It was their ritual. Every time they settled in a new place, Clara, her younger sister, and her parents would take a long walk to ‘get their bearings,’ as her father said. Clara had come to question the point of such an exercise. They more than likely would be here for only a year. If even. That’s the way it always was. In her ten years on the planet, Clara had never witnessed a full cycle of seasons in one place; had had no opportunity to welcome the return of the perennials that had bloomed the summer before in the yard or to watch for the birds that had migrated the previous autumn. Yet, here they were getting their bearings. Again. Even so, Clara loved this part of the move. It was safe to say it was her favorite – though she was normally not wont to choose favorites. Doing so often resulted in heartbreak.

The ritual was familiar. And being in the company of familiarity was a rarity for Clara. It made sense that the word ‘family’ came from ‘familiar’. Or was it the other way around? Whatever the case, in those first hours that they walked each new neighborhood they would fleetingly call home, she’d willfully ignored how some of the plants appeared to be from another planet; how the people spoke in a way that sounded strangely off to her ear; how the other children observed her as though she were some odd specimen to be viewed under glass. Noticing all of that would come later. And with it would come the prickly insecurity that increasingly populated every corner of her life. But when holding her father’s hand and laughing with her mother and sister during the ritual, the rest of the world fell away. 

This time as they wandered the long road leading into town though, something felt different. Clara glanced upon three grackles and a cardinal perched on a fence near a feeder. The sun was bright and it drew out a shocking iridescent blue on the grackles’ otherwise ink-black heads. The cardinal, by contrast, glowed red even in the shade. (Such a show off.) The recognition of the birds surprised her. In fact, it was the first time that none of the flora and fauna seemed alien. This was in startling contrast to when they’d moved to southern Florida when she was six or to Alaska when she was eight. These locales were particularly jarring. While she hoped to never again set foot in ‘God’s waiting room’ (as her father loved to call it), she’d adored Alaska. Particularly the First Nations people she’d come to know and even call friends. She loved the way they were of the land, the way they knew they belonged to something and to one another. Having no steady home and only a very tiny tribe to call her own, she envied them this. Approaching the end of their year there, Clara had begged her father to stay.

“Pleeeeeeease, dad? Can we please stay? I finally have friends and I love it here.”

“Ah, my Clara,” her father had laughed and patted her on the head. “Who’d have guessed I’d have a homebody for a daughter.”

She wasn’t sure what her father had meant by that. What was a homebody? “Well, can I stay at least? And you and mom and Remy can go to Tennessee? Maybe send for me later?”

“You know we can’t do that,” he smiled and leaned down. “Look, I understand it can be hard moving around. But you have to trust me. It will make you a more well-rounded person.” 

But Clara didn’t want to be round. Nor did she wish to relocate to Tennessee. Alas, the choice was not hers. On her last day in Alaska, she cried. Her best friend Tonngaviak (“Tonnie”) and every member of her family gave her a hug. Tonnie told Clara that when she felt alone, all she needed to do was to look up at the sky and she’d always be right there. Given that her name translated to butterfly, Clara at least half-believed her.

Walking through their new neighborhood in Kalamazoo, Michigan, Alaska now felt so very far away. But she also realized for the first time that they were only a few hours from where they’d lived in Northeastern Ohio just three years before. Ah, she thought. No wonder. This would account for her familiarity with the birds and many of the plants, trees, and flowers. Bucking her usual convention, she decided to also listen to the voices of the native Kalamazooians (or whatever they called themselves) to determine if she could parse out any unusual drawl. There was none. While this should have brought relief, it instead caused Clara to worry that she’d retained a Tennessee drawl from the previous year. That would be more than enough to secure her candidacy for ‘most bullied’ in school – a role she’d inadvertently won a few times and had no intention of revisiting. Thus, reverting to her usual ‘ritual’ behavior, she kept her head down to avoid eye contact with potential kids they may encounter. She resolved right then and there to eliminate any hint of that drawl before she started school the following week. 

Ech. The thought of another new school made her stomach flip. While her perky and ebullient little sister took each move in stride, Clara was starting to understand that her wiring was different. Faulty, most likely. How else to explain it? The rest of her family – her minuscule tribe – danced gracefully while she performed a series of stumbling missteps. In frustration, she let go of her father’s hand and lagged back a few feet. The sun continued to blaze and she stopped to shed her jacket and toss it to the ground. Staring up at the sky, she longed to have Tonnie come up from behind her and give her a hug. But that wasn’t going to happen. And looking up at the sky, she was betrayed. She felt no connection with Tonnie. Instead, she felt sad and alone. She wanted to go home, but didn’t know where that was.

“Come on, Clara,” her mother called to her from ahead in a sweet and reassuring voice.  “We’ve still got a ways to go.”

“Of course we do,” Clara whispered to herself and shook her head, discouraged. “I’m coming,” she responded with a world-weary sigh, scooping up her jacket and moving forward. The noticed the leaves of a giant oak and a smaller red maple flutter as she passed. Behind her she heard the battle cry of a blue jay and the raspy caw of a crow. What she didn’t see flitting along behind her, however, was a majestic Green Marble butterfly – an insect native only to Siberia… and Alaska.