fritos
When I was seven (or eight) I had a pet caterpillar named Fritos. Looked nothing like his namesake. This chunky guy was black, orange, and fuzzy! I loved him and cute little face! I saw him on a leaf one day and was smitten as a kitten with my new friend. He was not my hostage, okay! He lived outside and could have crawled away, but every morning there he’d be on that leaf. I assumed waiting for me [or just trying to eat]. I’m sure my mother was not fond of Fritos eating her plants, but dealt with it because I named the damn caterpillar! Once you give it a name, shit gets real. I would sit outside and read to him. Let him crawl on my hand and talk to him. He was an incredible listener. I like to think he enjoyed our time together. As you can guess, our friendship was short and sweet. He eventually disappeared, and a cocoon appeared on the hose spout. I never did see him emerge as a butterfly, much to my disappointment.
I’d think about Fritos often. Sad I never got to say goodbye. I still wonder if he even remembered me, once he became a butterfly. I like to think he flew off and found a beautiful home among the other butterflies and got so busy with his adventures he didn’t have a chance to visit or he got hit by a car…
Not going to lie I feel a bit like Fritos, especially lately, my days are identical. Getting chubbier. No real desire to do anything. Happy but discontent in the humdrum of daily life. Does this mean I’m going to enter a chrysalis soon (how would that work)? And emerge as a butterfly!! I’m projecting here, Fritos may have thought he was my hostage, and once he became a butterfly he escaped yelling “bye Felicia” as he flew away to freedom. One will never know…
