Rhapsody: Butterfly in A Box (Volume One) Chapter 2/15 By Tara Nicole Miller Copyright © 2025 Tara Nicole Miller All Rights Reserved. Word Count 5,000

Next thing I knew, I could smell coffee and that means it’s morning. Mom was bustling around and dad was on his phone as usual, probably looking at sports things. Well, he does own a rather large construction company, so I guess it could be business. Whatever, he always seemed to be looking at his phone. “C’mon sweetie, up and at ‘em!” Mom enthused. “We’re going to Sedona today!”

“What’s Sedona?” I asked, as you do when you are six.

Mom sat next to me on the bed and grabbed my hand. Her voice was soothing and soft and trance-like. “Well, honey, Sedona is… it’s more than just a place, really, it's a feeling—a vibrant, pulsating energy that thrums beneath your feet. There are ancient red rocks, carved by time and whispers of the wind, and they’re believed to be home to powerful vortexes, swirling centers of spiritual energy that amplify healing, meditation, and self-discovery. This is why artists and healers, seekers and mystics, are drawn there from all over the world. They come to connect with the land, to feel the sacred power of the canyons, and to tap into the very essence of the earth itself, a place where the veil between worlds feels thin and the spirit can truly soar.”

“Oh, snap!” Was all I could say.

Dad said more, however. “Holy hell, where did that come from? You sound like a… Like a…”
“Like what, Michael?”

“I don’t know. What’s the term for ‘woo-woo?’” He tried and wiggled his fingers and I giggled, making like a train whistle (whoo-whoo!).

“Michael, you knew I was a New Ager when you married me. You act surprised. Are you going conservative on me? Because, if you are…”

“No, no! Certainly not! I just never heard you speak about it so… eloquently or passionately before. I was just taken aback. No. Carry on.” Dad sputtered, still looking mystified.

Mom looked at me. “So, anyway, that’s where we’re going. Maybe we’ll even get Mr. ‘Scientific Materialism’ in to see a psychic.”

“Fat chance!” Dad yelled from the bathroom.

Three hours later we were sitting down in front of a woman named Brooke, who is apparently a psychic soul guide and shamanic healer, whatever that is. Turns out mom had booked her months ago as she is in great demand.

Dad was in rare form. The first thing he says is, “The sign says she does virtual sessions. We didn’t even have to leave our house for god’s sake. Look at this place. It looks like the entire Left Bank and half of Bohemia blew in here!”

“You loved the Left Bank, don’t deny it.” Mom says.

“God, you were so romantic when we went to Paris. What’s happened to you? Anyway, the reason we’re here is simple. I knew we we coming here, I knew about Brooke, and I know the energy here amplifies abilities and effects, so hush!”

Dad’s countenance fell. “I guess life has been getting in the way and I’ve been letting the business get to me.”

Mom perked up. “Brooke can help with that, I’m sure of it. It also wouldn’t hurt for you to delegate more of the responsibilities at work.”

“Come to work for me.” Dad said and mom gave him a look. “I mean with; with me!” He corrected.

She laughed. “No frickin’ way bucko! The business world and I do not vibe well.”

“Vibe?” Dad smirked.

“Oh shut up!” Mom slapped dad on the arm.
Just then, a raven-haired beauty walked, no, glided, into the room. She was old person pretty, way older than mom, with wrinkles and stuff. “Hi, Steph! Welcome to Desert Star Center for Spiritual Growth. Nice to finally meet you in person.”
Mom turned to dad. “We face-timed a few months ago.” Dad nodded and said ah!

“Hi Brooke!” Mom gave her a hug. “So nice to meet you too. I’ve done all your online courses. They were really great. I couldn’t get Michael to do them, but maybe you could help with that, too.” Mom winked and Brooke smiled.

“I’ll do my best,” She promised with an enigmatic smile.

“Daddy is Mr. ‘Scientific Materialist!’” I parroted what I’d heard that morning, not even knowing what it meant, really.

