the hell was that?” Dolores mused. “Was that bullshit or what?”

“I watched a documentary on butterflies this morning. Thought I’d share.” The fat man in the rumpled suit seemed pleased with himself.

“And the monarch complex?” the bartender asked.

“I may have embellished that a bit. But he seemed to enjoy it nonetheless.”

“Why go to all that trouble- not to mention expense? The guy was clearly an asshole- I saw the way he looked at me when he walked in. Just because I wasn’t a five three, blonde with tits bigger than my brain he didn’t even wanna look at me.”

“Ahh Dolores but therein lies the rub. That guy made such little effort to hide his disdain for you, for I, that he might have well berated us aloud to our faces.” The chubby man leaned towards the bartender as if he was passing along some grand secret. “But yet he never knew you or I were repulsed by him, albeit in a different way. I wanted to deal with him just as little as he wanted to deal with me. Plus our man Paul left here a bit happier than when he arrived, having been spared the fact that we may have hated his guts. I ask you; isn’t that is worth the price of a bit of inane conversation and a glorious drink? So that everybody may win.”