Laura Miller - Butterfly Weeds

His first words came out soft and timid, as if this were the first time he had ever had an audience, but as he continued, his protective walls seemed to shatter and slowly fall. And before I knew it, he was singing as if entertaining was what he was born to do.

I listened in a state of controlled awe as the girls on the other side of the fire joined in the next verse.

Then, Will grew quiet, as his fingers strummed the last chorus on the instrument cradled in his basketball-conditioned, muscular arms. And as his guitar fell silent a few moments later, Rachel and the other girls joined me in speechless amazement — our eyes on Will.

“Wow, Will,” Rachel exclaimed first. “I’m not going to lie. I was really expecting a voice from the boy who starts a band in his garage only to still be in his garage 40 years later with a beer belly and a mullet. I wasn’t expecting a rock star.”

Will’s eyes darted toward me, but quickly hit the ground by our feet again before they could catch my awestruck stare. His bashful smile was contagious, though, and it helped to break my frozen expression.

I glanced at Rachel with a face that held a million questions.

“Well, I can see that maybe you two have something new to talk about, so…we’re just going to get some more hot chocolate,” Rachel said before motioning for the other girls to follow her away from the fire.

Within a moment, Will and I were alone again. There was a slight pause before either one of us said anything, but it didn’t last long. I just couldn’t hold it in anymore.

“Will, that was really good,” I gushed — near awestruck again. I was surprised at how easily the words just kind of fell out of my mouth. I was usually scolding him, not flattering him.

“Really?” he questioned me sincerely. I could tell he wasn’t just fishing for more compliments.

“Will,” I said, half laughing. “All these years…How didn’t I know that you could play the guitar — or sing?” I questioned him. “And that good?” I added.

He continued to smile, and his eyes remained tantalized by the fire’s flames.

“Not many people do know, I guess,” he confessed softly. “I’m pretty good at keeping secrets around here.” He winked in my direction as he rested the base of the guitar against the log next to him.

He still came off bashful, but I could see glimpses of his old confidence slowly coming back. I kept my eyes on him even as his attention turned back toward the flames. I knew I had a look planted on my face of something between intrigued and baffled, and I knew he could read me like a book, but I didn’t care. I couldn’t help it. He was good — really good, and I found myself fascinated by a side of Will Stephens I had never before seen.

“So, I see,” I said, smiling wildly.

“Do you write songs too?” I asked. Maybe there was still more I didn’t know about him.

“I try, when I get a chance,” he said modestly. “Writing’s the best part really. It’s the words that change people’s lives in the end, right?”

I paused to take in his question. He played the guitar, sang and wrote his own songs, and now he was talking about changing people’s lives. I was beginning to realize quickly that in all the years I had known him, I had never really got to know Will Stephens.

“Hmm, I guess that makes sense,” I said in reply to his question. “I’ve never really thought about it,” I confessed.

I watched his eyes follow the dancing flames in the fire. I could see he was smiling.

“I’ll have to write a song for you sometime,” he said — almost inaudibly — as his eyes met mine again.

A smitten smile unexpectedly shot across my face, and I quickly hid it as best I could — purely out of habit. Will Stephens doesn’t get smitten smiles.

“Do you write a song for every girl you have a crush on?” I asked sarcastically, trying my best to recover my poker face. I felt like I was coming unraveled. It was a completely new feeling for me — like someone had just released a million, tiny butterflies loose in my stomach, and they were feverishly flying up into my head and making me lose my mind.

“Well, I will once I write one for you,” he retorted quickly.

I smiled — completely uncontrollably. I didn’t even try to hide it this time. The truth was that I was kind of already getting used to the intrusive, little butterflies overtaking my being. They could stay, I resolved.

“I’m pretty sure it’s brown-eyed girl though,” I added playfully, in an attempt to railroad the subject as I now, under the butterflies’ control, pulled off a piece of the bark and threw it into the flames before returning my hand safely to my sweatshirt’s pocket. “In the song, you said green-eyed girl.”

Will paused for a moment as if caught in his own mistake.

“Let me see,” he said then, as he gently touched his hand to my chin and turned my face toward his.

Gone was the instinct or necessary desire to violently shift my face away from him or to get his hand away from my chin as quickly as possible. I simply just sat there — motionless, letting his hand take control of my movement. Who was this new person I had become?

“Nope, pretty sure it’s green-eyed girl,” he said assuredly.

A slight smile lingered on my lips.

“Will Stephens, what am I going to do with you?” I asked softly, as his hand slowly fell from my chin.

He remained silent then, almost as if he had lost his words, yet his piercing baby blue eyes remained on me.

“Jules, I’m sorry about the rocks, your ball and every other stupid thing I’ve ever done,” he said sheepishly.

I laughed.

“It’s okay,” I said. “You get the ball down for me some day, and we’ll call it even.”

“Okay,” he said softly, smiling and shaking his head, returning his gaze to the flames. “But I’m not gonna stop askin’, you know?”

I looked at him — amused.

“I considered that,” I said, laughing. “And what if I never say yes ?”

Will looked to be pondering my question.

“Well, then I suppose I would have spent my life doin’ something worthwhile,” he said. “My parents can’t be disappointed in that.”

“Will,” I said in protest, laughing again and lifting my eyes toward his.

He was already looking at me when our eyes met, and for a split second, my world mysteriously paused.

His wild, bright blue irises were all I could think about then as I became completely and hopelessly lost in his world.

“Will,” a voice suddenly shouted out from behind us. The voice was shrill and intrusive, elbowing its way into our little world — literally.

Both Will’s and my attention jetted toward the direction of the sound behind us as we watched a lanky boy emerge from the darkness and plop abruptly down onto the log between us, forcing both Will and I to shift apart.

“Will, those were Ben’s lights, not mine,” he informed Will hastily — not ever giving Will his full attention.

“Here, Julia, here’s some hot chocolate,” the lanky boy announced, facing me and presenting to me a steaming, Styrofoam cup.

I removed both of my hands from my sweatshirt’s pocket and cradled the cup as Will recoiled and shifted his weight away from the boy now wedged between us. I watched Will quickly divert his eyes to the fierce, orange flames again as he habitually ran his hand against his thigh.

“Thanks, Jeff,” I said as the distracted, lanky boy found a stick and proceeded to poke at the fire’s ashes.

I watched for a few, long seconds the lanky boy menacingly prodding what was left of the logs before my gaze turned up again.

What I glimpsed next made me smile. My own eyes had caught the bright, blue gaze of Will Stephens, and for the first time in the history of humanity, his irises didn’t look so juvenile — his stare didn’t seem so mischievous.