“Is he now?” Brooke grinned, looking at me. She then squatted and grabbed my hand. “You’re Sage.” She stated emphatically and I nodded. “You are a very pretty girl. I bet all the boys are after you!”

“Nooo!” I squealed, turning red and looking up at daddy, who was also turning red.

“Sage is a boy! Some psychic you are!” He blurted.
“Michael! Really!” Mom admonished.

“Well, right off the bat she is fundamentally, objectively wrong, isn’t she?”

Mom looked at Brooke. “Oh, let him have it, sister!” They grinned at each other.

“Come. Sit. Let me explain reality to you.” She led us into a room with subdued lighting and offered us some kind of herbal tea. It was actually really good! Who knew? It tasted pretty, like flowers!

When we were comfy dad smirked. “Okay, oh wise one, explain the universe to me. But use small words so this Neanderthal can understand.”

“Michael! Don’t be such a, such a… man!” Mom seethed.

Dad’s eyes squinched. He shook his head and looked toward Brooke. “Sorry for being such a man, Brooke. Do go on.” He didn’t sound at all like he meant any of it.

“Well, actually, there is something to what Stephanie said. Don’t get angry at what I’m about to say. Just take it in and perhaps think about it later. Okay?” Dad nodded, then mom said she was recording it, so Brooke resumed. “While we are in so-called ‘material’ form - nothing is material, by the way. It’s all Conscious energy. Matter is the name we have given to those vibrations which our very limited human senses can detect. Anyway, while we are in these constrained vibrational patterns known as human beings, both masculine and feminine are necessary for our growth over a vast number of lifetimes. Dark and Light, Yin and Yang, Good and Evil.”

“So, you’re saying men are evil?” Dad practically growled.

“So you are paying attention. No, not necessarily.” She went on to explain about toxic masculinity (including the nefarious effects of testosterone), the statistics on violence, and the soul’s growth and how we are aspects of the one god or goddess seeking experience in order to know itself. To create itself, really, in the process. I didn’t really understand that bit until a few years ago. Thank the goddess mom had recorded the session on her iPhone or all this would have been lost to the mists of time. Well, at least the personal bits, which were yet to come.

Brooke resumed. “So, Michael, I see you are a moderately evolved man with a highly evolved wife, and a supremely evolved child.” Mom and dad looked at me with wide eyes. “She is an ascended master, come back to help the world through this difficult time.”

“She.” Dad muttered, but said nothing else, surprisingly enough.

“Yes, she. She is the most divinely expressed feminine I have ever come across, and I am deeply honored to have her here in front of me.”

Dad mutter-coughed “Bullshit,” under his breath, but we could still hear it. Dad didn’t swear very often, but when he did it was usually for a very good reason. A bad call by a referee, for example.

“So, why was she born in the body of a boy?” It was mom who asked this one. I thought dad would have done that.

“Had she been born in a female body, she would have taken her femininity for granted, perhaps never given it a second thought. As it is, she will cherish it and nurture it, even have fun with it! But, being a transgirl, she will be subject to the ignorance of the less evolved. Her life could be threatened. She will need your guidance and protection.” She looked to dad. “As a man, you will need to obey one of the prime directives of manhood - to protect your women. I also hope you learn to cherish them. You needen’t venerate women, unless you want to of course (she grinned), but treat them with respect. Instead of second class citizens, see them as highly evolved beings. Mind you, many women are no more evolved than men, and some men are evolved beyond women, but these are exceptions to the rule.”
“So, why couldn’t he just be a highly evolved man?” Dad asked.

“So she can experience the worst prejudices of this world. She will be tested. Sorely. She is an empath, an indigo, but there are two paths open to her. She can either be overwhelmed and shrink into the shadows, perhaps even end this life prematurely, though that would be a tragedy and karmically damaging. You must protect her from descending to these possible depths. The other path is to be a warrior. A social justice warrior, a liberator, an enlightener. Just sharing her loving, divine, feminine nature will be a boost to this world. But if she could be guided to use her gifts directly and more broadly for the greater good, she would be fulfilling the purpose of this lifetime.”

