Hattie and Whisper
by Cara Dancer
Trying to conceal the bright orange spots that dotted my dark body, I nestled deep into the vivid green, heart-shaped leaves I called home. Slow moving and leaf bound, I longed for the moment when I could be free of my family. They spent their days eating pipevine leaves, talking about eating them, then crunching and munching and eating some more. Pipevines, that’s all their tiny brains were wired for. I wanted more.
One evening a mysterious sound drifted through the garden, unlike the threat of bird calls or the rapid beat of wasp wings. It was mellow and soothing with the scent of jasmine carried on an ocean breeze. Every night, I waited—listening, hoping to hear that tender melody again.
My family didn’t understand. Anything that didn’t involve eating pipevines was un-caterpillary, a waste of time. Their bit of encouragement was to stop listening, stop dreaming, and start eating.
This morning, something scary and spectacular happened. I had seen the giant before. It often arrived with the morning sun, moving quietly through the garden, fussing over every flower. I decided to name it Whisper.
My short legs were great for crawling, not great for standing like Whisper. My body was long spikey. I wanted to be tall and slender like the giant. Grasping the pipevine trellis to hoist myself upright, I teetered back and forth, swaying wildly until I tumbled to the ground. “Ouch!” There really is safety in numbers, all sixteen of them.
Whisper must have seen my nosedive. As I scooted up the pipevine, the giant approached, now nose to caterpillar. Although Whisper often talked at me, nothing made sense. Today was different. Among the giant’s mumblings I heard a sound I understood—just one word. “Cello.”
Stunned, I realized that I could repeat it. That one sound, one word opened a magical connection between our worlds, between caterpillar and giant. I looked into Whisper’s dark eyes and shouted in my best caterpillar voice, “Cello!”
Whisper stumbled backward over pipevines, trampling bee balms and milkweeds. She quickly stood up, stared at me for several seconds, then ran from the garden.
“Oh, no. What have I done?” I pleaded for her to come back.“Stop, please!” My tears quickly evaporated in the warmth of the summer sun. Confused and hungry, I tried to understand what happened. A nibble of pipevine satisfied the ache in my belly, but not the pain in my head and heart. What was this cello? Why did Whisper run?
Wishing desperately for answers, I decided to rest to clear my thoughts. As I curled up in the leafy shadows, my antennae twitched. These short appendages alerted me to changes in the air, whether an approaching storm or winged danger. It was neither wind nor wasp. It was the haunting melody. It was back.
Wide awake, I crawled to the edge of my leafy home. I wanted to find the source of this enchanting sound as it wafted through the pipevines. To my surprise, Whisper sat in front of the garden trellis. Her eyes, level with mine.
Staring at me, Whisper stroked a wand back and forth across an oddly shaped box. Here was the source of that magical sound. Whisper smiled and murmured one word, “Cello.”
Mesmerized by the music, I couldn’t move. Finally, a gush of words spewed from my mouth. “I named you Whisper. You can call me Hattie. I love the sound of this cello. Can we be friends?”
The giant smiled and nodded. “I like the name, Whisper. And yes, I’d like to be your friend.”
Every day Whisper ran to the garden to chat with me. Our morning conversations were brief. A quick, “Hello, dear friend,” then Whisper would hurry off to prepare for school. Our evenings together were more pleasant. After her meal and homework, Whisper came to the garden where she extended her hand. When I crawled aboard, she said my orange spines tickled her palm. She often giggled and called me her little porcupine.
It was my favorite place, stretched out atop Whisper’s shoulder. I listened as she completed her homework or practiced music lessons. We were an unlikely duo, sharing a bond inspired by the love of music—a bond that blossomed into a friendship filled with language and laughter.
Tonight, instead of curling up on Whisper’s shoulder, I clutched her hair like a rope, climbing from her shoulder to the top of her head. Perched there, I felt my body was changing. Risking a scold from Whisper, I yelled, “I’m hungry. Do you have any pipevine stew or juicy green salad?”
