Laura Miller - Butterfly Weeds

It would otherwise be a completely tranquil experience, but tonight, the peacefulness of my surroundings did little to calm the battle that was already in progress in my mind.

I gripped the steering wheel with both hands and then let out a deep sigh. I caught myself questioning how I had even gotten there. I tried to recall the path — the turns, the winding roads — that had led me to the spot to convince myself I hadn’t just teleported there. I couldn’t conjure up any images, so I quickly gave up. Pure instinct or habit had led me to where I was.

“What just happened?” I whispered one more time — to no one.

I took another deep breath and then slowly and uneasily let it fall through my lips. Then, I lifted the door handle and slid out of the car. After pausing a second to take in the vast sky above me and the thousands of tiny stars now exponentially springing to life, I smiled slightly for the first time in what seemed like an eternity.

“God, I missed you guys,” I said to the heavens as if the stars could hear my confession. To me, they offered the peace I needed — for the meantime.

Slowly, I rested my hands on the top of the sedan’s hood, pushing gently, testing its stability. My jeep had always held me, and so had Will’s SUV. The sedan shouldn’t be any different, I rationalized or at least, I hoped, as I climbed carefully onto the hood and made myself comfortable. It had, after all, survived the grass parking lot.

The air was still slightly warm but now carried with it a northwest chill in its breeze. What looked like millions of proud, tiny stars now littered the sky, and tonight, the half moon shone as bright as it could without its other half; though, it still left the world below somewhat sheltered by a quiet, deep shadow.

I hopelessly tried to make out the facial features of the man in the moon, as the image of the night of my first kiss bounced to the forefront of my memory and froze there. This was all I needed right now — the thought of my first kiss with the boy who had just transformed into a man before my eyes and had just dropped a confession heavier than the world’s weight onto my heart just moments ago. That was just what I needed.

The lingering memory made me smile for a moment nonetheless. The thought was poison, though. It only led to a flood of similar memories — starry nights like this one, talking about nothing really at all, holding hands, no worries, no cares.

“Life was so simple then,” I whispered through a smile.

Lost in the distracting hauntings of my past, I suddenly spotted two headlights off in the far distance. They startled me slightly.

“That’s strange,” I whispered softly.

In all of the times I had ever been there, I had never once seen another car traveling down the same, secluded path. I squinted to try and make out the image behind the lights as they crept closer and closer toward me. I could tell they were slowing.

It wasn’t until the mysterious vehicle followed a bend in the road that I could clearly make out its make and model. And what I saw left me breathless — again. It was an old, small SUV — his old SUV. But how had he found me? And had he even meant to find me?

I lifted my back up from the windshield and sat up as the vehicle came to rest next to my rented car. I quickly wiped the remainder of the drying tears from under my eyes and brushed my cheeks with the back of my hand.

My heart pounded again — the feeling was becoming familiar — and I felt now as if it could leap out of my chest at any second.

He stepped out of the SUV, and I could see the outline of his figure. He was wearing the same blue jeans, but a different tee shirt since I had seen him on the stage no more than an hour ago. This shirt was navy, and something I couldn’t make out in the shadows was printed in bold letters across his chest. And now, instead of a cowboy hat, he wore a baseball cap. And he was holding something, but I couldn’t quite tell what it was either.

“Hi, Jules,” Will said, as a genuine smile tenderly lit up his face.

I paused for a moment and quietly cleared my throat. It should be awkward, but somehow it seemed somewhat natural — him being there.

“Hi,” I spoke softly, but cheerfully, trying to appear completely unnerved, feeling like my efforts just might be miraculously working.

Will smiled wider and continued to walk closer to me.

“Mind if I take a seat?” he asked when he reached the sedan.

“Not at all; it’s a rental,” I said, jokingly. Those acting classes I never took were paying off.

Will carefully climbed on top of the car’s hood and leaned his back against the windshield next to me, leaving a good foot between us.

“Did you know I was here?” I asked him as he made himself comfortable. I hoped that it was just dark enough that he couldn’t see my soppy eyes.

Will hesitated for a second, and with a big grin on his face, he settled his eyes on mine.

“Of course. Where else would you be?” he asked.

I paused.

“But how…I never…,” I started. My eyes were narrow, and I looked puzzled, I knew.

“Oh, you want to know how I knew you came at all?” he jumped in.

“That would be a start,” I said, nodding, the corners of my mouth rising.

“You promised,” he said.

I froze for an instant.

“You remembered that?” I asked, somewhat surprised.

“Of course, and from the looks of it, you did too,” he said, leaning over and gently elbowing my arm.

“A promise is a promise,” I said softly, secretly recalling my reasoning for being there. “But seriously, how could you have known?”

Will smiled. He had a mischievous look on his face.

“Did you see the camera guy scanning the crowd?” he asked. He held a half grin on his lips.

“Umm…yeah, I guess I noticed him,” I said.

“Before the show, I gave him a picture and asked him to look for you,” he said.

“You didn’t?” I demanded.

“I did. And turns out, he’s got a good eye,” he said.

I let my head fall softly back onto the windshield again as I laughed — a sincere and almost comfortable laugh, miraculously allowing some of my nerves to fly away.

“You never cease to amaze me, Will Stephens,” I confessed.

The conversation stopped then, and a wall of silence filled its place as we both stared into the heavens. A million questions ran through my mind, but I didn’t know which one was more important — besides, the silence was comfortable and almost freeing. Eventually, though, Will broke the quiet.

“Did you hear the last song?” he asked. His voice was soft and deep.

“I did,” I said, in almost a whisper.

“I finished writing it about a year ago. I meant every word of it,” he confessed.

His words hit my ears and sunk deep down into my chest and then out to my limbs, reaching every part of my body that didn’t even feel like my own anymore. I felt like I was completely outside of my situation and only just looking on.

And as I waited for his news to settle, I tried desperately to process it piece by piece. At that point, I had been pretty sure that he hadn’t been referring to anyone else named Julia — but hearing it confirmed, I strangely felt a fresh wave of nervous joy and curiosity overtake me, which left me only with more questions — questions that I knew would have to wait for now, at least.

“It’s a beautiful song, Will,” I said sincerely, nodding my head slowly. My response was safe, I knew.

Will nodded his head but remained silent.

“And how does ‘the one’ feel about this song?” I asked him pointedly, slowly beginning my quest for answers.

Will chuckled softly.

“I don’t know, Jules, how do you feel?” he asked, still chuckling.