Dad interjected. “If he, she, is such an enlightened being, what difference does it make what clothes she wears? Couldn’t she just wear boy clothes? She has a boy’s body after all. Lots of girls wear boy clothes.”
“Let me turn that question around. Why does it matter to you?” Brooke asked.

Dad responded, “Well, that’s just the way society is, at least in this country. We’re not all as evolved as you or Steph or Sage. We need boys to be boys and girls to be girls.”

“That is changing, somewhat. But, yes, it is right that male and female are distinguishable from each other and it is natural that they are so. But, people like Sage, transgender girls I mean, are girls and they will probably want to wear obviously girl clothes, since that is one of the things our culture promotes to enhance gender differences. Right now we are in the midst of a social counter-revolution, a reactionary moment, that is how human history evolves. We will all suffer in the meantime, but will come out the other end at a higher vibration. Martin Luther King spoke truth when he paraphrased Theodore Parker, saying, ‘The arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice.’ What is justice, but Diversity, Equity, Inclusion. Sound familiar? And what bends this arc is love and compassion. The end goal is radical compassion and unconditional love.

It is doubtful that any of us alive now will live to see it expressed throughout society. But we can embrace it and live it to the best of our abilities. You have a unique opportunity. Your daughter will be an exemplar, I have no doubt of that, whichever path she treads. Embrace her, learn from her, and protect her, for pure goodness is still very vulnerable in this world. Remember when Barabas was chosen over Christ? We are not far removed from that, especially today. We are at an inflection point, and you can help determine mankind’s future. Sounds daunting, I know. But it’s really quite simple. Let your daughter be a child and let her express her true nature. Don’t expect her to be a saint. She is in human form, subject to human vibrations. But, nurture love and compassion in yourselves and your relationships. It’s really simple, but can be quite difficult. We have a lot to overcome in our social and personal subconscious constructs and our epigenetic legacies. Just remain aware. Know your purpose and bring your awareness to center when it strays.”

Brooke talked for over two hours and covered a lot of personal stuff as well. I had no clue at the time what she was talking about, but the years have allowed things to crystallize in my mind. But, as it was, I just sat and enjoyed the changing faces of these three people in front of me, and my flowery tea! This was so cool; we’ve entered the wardrobe and met the witch, so, now where’s that wonderful lion? Aslan! Giggle.

Brooke's reading wasn't just about my parents' careers and their love for me. The really personal stuff was a lot like that last puzzle piece you find under the couch that makes everything else suddenly click into place. At the time, I didn’t understand, but Mom and Dad’s faces showed me just how much she had said.

I was only six, so a lot of what Brooke said just sounded like weird words to me. But she wasn't talking about the past. She was talking about me, my future, and my heart. I knew that much.

My mom sent me the recording of the Sedona reading last night. A tiny file on my iPhone, a little piece of history in a world full of big ones. I’m sitting on my four-poster bed now, the one with the fluffy white duvet and a dozen pillows that are mostly for show. It’s your typical sixteen-year-old girl's room, a beautiful, messy collage of posters of my favorite K-pop idols, photos of my friends at the beach, and my first tiny pink ballet shoes I wore for my first recital. The satin winks at me, subtly reminding me of the little girl I’d always been. I still am.

I close my eyes and I can see it. Brooke's face is a map of wrinkles and wisdom. My dad's bewildered expression, like someone just told him the sky wasn't blue. My mom's face, a portrait of awe.

And then, Brooke’s voice cuts through the static.

"Your greatest masterpiece won't be a building, but a life." I open my eyes and look at the posters on my wall. My idols, with their perfectly coiffed hair and their flawless dance moves. They have a kind of mastery, a kind of art. But my dad's masterpiece... it was me. It was the life he built for me, the one where I could be a girl in a pink ski suit and a princess who wore work gloves.

