Laura Miller - My Butterfly

I watched her cock her head a little. Her stare was now off somewhere in the distance.

“I said, ‘I have a boyfriend,’” she eventually said, returning her eyes to mine. “But I didn’t have a boyfriend.”

She shook her head, and a wide smile danced to life on her face.

“I remember looking at him — you,” she said and then paused. “I remember looking at you and then coming up with that excuse.”

Her stare faded away again before returning to me.

“Wow, now I see it was you all along, but it’s like it wasn’t you — like…”

“It was like you didn’t notice me,” I said.

Her smile softened and then slowly, she shook her head.

“It was like I didn’t notice you,” she confessed.

“Well, as long as you notice me now,” I said, smiling what I was sure was a goofy grin and sliding deeper into the booth.

Her lips broke open into a wide smile, and she softly laughed.

“I notice you now,” she said.

She was piercing my eyes with those beautiful, green weapons of hers. And I loved the hell out of it.

“I notice you now,” she said again.

“Julia,” I whispered as loud as I could. “Julia.”

I took out the few small rocks I had gathered from her driveway and had stuffed into my pocket and thrust one up into the half-open window. Then, I waited.

Nothing happened.

“Julia,” I called out a little louder.

I took a second rock and tossed it up at the glass, then a third. Then, suddenly, I saw a figure in the window. The shadowed outline pushed back the curtains and pressed a forehead against the screen.

“Will?” I heard a soft voice say. “What are you doing?”

“Julia,” I said, trying to keep my voice down.

Her head disappeared from the window for a second and then returned.

“It’s two in the morning,” she said into the screen.

“I know,” I said. “I want to show you something.”

She was quiet for a second.

“Will, it’s two in the morning,” she said again, but this time, she said it with a little more emphasis on the two part.

“Just this once,” I pleaded.

There was a long pause.

“Okay,” she conceded. “I’ll be down there in a minute.”

Her head started to disappear from the screen again.

“No,” I quickly said.

“What?” she asked, returning to the window.

“You’re kidding me?” I asked. “You’ll wake your parents, and they’ll never let me see you again. Just climb out the window.”

There was a long pause again, and I was imagining her giving me a sarcastic look, as if climbing out the window was a better way to her parents’ hearts.

She disappeared again from the window and then returned within a few moments. Then, I heard her fidgeting with the screen, and I smiled.

After a handful of seconds, the screen was out and one of her legs was swung over the windowsill.

“Now, be careful,” I said up to her, still trying to keep my voice down as much as possible.

She rested one foot on the porch roof and then swung the other leg over the sill as well. It was only then that I could fully see her with the help of the rays from the dusk-to-dawn light in the background. She was wearing those tiny boxer shorts that girls wear and a tank top that had the high school’s mascot plastered on the front of it. And there were little flip flop shoes on her feet.

“You don’t do this much, do you?” I asked.

Her eyes met mine with a blank stare.

“Your shoes,” I said, eyeing her feet. “Just be careful. Those don’t tend to be the best shoes for roof-climbin’.”

She tossed a sarcastic, but playful glare my way. Now, I didn’t have to imagine it.

“Now, what do I do?” she asked, perched near the windowsill.

“Just inch your way down,” I said. “I’ll catch you.”

She hesitated for a second, then raised her chin and eyed the ground where I was standing.

“It’s not far, I promise,” I assured her.

She found my eyes again and then hesitantly left the windowsill and used her arms to balance as she slowly shuffled down the tin roof. It took a minute, but she eventually reached the edge and then stopped.

“Come on,” I said, holding out my arms.

Her eyes were planted on the ground, and she looked as if she were frozen.

I threw my hands on my hips.

“If you sit there and stare at it too long, you’ll never jump,” I said.

Her gaze slowly found its way back to me.

“William Stephens,” she softly said, kneeling down closer to the tin, “you better catch me.”

There was a serious demand not only in her words but also in her eyes that now pierced mine. I felt a sly smile start to crawl its way across my face.

“Oh, I will,” I said, holding out my arms again.

She gave me a reprimanding smirk, while I tried to tame my wide grin. Then, she closed her eyes.

“One. Two. Three,” she slowly whispered.

Then, she opened her eyes, took a deep breath and stepped off the roof. I caught her inches before her feet hit the ground and wrapped my arms tightly around her little waist. And the next thing I knew, her lips were inches away from mine. But her eyes were closed, and she was laughing. She made me laugh too, and eventually, she opened her eyes and found mine. Then, her laughter faded into a sweet smile. I wanted to kiss her pretty lips right then. But I didn’t. Instead, I gently set her feet onto the ground and took her hand.

“Come on,” I said.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

I could hear her giggling behind me as I pulled her along.

“You’ll see,” I said.

I led her down the long, gravel driveway. It was dark, but the big light above us made it easier to see our steps.

“How did you get here?” she asked.

“Lou,” I said, stealing a glance at her. “How did you think I got here?”

“Lou?” she asked, scrunching the features of her face together.

“My truck,” I said and then paused. “Or…SUV or main form of transportation — whatever you fancy calling her,” I said, with a sideways grin.

“The girly name,” she exclaimed, as her expression brightened and she nodded her head in slow, exaggerated nods.

I was guessing she was remembering the night of the bonfire and Rachel’s big mouth.

“You named your truck?” she asked, with a wide grin.

I just smiled and shrugged my shoulders.

“Okay, but why Lou?” she asked.

“Why not Lou?” I asked.

“Come on,” she said. “I know you named it…”

She stopped and then started again.

“I mean, I know you named HER after someone.”

I felt my smile start to edge a path up my face.

“Come on,” she said again, lightly shoving my arm. “Who was it — a girl you had a crush on in first grade, on TV?”

I threw my head back and laughed. If that were the case, I would have named the truck Jules . And believe me, I had thought about it, but in the end, decided against it. I had already been stalking her since we were kids; I didn’t need to make it any more obvious.

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “You’re way off.”

She flashed me a baffled look. Her puzzled face was cute, so I drew out the moment studying the perfect way she pushed her lips to one side and peeked through her big eyelashes from squinted eyes. And only after I had memorized her expression, I spoke.

“It was my grandmother’s name,” I said.

I continued to watch her as she paused in thought, maybe, for a moment.

“But isn’t her name Willamina?” she asked.

“No, the other one,” I said. “She passed away before I was born.”