Cocoon

* Queuing the Eurythmics’ “Regrets” as I type *

I’ve got a delicate mind / I’ve got a dangerous nature / As my fist collides / With your furniture

As I may have mentioned before, I do not regret many things in my life. Mostly thanks to my dad, who spent far too much of his life dwelling on his regrets.

I was reminded tonight, though, of one of my life’s regrets:

Back when I was a kid, the part of my parents’ house that is now the still-unfinished family room was a covered patio. A cement slab, basically, with a waffled plastic roof over it that magnified (amplified?) the sound of the rain. We parked our bikes on the patio, which also had room for a green picnic table.

One day, I sat at the picnic table and noticed a fluorescent-green oval-shaped plastic-looking thingie. I had no idea what it was, but it seemed to be attached to the table, somehow. I reached into my pocket and pulled out a miniature pocketknife keychain — nothing that would actually cut anything: It was only about an inch-and-a-half long and made of dull metal. (I think Grandma Evelyn gave it to me, and God knows she would have never given me an actual weapon!) I poked the knife into the newfound object, and something sort of oozed out of it. I wiped off the knife and put it away, stared at the object for a few seconds and then lost interest in it and left on my bicycle.

That evening, when I returned, my mom was waiting for me by the picnic table.

“Diana! What did you do to this?” she asked, pointing at the object.

“I cut it with my pocketknife,” I told her with a “So, what?” shrug. “I don’t even know what it is.”

“I’m very upset with you,” she said. “This is a cocoon. It would have eventually turned into a butterfly. Now it never will.”

She picked up the cocoon and carried it inside.

From that moment on, I have always regretted cutting into that cocoon ... like words you wish you had not uttered the second they leave your lips, or other stupid, silly deeds you did that caused nothing but pain to everyone involved.

One of my fellow Apples posted some pictures tonight that reminded me of my cocoon. In a good way — a sort of healing way, actually.

Thanks, Jeanne.

: )