"The most important book you will ever own won't be on the shelves of your bookstore; it will be the unwritten story of your daughter's life." I look at my desk, at the laptop open to the first page of this memoir. My mom’s story is in every word, in every chapter title, in every sentence that finds a way to make the world a little more beautiful. She gave me the words, the love of stories, and the courage to write my own.

"Your spirit is a butterfly that would one day emerge and fly." I look at the closet door, at the full-length mirror, and I see a girl with a smile on her face. A girl with purple fingernails and a funny, knowing look in her eyes. I don't feel like a boy in a dress anymore. I feel like myself. I am a butterfly. And I have a story to tell.

The recording ends. I lie back on my pillows and look at the ceiling, and for the first time in my life, I don't feel like I'm trying to find a place in the world. I feel like I am the place.

For Dad, the builder, the architect, she said his greatest masterpiece wouldn't be a building, but a life. She told him that his blueprints, the ones he'd been using since he was a boy, were meant for a different kind of house, and that he would have to re-engineer his whole foundation to build the home his spirit was meant to build. She said he would one day be a warrior, but he would have to learn to use a new kind of armor and a new kind of strength, not the kind that was made of steel and grit, but the kind that was made of love and trust.

For Mom, the storyteller, she said the most important book she would ever own wouldn't be on the shelves of her bookstore; it would be the unwritten story of her daughter's life. Brooke told her that she had a spirit as old as the mountains, a spirit that had been waiting for a home just like hers, and that she would be the one to help me find my true name and my true form.
And for me, the little ersatz boy in the armchair, she said that I was a beautiful girl with a warrior's heart and a princess's soul. She said that my body was a kind of a chrysalis, a temporary home, and that my spirit was a butterfly that would one day emerge and fly. She told me that I was a kind of magic, a truth that the world didn't understand yet, but would have to learn. At the time, I just giggled and asked if she had any more of that yummy flowery tea. I didn’t know it then, but she had just given my parents all the words they would ever need to understand me.

I am suddenly back in the car/truck thingy, bouncing back to our hotel in Glendale

The reading was over, but the silence in the car was louder than any of the rock-and-roll we’d been listening to on the way up. The red rocks of Sedona blurred past my window, and I kept my eyes on my parents in the rearview mirror, trying to read their faces like I was reading a book.

Mom looked like she was in a trance. She was pale, and a single tear was making a slow, careful path down her cheek, but her face wasn't sad. It was a face that was seeing something bigger than the two hours we'd just spent with a woman named Brooke. She looked like she was memorizing every word, every gesture, every feeling. For her, I think, it wasn’t a preposterous prediction. It was the sacred truth.
Daddy, the architect, the builder of big things, looked like someone had just told him a building he’d designed was going to collapse under its own weight. His stubbly face was a mixture of confusion and profound bewilderment. He kept looking at Mom, and then at me in the back seat, as if trying to find the structural flaw in all of this. He didn't believe in magic or spirits or any of that. His world was built on blueprints and numbers and things he could see and touch. And yet, this woman, this psychic, had just talked about our little family, our dreams and our fears, as if she'd been living in our house. He was a man of certainty, and for the first time in his life, he didn't have a solid foundation to stand on.
The silence stretched on, and I, the little girl in the middle of it all, knew that something had shifted. Something had cracked. Brooke's words were like a wrecking ball that had just hit the walls of the world my parents had built. And I knew, in that moment, we weren't in Kansas anymore. We were well and truly in Narnia, and the adventure had just begun.

A few miles later, as we were just finally settling back into the hum and flow of the ‘Monster Truck,’ dad asked, “So, are we really going to take all this spiritual mumbojumbo seriously? It’s insane. Are we seriously going to allow Sage to be all girly? Well, girlier than he is. I mean, are we going to encourage this, all based on a psychic reading? Seems preposterous! The world doesn’t work that way!”

