Лаура Миллер - My Butterfly

“Thanks,” she softly said.

My eyes fell onto her lips as she finished the word. Then, they returned to her eyes.

“Just tell me one thing, Jules,” I said.

My voice had a serious tone to it now.

“Is he the one?” I asked her.

She continued to stare into my eyes. Her expression didn’t change, and she didn’t look thrown off or insulted. I expected to have to explain myself — to tell her that I only had her best interest in mind, even if I believed fully that it was in her best interest to be with me.

“He’s good for me, Will,” she said, finally.

I held my gaze. If there were such a thing as an out-of-body experience, I was pretty sure that this would qualify as one. I took another deep breath and then slowly forced it out, still keeping my eyes locked in hers.

It was another long moment before my stare fell to the hard floor at our feet. I tried to say something but nothing came out the first time, so I tried again.

“Well, that’s what matters,” I whispered. “That he’s the one.”

I raised my eyes to the rest of the bar then for the first time since we had started dancing. And I watched as heads simultaneously whipped in the other direction, until no one was looking at us anymore. Did they all know? Had they all known that this dance would end with my heart shattered into tiny pieces on the floor?

I met Jules’s eyes again.

“It was really good to see you again,” I gently said.

She seemed to hesitate.

“It was nice to see you too,” she said.

Then, she swung her arms around my neck. It surprised me. I almost didn’t know what to do; but eventually, I wrapped my arms around her and squeezed her body against mine. Then, I closed my eyes, breathed her in and held her. I held her for all the moments I had missed and for all the moments I was about to miss too, as if me holding her now would keep her from marrying that guy — would keep her in my arms forever. An image from the night she had come to see me in the hospital suddenly appeared in my mind, and I wished I could go back to that day.

I opened my eyes, and I was still holding her. I spotted Rachel in the back of the room. Her expression looked pained, and I wondered for a second if it were just my pain reflecting back at me. I felt a warm liquid forming in the back of my eyes, and I knew I had to go. I cleared my throat and pulled away from her.

“Take care, Jules,” I said, starting to turn.

“You leaving?” she whispered, quickly resting her hand on my shoulder.

I stared at her hand and the rock on her finger. She seemed to notice my find and hastily retrieved her hand.

“Yeah, I’m helping out at the station early tomorrow morning — the call of duty,” I said.

I tipped my baseball cap in her direction and forced what I had left of a smile. Then, I turned and pushed through the screen door. I heard Annie say something about a burger as my feet hit the gravel, but I didn’t stop. I got around to the side of the bar and threw my back up against its wood paneling. I felt weak, as if I might pass out. Then, without a second thought, I felt my body slide down the wood until all my weight was on the back of my heels. I tried to think of something — just to make sure I was still conscious. The first thought that came to me was of Julia marrying that guy, and it sent my heart into another race.

I covered my face in my hands and took a deep breath. Then, eventually, I let both hands slide down past my eyes and my nose until just my fingertips were pressed up against my lips. And I just sat there and thought about her, about us, about an ending I wasn’t ready for yet.

Then, after a minute, I finally felt okay to stand again. I forced myself to my feet and then sauntered over to Lou. I pulled open the door and slid behind the wheel. Then, for several moments again, I stared into the darkness on the other side of my windshield, until eventually, I closed the door and searched in my jeans pocket for my keys. I recovered them seconds later, then shoved one into the ignition and purred the engine to a start. Then, I forced my fingers tightly around the steering wheel as I peered into my rearview mirror and then froze.

There was a ball staring back at me. I thought for a moment, then spun around and scooped it up and started searching in the glove box for something to write with.

Before I knew it, I was hovering over Rachel’s car and allowing the moments to pass by as I stared at Jules’s name and her old volleyball number with the help of the porch light from the bar. And suddenly, we were sixteen and sitting around a bonfire, and her soft words were touching my ears for the first time: You get the ball down for me someday, and we’ll call it even.

