"Ian, if that's you, you're not being nice trying to scare me like this! Ian?" I shouted, panicking more now.
The snapping and whipping branches seemed to be happening closer and closer. I listened, and then I started to run. I was closer at this point to the end of the woods and the beginning of the field where the campers were located. The branch of a bush caught onto my dress skirt, but I didn't stop, and the force of my lunging forward ripped my skirt, the branch just grazing my thigh enough to make it bum. I screamed and ran harder, bursting out of the woods and into the field. I didn't stop. I kept running until I reached Flora's camper. I hurried up the stairs and then knocked on the door.
I waited but heard nothing so I knocked again, this time harder and longer. Again. I heard nothing. Very disappointed, I turned and looked back at the woods. What would I do? I was afraid to go back.
I started down the stairs slowly and stood there, panting and thinking. My thigh still burned. The thorn of that bush did more damage than I had thought. When I lifted the skirt to look. I saw the scratch, deeper in the center, with blood streaking down my leg. It felt like someone had run a lit match across my skin. The pain brought tears to my eyes.
r /> "What happened to you?" I heard, and looked up quickly to see Flora coming around the rear of the camper. She was carrying one of those little plastic bags and had a living butterfly in it. I knew it was living because it was trying desperately to get free.
"I got caught on a bush," I said. "Is Ian here?"
"Ian? No. Why, did he say he was coming back?" she asked. I shook my head "I thought he might be here."
"Well, maybe he'll come later. Come on inside and I'll get something to clean your scratch and a bandage for it."
She walked past me and up the stairs. The door was unlocked. She opened it and looked at me. "Are you coming or not?" she asked.
I looked back at the woods. Where was Ian? Why hadn't he answered me? Was he watching from the woods? Should I scream for him?
"I haven't got all day to wait," she said.
I started up the stairs and she went inside, leaving the door open for me.
"Where's your mother and your father and Addison?'" I asked after I entered and closed the door.
"They went to the arts and crafts fair. It's the same thing every year with the same people and the same stuff to look at. Boring,'" she sang, and went to the bathroom.
I looked around. The kitchen was still a mess and in fact, their breakfast dishes were yet on the little kitchen table. There were empty or partially empty soda cans on the living 'room table, along with some paper plates with potato chips and what looked like ketchup.
When she came out of the bathroom. Flora saw me looking at it all. "My brother never cleans up after himself. I was supposed to clean up the kitchen, but what's the rush, right?" she asked, and sat on the small sofa. "They'll be gone all day. I have plenty of time. Come here and we'll clean off the scratch with this antiseptic.'" She held up a bottle and a cotton ball.
I went over and sat beside her. She lifted my skirt and looked at the scratch.
"This is why I don't wear skirts when I go into the woods," she said. She was wearing another pair of well-worn jeans that looked stretched out in the waist and rear, the same thick faded blue sweatshirt, and a Phillies baseball cap.
I looked down at the plastic bag and the weakening butterfly contained within it. She started to clean my scratch with the antiseptic. It burned and I jumped.
"Easy. It won't hurt for long," she said. "This bandage isn't going to be big enough. We'll need to put some gauze on it and some bandage tape." She rose and returned to the bathroom.
I looked at my scratch. The bleeding had stopped. I looked again at the butterfly. It had stopped struggling. I touched the bag to see if it had died and it started flapping its wings again.
"Don't mess with that," Flora said. "It's a perfect hoary elfin."
"It's not dead."
"Of course not. If it was dead, it wouldn't be in this good a condition. It'll die andI'll have it pressed perfectly,"
"That's mean," I said.
"It's going to die soon anyway. Don't be a wuss."
"What's a wuss?"
"A sissy, weakling."
She started to fix the bandage so it would cover the entire scratch. "Lift your leg a little," she said, and ran the adhesive around my thigh, pushing up my skirt more to do so. She smiled at me. "Did you think about the things I was saying last night?" she asked.
I didn't know what to say. I just nodded.