“Really, Michael. Were you not listening at all? That’s exactly how the world works…”

“Not my world!” Dad blurted.

Mom, very calmly said, “Just let things happen, okay? We’re not encouraging, we’re allowing. Setting aside our prejudices and allowing. You know Sage has never been very good at doing boy. Very poor marks, indeed. What if? What if this is all true and real? Can we really afford to fight against it?” She sighed. “Maybe we just see how she gets on, hmm? Let her instincts, her nature, guide us in how to guide and protect her.”

“You’re right about him not being very boy. And I have heard of transgender, you know. It’s just… It’s more than me wanting a son; actually, it’s not that at all. Not really.” He shook his head. “I’m just terrified for her. The world is cruel.”

“Well, then you’ll need to be there for her, won’t you?”

Dad looked at mom real quick, then hung his head. It stayed down, for like a whole minute. It's like we were all holding our breath, then he simply looked up and nodded once, emphatically. “You got it!” He turned to me, looking way too serious. “Will you promise me just one thing young lady?” Gosh, that sounded so good and it thrilled me to my core. “Will you be a ‘Daddy’s Girl’ for me? Please?”

I crawled off of mom and onto Daddy’s lap and gave him a big hug and a peck on the lips. “Yes, Daddy! Cross my heart and hope to die!” I then giggled until he handed me back over to mom.

“Sorry, but Daddy has to drive.” He smiled and put the car into gear. A whole world had changed in just one little, gigantic, minute.

Football Princess

“I can be happy, I can be mad,
I can be good, I can be bad.
I can be anything I want to be.”

— Miley Cyrus, “I Can Be” (Hannah Montana)

Sunday morning smelled of sizzling sausages and gasoline, a pre-game perfume that clung to the air. The whole purpose of the trip, at least for Daddy, was this game. I trotted beside him, my hand a small anchor in his large, warm one, and we made our way to the Colorado contingent of tailgaters. There was a folding table covered in jerseys and hats, and I saw it. A Peyton Manning jersey, but not just any jersey. This one was pretty, sparkly, and pink! My breath hitched. What girl could resist that?

“Daddy, look!” The words squealed out of me, a confetti cannon of pure delight. “Can I get it? Please? Please?”

He stopped, his hand tightening around mine just a little. I watched him. He looked around at the other tailgaters, at the burly men in orange jerseys and the women with painted faces. No one was paying us any mind. He glanced at Mom, who stood silent, a quiet challenge in her eyes. It was like a football play unfolding, but I didn't know the rules. After what felt like an eternity, he swallowed hard, and a shaky smile broke across his face. "Um, yes. Sure. Of course, sweetie." His voice was a little quiet, a little hesitant, but he bought me the jersey. I wasn’t a touchdown, or even a field goal, not yet, but I was definitely a first down. And that was totally cool with me at that moment.

Mom said we should get inside before I roasted, so Dad downed the rest of his beer, gave his new buddies a couple of chest bumps and forearm shivers, and led us toward the stadium. He led us to some special entrance, a glass doorway that opened into a cool, dark tunnel. And then we were out, and the world exploded.

I'd been to games before, but this was different. State Farm Stadium was a gigantic, glittering spaceship! The roof was a patchwork quilt of metal, some of it open to the blue Arizona sky, and the light streamed down in beams, catching the dust motes and making them dance. The seats were a sea of red, and the people were tiny, ant-sized figures, but their noise was a roar that filled my whole chest. The jumbotron thing was a sparkling city, at least a hundred televisions put together, dad says, showing a giant picture of the field. Even the air smelled different—like hot dogs and freshly cut grass and excitement. I was surprised they had real grass indoors. Weird. It was all so big, so beautiful, I just wanted to stand there and look at it forever.