I smiled, then took the black, permanent marker that I had found in the glove box and wrote an inscription on the volleyball. Then, I balanced the ball on the hood of the car, against the windshield, and stepped back. Now, on the volleyball was her name, her number and the words: Now we’re even.

I tried to smile again, knowing she’d remember and that it might make her smile too, but my lips refused. This wasn’t the way I thought I would feel when I finally returned her ball. Instead of a new beginning, it felt more like letting go. There were so many years wound up in that ball — so many I love yous and smiles and laughter and tears and goodbyes. And there was so much I never said.

I sucked in a deep breath of cool air and then slowly let it pass over my lips.

“So much I never said,” I whispered to myself before I turned and made my way back to Lou.

It was five o’clock in the morning. I was staring into a laptop’s screen; my hand was on the touchpad; my finger was hovering over its little, right button; and an arrow on the screen pointed to a box that read: confirm. I had been in the same position for forty-five minutes straight.

I sucked in a deep breath and then forced it out. I didn’t know if it were my watch’s incessant ticking that was driving me mad or the fact that I hadn’t pushed the button yet.

I knew I couldn’t let her marry him. Maybe she loved him. The thought made me swallow hard. But what if there were still a part of her that loved me too? I couldn’t rely on my plan now. I would never be able to live with myself if it didn’t work out and she married him without me taking the chance that I might very well lose her twice. I needed to talk to her. I needed to tell her everything I never told her in all the years that we had been apart.

I quickly pushed another breath of air past my lips, and without a second thought, I forced my finger down. And suddenly, the word confirm lit up on the screen.

The flight was in a week and a half. I glanced at my watch. It was five after five. I looked toward the back of the bus. Daniel was sprawled out. His legs were stretched the length of a seat, and he was knocked out with his mouth open. I was surprised he wasn’t drooling yet.

I closed down the computer and set it onto the floor underneath me. Then, I readjusted my pillow, shifting it so that it rested up against the side of the bus. We were opening for Ren Lake in Memphis the next day and driving through the night to get there.

I lay on my back and stretched out my legs. The seat wasn’t long enough, and part of my legs and my feet hung off, but it worked. The little bed compartments on the bus made me feel claustrophobic, so I preferred the seat instead. And I never thought that I would ever long to be on one of those old beds in the fire station, but compared to this bus, I’d take them any night.

I pulled the seatbelt clip out of my back and shifted in the seat again. Most times, there was a comfortable enough, and I thought I just might have found it. I rested my head back onto my pillow and closed my eyes.

A week and a half.

I felt my lips turn into a smile. In a week and a half, she would know everything.

“How was Memphis?”

I looked up to see a brunette coming out of the gas station. I slid the nozzle into the tank and secured the lever to the handle.

“Rachel,” I said. “Just the person I wanted to see.”

She planted her feet in front of me, threw her hip into the side of my truck and crossed her arms. She had a questioning look on her face, but she seemed to shake it off before she spoke again.

“Well, how was it?” she asked.

I smiled.

“It was great,” I said.

“How many numbers did you get this weekend?” she asked.

My eyes darted to the ground, and I shook my head, feeling a little bashful all of a sudden.

“I knew it,” she said, grinning. “Thousands, huh?”

I laughed, and she narrowed her eyes again.

“Now, why did you want to see me?” she asked.

“Oh,” I said and then paused. “I bought a ticket.”

She cocked her head a little and drew her face closer to mine.

“A ticket?” she asked.

“To San Diego,” I said.

Her puzzled look started to melt into something else. I waited for her smile — that one she got while meddling in someone else’s business and not caring who saw her enjoying it. But that smile never came. Instead, her lips parted, and her eyes fell into some kind of sad state or something. Then, I watched as she sucked in some air through her teeth and shook her head.

The lever from the gas pump suddenly flew up and made a thud. My eyes fell for an instant onto the lever but then immediately returned to Rachel.