Whisper put down her math book. “Hattie, pipevines are good for caterpillars but not for people. Hang on to my hair and we’ll check the pantry. Maybe we have something tasty you could eat.”
Whisper’s mama was busy dancing around the house with her new vacuum cleaner. She didn’t seem to notice us poking through the pantry shelves. My sixteen legs marched in place as I anxiously waited for Whisper to complete her search. She shuffled through cans of veggies, bags of fruit, and packages of pasta before grabbing a box of cookies.
Whisper lifted a chunk of chocolate chip cookie to her head. “Taste this.”
One bite was enough for me to know I wanted more. “Wow, these are yummy.” I clamored from head to shoulder, leaving dandruff-like crumbs in Whisper’s hair. I continued from shoulder to arm before crawling deep into the open cookie box.
Just then, Whisper’s mama yelled “Get out of the pantry. You’ve had your dinner.”
Wham! Hattie cringed as the pantry door slammed shut. Mama continued to yell at Whisper. “It’s past your bedtime. Wash you face, brush your teeth, brush your hair, put on your jammies, and kiss your daddy goodnight.”
As I listened to Mama’s instructions, I imagined her finger pointing toward Whisper’s bedroom. A “But Mama” cry from Whisper was quickly followed by “No buts, young lady,” from Mama. Whisper huffed before I heard her footsteps running from the kitchen.
Hmmm, what to do? I’m trapped in the pantry surrounded by chocolate chip cookies and my friend will be gone until morning. What to do? I sighed. Afterall, I am a caterpillar. I had to do what caterpillars did—eat.
Exhausted from all the munching and crunching, I curled up next to a bag of lemons. After hours of tossing and turning, a scream jolted me awake. It was Whisper’s mother. “Eek! There’s a big, fat caterpillar in our pantry.”
Mama clenched the pantry door and yelled for her daughter. “Get in here now and take this prickly pickle of a bug back to the garden. When Whisper arrived, still in her pajamas, she ducked under Mama’s outstretched arm. I didn’t have a chance to yell surprise before Whisper grabbed me and ran to the garden.
“Oh, Hattie, I’m so sorry you were stuck in the pantry all night.”
“That’s all right, Whisper. I ate a lot of cookies.”
Whisper dropped me off on the trellis, said goodbye, then left to get ready for school. Alone again, I noticed my body had grown, longer and wider. I overdid delicious. What if those cookies affect my transformation to a butterfly? What if my adult body is shaped like a cookie? What if my wings have chocolate chip spots instead of yellow ones? Worried about my future, I looked for a cozy place to hang out and think.
Whisper’s family had just returned from a week-long vacation. As soon as daddy unlocked the car doors, Whisper ran to greet her caterpillar friend. But Hattie was not daydreaming on the pipevine trellis. After inspecting every leaf, Whisper began again. Glassy-eyed, she hoped her friend was playing a game of hide-and-seek. After an hour of searching, Whisper panicked. “Hattie, I give up. Where are you? Please answer!”
Leaves rustled in the late-day breeze. No longer holding back tears, she hurried through the garden. “Oh no, oh no.” What if she was eaten by a bird or stung by a wasp?
Exhausted from the search, Whisper ran into the house. When she told Mama that Hattie was missing, Mama tried to calm Whisper, “Maybe her family took a vacation too. It’s time to get ready for bed. Hattie will probably be waiting for you tomorrow.”
That didn’t help. As she pulled her favorite green blanket under her chin. Closing her eyes, she pleaded for Hattie’s return. “Please, please, please be safe, little friend.” With that, she fell asleep.
Tap, tap, tap. Tap, tap, tap.
What? What was that sound? Was it a dream? Whisper rubbed her eyes.
Tap, tap, tap.
She checked the window—maybe hail from a midnight storm? No, the window was dry. She turned from the window. In the glow of her nightlight, she spied a tiny figure on her desk.. Cautiously, Whisper slipped out of bed. She thought it looked like a hummingbird.”
