Лаура Миллер - My Butterfly

I mumbled what could have almost been a word under my breath. She didn’t seem to notice.

“What about you?” she asked.

“What about me?”

“Well, how’s Miss New Year’s Eve?” she asked.

My gaze shot back toward her. A second later, I was searching her eyes to gauge her seriousness.

“You still remember that?” I asked.

I was still hoping that she hadn’t — that the night had just miraculously disappeared from her memory.

Her eyes faltered and fell to the ground.

“Jules, that whole thing was just a bad idea,” I said and then stopped.

I searched her features then with narrowed eyes and furrowed brows, until she found my eyes again, and my expression softened. Surely, she hadn’t thought that I had been with Jessica this whole time.

“Jules, I’m sorry about that night. I…,” I started.

“Will, it’s fine,” she said, stopping me. “You had a date. So what? We weren’t together. Plus, it was a long time ago. I don’t even think about it anymore.”

I tried to say something, but instead, the word anymore bounced around my mind, interfering with my speech functions. She didn’t even think about it anymore. The thought made me sigh both because there was a part of me, I guessed, that still hoped she did think about it — about us — and then there was another part of me that wished I could say the same. Most times, I wished I couldn’t remember it either. I let my eyes linger in hers for a few more seconds before I gently smiled and returned my attention to the lake again. Then, I refit my baseball cap around my head and tried to clear away the ache in my throat. That ache meant I had to act fast. I had to get her or me away before that damn mist in my eyes returned.

“Well, I have to go to my parents’ house for dinner tonight,” I said, as I reeled in my line and stood up from my chair. “Mom’s making her specialty. I promised her I’d be there.”

I watched her grow still and then nod her head.

“Okay, yeah, can’t miss that,” she said. “I’d better get going then. It was nice seeing you again, Will.”

I caught her awkwardly fidgeting with the zipper on her jacket again, and it helped me to smile.

“Come,” I blurted out.

“What?” she asked.

Her voice was soft and hesitant.

“Come with me,” I said again.

Her eyes fell toward the ground, then returned to mine a couple of seconds later.

“Okay,” she said, starting to smile and to slowly nod her head again.

“All right, let’s go,” I said, turning to leave.

I took a couple of steps, then looked back at her. She hadn’t moved.

“You coming?” I asked.

I watched as her pretty lips lifted into a grin. Then, she nodded her head and followed after me.

“Dinner was okay, huh?” I asked.

She met my gaze and smiled.

“Dinner is always more than okay here,” she said.

She kept her eyes on mine for a couple of seconds. Then, I noticed her stare venture over to my guitar, propped up against the porch railing.

“Do you still play?” she asked.

I smiled a wide grin at her, then got up, grabbed the guitar and laid it across my lap.

“This song is all yours,” I said, swinging the guitar’s strap around my body.

She flashed me a puzzled look. I, in turn, gave her a confident smile and then went to playing with the guitar’s strings for a second.

“Mine?” she asked.

“Yep, all yours. Everyone needs a song — this one will be yours. I’ll never use it for anyone else,” I vowed.

She lowered her eyes and laughed.

“Okay,” she said, peeking at me from behind her long eyelashes.

I got lost in her stare for a moment. Then, I took a deep breath and reluctantly tore my eyes from hers. Seconds later, I started in on a soft melody, and then, added its words:

I stopped singing but continued to tickle the guitar’s strings, until eventually, my fingers ceased their dance altogether, and silence filled the air around us again.

“That’s it?” she asked. “Where are the rest of the words?”

My eyes fell to the wooden floor beneath us.

“I’m…I’m still working on the rest,” I said.

I was trying not to smile.

“You can hear it again when I’m finished with it. I promise,” I said.

I returned my eyes to hers. Her suspicious glare was burning a tattoo into my forehead.

“Well, when will it be finished?” she asked.

I paused and allowed the corners of my mouth to slowly rise.

