I had a plan formed in my head.
I was going to tell Elliott I didn’t like being called ‘Queenie.’ But my plan concaved in on itself when Elliott took the seat beside me and shoved something in my hands.

     He had passed me a mounted butterfly; a butterfly with sunrise-colored wings stuck between two thin plastic frames. It had taken me by surprise and that ‘perfect plan,’ of mine slipped from my head. All I could think about at the time was how beautiful and soft the butterfly’s wings looked.

    “It’s a Queen.” I couldn’t take my eyes off the mounted butterfly as he spoke. “I found it yesterday while I was walking home, and my momma put it in the frame for me.” He had brushed his fingers against to plastic before he glanced up at me. “It reminded me of you, Queenie. You can keep it if you like it.”

    I did like it and I did keep it. I gingerly placed the butterfly in my backpack and after that, I didn’t talk to him about the nickname. He kept calling me Queenie and even after all these years I still have that butterfly.

If you were to ask me, I probably would have said that it was in that moment was when we first became friends, but he didn’t see it that way. If you were to ask him, he would have said we didn’t become friends until weeks later.

   It had been raining all morning, fat rain clouds hung in the sky, threatening to rain again. Around lunch time, we had been released to play on the black top. My friends and I were playing in the giant puddles that littered the playground when I noticed the familiar orange, black, and white patch-work butterfly jacket being thrown between two fourth graders. I remember Elliott being so short compared to the two other boys.

   They were tossing the jacket between the two of them, chanting, “Elliott the Idiot!’ I remember the tears on Elliott’s face as he tried to get his jacket back.

I’m not sure what had come over me at that moment, I was not – am not – a confrontational person, but I knew I couldn’t stand seeing him cry.

    “Leave him alone!” I shoved the boy who had Elliott’s jacket to the ground. His ruddy face had been red with embarrassment. “Give him his jacket back Ronnie!” Ronnie had clambered back to his feet, his pudgy face twisted in anger, tears glittered in his eyes. Ronnie threw the jacket in a mud puddle before he and his friend ran off to get the teacher. I had stomped my way through the puddle and grabbed the now dirty and sopping jacket.

    Elliott beamed at me as he took his jacket back, his tears all dried up. “Thanks Queenie!” and before I knew it, he pulled me into a tight hug.

Ever since that day we were inseparable.