Tip-toeing closer, Whisper realized it wasn’t a bird. “Am I dreaming? Are you a fairy?”
The tiny creature nodded. “My name is Dancer. Do you like my sparkly shoes? I just got them from the fairy cobbler. Dancing is part of my job. I do it to get attention. Listen.”
Sleepy and confused, Whisper watched as the fairy danced on her desktop.
Tap, tap, tap. Tap, tap, tap. “Aren’t they great? They have such a snappy sound.”
Still sleepy, Whisper tried to be polite. “Your shoes are very nice. but why you are here? Why are you dancing on my desk?”
“Easy. I am here to give you a message from your caterpillar friend. While you were away, her body needed to change. She couldn’t wait for you; her little body couldn’t wait for you. Before caterpillars become butterflies, they must rest. They do this in a snug little hideaway called a chrysalis. Hattie asked me to tell you goodbye.”
Tears filled Whisper’s eyes. Sobbing, she asked, “Will I ever see my friend, again?”
Dancer didn’t answer. She sat quietly staring at her shoes. At last, “Hattie asked me the same question as she tucked herself into her chrysalis. Her body had a lot of work to do as it converted from a long crawly thing into a delicate flying thing.”
Dancer explained that the bond between caterpillar and girl was unknown to fairies. They couldn’t guess if Hattie would remember Whisper when she emerged as a butterfly. “Hattie may be lost to you forever. Or one day you might spy her flitting from flower to flower, enjoying the sweet springtime blossoms. Yes, it’s sad to be forgotten, just remember that during your special time together, your differences didn’t matter. You loved her like a sister, and she loved you like a caterpillar.”
Whisper woke to a room filled with sunshine. She threw off the bedcovers and declared, “I have a plan.” Quickly dressing, she called for her father. “Daddy, I need your help to build an airplane.”
In a dark corner of the garden under a half-eaten milkweed leaf, I stirred to free myself from my snug cocoon. Shaking off the dampness of my newborn wings, I eased my way into the sunlight. I was born to fly. I wanted to travel, but first things first, I needed to eat.
After draining the nectar from a nearby honeysuckle blossom, I was ready to fly, to soar as high as my wings could carry me, riding on the glorious ocean breeze. No bags to pack, no family to kiss goodbye. I tested my flight readiness with a few lifts and landings. Yep, good to go.
The higher I rose, the more breathtaking the view. I relished my airborne freedom as I darted from flower to flower, sampling their luscious flavors. Exhausted from this first outing, I settled onto a familiar vine. Its musty taste stirred memories of my life as a caterpillar. Nothing made sense: strange sounds, unusual places, enormous dark eyes.
A short rest didn’t clear the puzzling images nor did it relieve my hunger. I spotted the purple blossoms of a bee balm plant. Settling on its colorful petals, I sipped the flower’s sweetness. As I enjoyed this morning treat, my antennae twitched, not in a good way. Something wasn’t right, but what?
I tucked my wings into the shadows of the bee balm. Motionless, I struggled to identify the sound. Like the approach of a thunderstorm, leaves swirled, flowers flew. I was thrown from my hiding place, landing upside-down on a nearby pipevine. Frightened but curious, I righted myself. Quietly stealing from leaf to leaf, I spied a huge contraption rolling through the garden.
Thud! The pipevine shuddered as the wooden heap crashed into the garden trellis.
Startled, I watched as a vaguely familiar giant emerged. It moved back and forth through the garden, its eyes scanning every flower. I gasped when the giant bent toward my hiding place.
In a soft voice, it spoke. “Cello, my sweet friend.”
My heart raced, my memory stirred as the giant continued, “I am Whisper.”
In that instant, I recognized my friend—the dark eyes, the music and laughter of my dreams. With one huge butterfly leap I landed on Whisper’s nose. Best friends together again. I bounced up and down with excitement, “Cello, Whisper, cello.”