Marshall Ramsey

The caterpillar sat on twig looking down at the ground. He was afraid of heights.  Just plain terrified of them.  No, he wasn’t terrified of heights. He was terrified of falling from heights.  He gripped the stick as tightly has a caterpillar with no arms and legs could.

But there was one thing he feared more than heights — and that was change.  He hung on to his old existence even tighter than he did to his twig.  There was no good in change as far as he was concerned.  None. Nada. He loved his life just as it was.  The caterpillar was committed to staying in his comfort zone. His silo. And to continue to live his happy life.  He would never take a leap both literally or figuratively.

The caterpillar fought change with all his might, but he soon found out that it was as fruitless as fighting the tide.  Other caterpillars soon began to disappear; his anxiety levels shot to the top of the tree. The caterpillar doctor prescribed caterpillar medicine for him. He was terrified.

But no matter how hard he fought it, change did come. The caterpillar tried to run — but caterpillars can’t run. Change caught and overwhelmed him.  He was trapped in some kind of cocoon.  His former life that he had loved so dearly ended abruptly. Day after day he was suspended in darkness.  A month passed but it felt like a year.  He screamed in the silence. He was even more terrified

One day, he opened his eye and noticed a crack in the darkness. A single beam of light lit and warmed his face.  The catapiller pushed at the crack with his nose.  The cocoon broke open a little more.  He kept pushing until he could stick his head out. The bright sunshine blinded him to the change that surrounded him.  He emerged and fell out onto the branch.

Everyone on the branch stared at him. He looked at them and said, “What?!?” Then he felt them.  His wings.  He instinctively stretched them.  And his legs. He stretched them.  He looked down from the branch. He was no longer afraid of heights. He began to move his wings. Slowly at first. And then faster.  Suddenly, the caterpillar lifted off the branch and flew high into the sky.

He circled around the tree and then looked back at his old cocoon.  He laughed.  The very change that he had fought and feared had now allowed him to soar to greater heights.  The former caterpillar (now Monarch Butterfly) flew away from his old life into a new, amazing world. He found the good in change after all.

The old dog lay on the couch, with his head on the young boy’s lap. Every dog needed a boy.

The old dog dreamed of the day when he could see clearly. When he could run without wheezing. He dreamed of when his legs had no pain. He dreamed of a land full of slow, easily caught squirrels. And he dreamed of a time when diabetes didn’t slow him down.  The old dog dreamed pleasant dreams. Dreams that every dog deserves to dream.

He had had three owners.  But God smiled on good dogs: He had finally found his boy.  And the boy had finally found his dog. The young boy loved the old dog.  The old dog loved the young boy.

The old dog sighed.  His life was nearing an end. But he couldn’t imagine dog heaven being any more beautiful.

The old dog looked at his boy. His dreams had come true.

Meridian to Jackson takes a little over an hour and fifteen minutes by car. It’s a long journey by interstate with plenty of trucks, trees and and an occasional deer.  On a jet, it only takes about fifteen minutes.  The flight attendant was walking through the cabin, picking up the last of the plastic cups and napkins.  He looked up at her and smiled. It has been a long trip for both of them. She would travel back to Atlanta that night. He was coming home.

The pilot banked the plane and headed over the Ross Barnett Reservoir.  Sunlight sparkled like diamonds on its vast surface. The weary traveler pressed his nose to the window. He never got tired of this approach.  The water. The trees. The beauty of his hometown. The flaps on the wings groaned as they lowered into place.  And then the floor rumbled as the wheels went down and locked.  “Good,” he thought.  “At least we won’t have to use the emergency chutes.”

Speed in an airplane is hard to judge until you get close to the ground. The plane fought gravity for a few more minutes as they sped over a wicked looking traffic jam on Lakeland Drive.  “Glad I’m not down there, he thought.” He saw grass and then the end of the runway.  THUMP. THUMP.  Gravity took over as the pilot pressed firmly on the brakes.  His head and body pressed forward. He could hear the overhead luggage shift.  Thump. The engine roared and then the plane turned right toward the terminal.

There is an unwritten law in flying. The faster you stand up after a flight, the longer it takes for them to open the door so you can get off. He sat in his seat patiently, pondering what he’d find when he got off the plane.  Would she be there? Would the kids be there with her? He fumbled with his cell phone. He didn’t have the courage to turn it on and call. He closed his eyes and took three deep breaths. He was home. But would he still have a home to go to?

The passengers in the front of the plane started shuffling forward.  He could see the captain (was he 18?) greeting everyone as they headed out into the warm, humid Mississippi summer evening.

“Buh bye!”

“Buh bye!”

“Buh bye!”

“Buh bye!”

He knew the flight crew must say that in their sleep.  He grabbed his bag and headed toward the door.  The flight attendant locked eyes with him and he smiled slightly.  Another time and another place he would have flirted with her. But he didn’t have the heart for it. Someone else already had it.

He walked out onto the tarmac and then up the stairs into the terminal.  One of the things he hated about after 9/11 was that non-flyers could not get past security. No ticket, no access to the gates. So happy homecoming greetings at the gate were things of the past.  He walked into the terminal area and was gripped by a feeling of dread and fear. And in a sea of people, he was engulfed with loneliness.

She had left while he was gone. She said she just couldn’t take it and that she needed time to think.  Think?  Who had time to think? The economy had required him to work two jobs and required him to travel. The kids needed him more now that ever, but he couldn’t be two places at once.  And his wife was having to take up the slack and the pressure was killing her.  She was like a pine tree during the ice storm. After a slow build up, she finally snapped.  He walked slowly toward security.  One more turn to make and he’d know.

He stopped and closed his eyes. He prayed for things to get better.  For her to be there. For him to be able to see his boys eyes again. Dear God…. he turned the corner.

Nothing.

His heart sank.  Tears flooded his eyes.  Acid churned in his stomach. It really was over.  After 20 years, it was over. His knees buckled.

He slowly headed down to the baggage area.  “What baggage area will the bags be coming to?” he quietly asked the airport worker. The worker laughed, “You’re the only flight. Your luggage won’t be hard to find.”  He went and waited for his bag. It, of course, was the last bag off the plane.

He grabbed his stuff and headed toward the exit. Where would he go? His house? A hotel?  Since he didn’t have a car there, he’d have to get a taxi. The door slid open and the warm air smothered him like a wet blanket. He was a defeated man.

Then he saw them.

His wife was standing there holding flowers. The boys were holding signs that said “We need you daddy.” She looked at him and said, “I need you, too.  I’m sorry we’re late. We got caught in traffic on Lakeland Drive.”

Answers to prayers are like airplanes: Sometimes they are delayed.  After a long journey, both he and his wife left the airport. The travelers were finally home.

Out of the darkest moments come the brightest ideas.