“I’ll find a way to get it to your ears,” I said. “Don’t worry.”

She playfully pursed her lips. Her eyes were still narrowed, and she was still giving me an apprehensive look.

“Okay,” she said. “I’ll wait if I have to, I guess.”

I watched her take another sip of her lemonade.

“You should play for people — you know,” she said, setting the glass back down onto the porch boards. “I might even do you the honor of being your biggest fan.”

I laughed once.

“You never give up, do you?” I asked.

My eyes caught hers and rested in them for a little while.

“Nah,” I finally said. “Work keeps me pretty busy. Besides, I don’t mind just playing like this — for friends, for you.”

She smiled, and then her eyes ventured off to somewhere in the distance. I followed her stare to a couple of street lights starting to come alive in the darkness that threatened to engulf us.

“Will,” she said.

Her soft voice attracted my full attention again.

“You know you’ve got a piece of me always, no matter what this crazy world has planned for us, right?” she asked.

I nodded my head as a smile pushed its way to my face. I knew I probably should have been thrown off by her confession, but I wasn’t. It was the truth. The truth rarely surprised me.

“Yeah, I know, and you’ve got the other half of me, damn the luck,” I said, chuckling.

I watched her tilt her head back, as a soft laugh fell from her lips.

“How can we ever function separately?” I asked, silently stroking the strings of my guitar.

She caught my stare and smiled a wide grin.

“I’m sure we’ll make do,” she said.

Her eyes lingered in mine just a little too long — long enough for me to imagine kissing her again. My heart sped up, and I could feel my chest rising and falling in short blips.

“I probably should be going,” she said, suddenly throwing her gaze to the hard floor.

I froze for an instant, my eyes still locked on her.

“Okay,” I said, eventually forcing a sound.

I didn’t agree that she should be going, but I knew that I couldn’t force her to stay either.

Then, suddenly, she started to get up. I followed with my eyes a path from her pretty lips to her hand that now rested on the arm of the chair. And then, without another thought, my own hand instinctively went to hers.

“Jules,” I said, placing my hand on top of hers.

I felt her soft skin under mine, and I squeezed my fingers around hers. She stopped and sat back in her chair, as her eyes darted first toward her hand and then to my eyes.

“Promise me you’ll come if I ever change my mind about the singing gig,” I whispered. “Promise you’ll come and listen to the rest of the song.”

She looked a little caught off guard, of course. I would have too. I followed her eyes as they moved back and forth from my hand on hers to my eyes. And then, she smiled.

“I promise,” she said, in almost a whisper.

Then, she pushed up from her chair, slid her hand out from underneath mine and made her way back into the house.

My body was frozen, but my eyes followed her into the kitchen. And I watched her through the glass as she set her drink into the sink and then made her way to the front door.

I quickly got up then and scurried inside after her but stopped when she turned back toward me.

“Thanks for tonight, Will,” she softly said.

I forced a smile.

“Don’t mention it,” I said.

She held her gaze in mine for a moment, and then without another word, she turned and escaped back into the night on the other side of the door.

“You should sing — for people,” she said, through her pretty laughter.

The sound of her laugh echoed off the walls in the empty room.

I shook my head, but a smile lingered on my lips.

“No, Will, I’m serious,” she said. “You should.”

Her smile was soft and confident, but then it faded. And I watched as she turned and started to walk away.

“Where are you going?” I asked.

My smile had disappeared as well.

“I have to go,” she said.

I could hear a certain longing in her voice, as she stopped and faced me again.

“Dreams don’t wait, Will,” she said, with a sad look in her eyes.

“You’ll like it,” she assured me.

I traced the features of her pretty face, as a smile slowly returned to life under her sad eyes.

“And I’ll come back. I promise,” she said.

Her gaze lingered in mine, and her longing stare made my heart crumble into a billion pieces. I didn’t know her thoughts, but I knew they carried with them some amount of sadness. I kept my eyes on the green in hers, until I blinked, and then she was gone.