But, we soon found our seats on the fifty-yard line, right where Dad always insisted on being, if not in a plush VIP suite. A little girl, about my age, was already there, wearing a Cardinals jersey. Her eyes found mine, and she immediately sprang to her feet, a tiny, menacing warrior. “Booo! Broncos suck!” The words were a sharp jab, and they shattered the magic of the moment. My sparkly jersey suddenly felt heavy. My face crumpled, and I turned, burying myself into my daddy, hot tears stinging my eyes.

He didn't hesitate. He scooped me up, pulling me into the safety of his chest. "It’s okay, sweetie. She didn’t mean anything bad; it's just what silly fans do when they get excited. It’s nothing to do with you.” His voice was a quiet rumble against my ear, a perfect comfort.

“Really?” I hiccupped.

“Really. Now, you show her there are no hard feelings. Go say hi.”

I did. I let him put me down, wiped my face with the back of my hand, and walked over to her. She looked a little embarrassed, and she said her name was Rachel. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. "I just got excited."
“It’s okay,” I said. We got on like a house on fire. We spent the whole game mimicking the cheerleaders' moves, a flurry of hands and giggles and can-can kicks. She even gave me a Cardinals sticker for my cheek. It was a beautiful, shiny red bird. Rachel’s mom, a kind lady with a warm smile, even gave me a pair of Cardinals earrings. I was so embarrassed that my ears weren’t pierced yet, but Mom said we could do it when we got home. Dad made a fuss, but I didn’t care about my divided loyalties, not when I had a new friend and a sparkly bird on my cheek.

As the game wound down, Rachel’s mom said to mine, “They’re just so sweet together. They remind me that a little friendship is more important than a big game.” Michael's face softened, and he smiled at Rachel’s dad. He wasn't talking about football anymore; he was just a dad with another dad, both of them watching their little girls play. We said our goodbyes and left, the roar of the crowd feeling different now—not really a threat, but like a song.

The day had started about a game and a jersey. It ended with a pretty sticker on my cheek and a feeling of peace through my whole body. My father hadn't gotten a touchdown, he said. He’d gotten something far more important: a first step, a first down perhaps (three yards and a cloud of dust, he said), toward understanding me, not as a boy, not any longer, but as his child. Perhaps he’d made progress toward even accepting me as a daughter, a girl. I hoped so. And I get to have my ears pierced next week! Yay! Oh, the Broncos won by the way. BTW!

"You ready to get some sleep, sweet pea?" Mom asked, her voice a soft hum in the quiet of the airplane headed back to Denver in the dark of night.

I was still wearing my sparkly pink jersey and the Cardinals sticker on my cheek. I nodded, but didn't move from the window seat. I was staring at the city lights twinkling below, just thinking.

"What's on your mind?" Mom asked, leaning over and wrapping an arm around me.

"The girl, Rachel," I said, tracing the pattern of the sticker on my cheek. "She was really nice."

"She was," Mom agreed. "And you were so brave. I was so proud of you for going to talk to her."

"I was scared," I admitted. "When she said 'Broncos suck,' I thought she meant me. It felt like she meant me."

Mom tensed, like her heart ached a little. "Oh, honey. She didn't. She was just excited about her team. She wasn't thinking about you at all."

I frowned at that. "But Daddy," I said, my voice dropping to a whisper. "He looked worried. When he was talking to her daddy, he looked... different. Like he wasn't happy."

Mom smiled, a sad, knowing smile. "That's because he was protecting you. Your dad is a warrior, too, just like you. He saw someone hurt your feelings, and he wanted to make it better. He was just trying to be a good daddy."

I was quiet for a moment, my eyes still on the lights below. "He gave me a hug," I said, my voice filled with a quiet wonder. "And he looked at me like I was a real girl. Like it was okay."

Mom squeezed me, holding me tight. "It is okay. It's more than okay. He's learning, honey. We all are. It was a good day, wasn't it?"

I finally turned from the window, a genuine smile on my face. "It was," I said, and then I touched the sticker on my cheek. "It was a really, really good day." Then I yawned.

Continued next Friday, 5pm MST - Chapter 3/15