Laura Miller - Butterfly Weeds

I wiped my rebellious tears away as I sat staring up into the black sky, spattered with dashes of light, most of which were now obscured by the mist in my eyes. The lights had attracted my already divided attention, and though they appeared somewhat blurry to me now, a few stars quickly became my main focal point. I watched, entranced, as the few soon became dozens, and then the dozens, hundreds, and then they all worked together to bring character to the dark and empty background that was tonight’s sky. It was beautiful — just as I had left it years ago. I inhaled deeply again through my nose and smelled the familiar mixture of tall grasses and aged maple. I knew the smell well. It had always been the aroma that I had associated with the country, untouched by smog or pollution, just a mixture of trees and wildlife.

My fingers then carefully caressed the flower’s petals in front of me, while my eyes glanced over the note that dangled from its stem. I read again the hand-written inscription: I’ll love you until the last petal falls .

“Hmm,” I said, letting out a deep, thoughtful sigh. All life had shown me when it had come to love was that it was far from a fairytale. It was what it was — a lot of planning and strategy and compatibility. Not much risk was involved after the age of eighteen. After that, time never really stopped, and a day planner became your best friend.

It almost seemed as if that hope for perfect love I had always heard about in fairytales and movies while growing up had turned out to be more like a perfect phantom instead. You see it in everything you watch or read, but you can never find it yourself — not in real life anyway, I knew. True, I had been in love at least a couple of times, but in perfect love, only but once. It seemed perfect anyway — carefree, hopeful, risky — but at the same time, it can’t be perfect unless it lasts forever. This, I also knew.

I remembered perfect love, albeit its memory had grown faint throughout the years. Perfect love was that kind of love that made no sense but made everything else make sense somehow. It was raw and unscripted, turbulent and slightly unpredictable. I remembered how it had made me feel. I remembered the butterflies, the comfort, the warmth; but most of all, I remembered that at the same time that I had had perfect love, I had also had a belief in happily ever after. And maybe it was because I had no reason to believe otherwise at the time. Probably.

I locked my eyes again on the star-lit sky above me. They remained there, until my cell phone broke my attention. I quickly reached for it in my pocket and glanced at its screen. In the display window, in bold, capitalized letters read: ANTHONY. I thought about answering it, then silenced it instead and slid it back into my pocket.

“Time to get back to life,” I said aloud.

I took a deep breath and sighed again. Then, I looked down at the small, gold watch on my hand and took note of the time. My flight was at six the next morning. My parents would kill me if they found out that I was in town and didn’t stop by, but now, it was late and time to go. I’d have to take that chance. I made a mental note to plan a trip back home to see them soon and looked one last time into the vastness of the open sky. You didn’t get this view everyday or just anywhere. Then, I slid off the sedan’s hood and made my way back into the car. I had roughly two hours to sort out my thoughts before I reached St. Louis. It was going to be a long two hours.

If I could have closed my eyes driving back through town and past the field where the concert had been just hours before, I would have. The best I could do now, however, was keep my eyes planted only on the yellow and white stripes directly in front of me. And that’s just what I did.

It was a half of an hour before I allowed my eyes to venture away from my direct path for a split second. I reached for the dial on the radio and turned up the volume so that it was audible again. I needed a break from my thoughts.

“You’re kidding me,” I exclaimed unconsciously, as the words from my stereo flooded my ears. Though, I knew I shouldn’t be the slightest bit surprised anymore about what flows from my radio.

“This is 98.7 Wolf Country and this is Jason David sitting here with local heartthrob Will Stephens,” I heard the voice say before it continued. “Will, tell us what it felt like to sing for the first time in front of your hometown.”

I reached for the tuner to change the station to something that triggered my emotions just a little less, but then paused. I was curious. It couldn’t possibly hurt anymore. I had just heard the most gut-wrenching confession I will probably ever hear. What did I have to lose now?

“Well, it was a pleasure,” I heard Will say through my speakers. “I had my mom and dad and my grandma in the first row, and I looked down one time, and even through the lights, I could see my grandma bustin’ some moves.”

“So, that was Grandma down there. I thought that was your sister,” the radio announcer said, through laughter.

I could hear Will chuckling in the background as well.

“No, seriously, it was great, a real treat for me to be here and to play for all the people who have supported me to this point,” Will went on.

I listened as the announcer spoke again.

“Now, let us not forget what this whole concert is about. It’s about raising some support for those victims of the recent floods, right? Tell us a little about that,” the announcer said.

“Yeah, Jason, this whole night was for those who have been affected by the flooding,” Will said. “My heart goes out to all those who have lost homes or livelihoods, and I’m just asking everyone, even after tonight, to continue to give to local efforts to support victims and to remember to keep them in their prayers.”

“Well, thanks so much, Will, for coming out and speaking with us tonight,” the announcer went on. “It’s definitely a great cause to support. I just have one more question. You didn’t think you’d get out of this interview without me asking it, did you?”

Will chuckled softly again.

“No, I suppose not. Fire away,” Will said.

“Well,” said the radio personality, “Will, we’ve never heard that last song, and it was pretty obvious to me that it was about a special girl in your life. Care to tell us about that?”

The airwaves grew quiet for a moment. I clenched the steering wheel with one hand and reached for the volume with the other and slowly turned it up.

“Well, it was for a special girl. She was my high school sweetheart,” Will said.

“Was she here tonight?” I heard the announcer ask.

“Aah, yes, she was,” Will said.

“Well, where is she now?” the DJ asked.

There was silence again.

“Well, I recon she’s on her way back to South Carolina,” Will replied.

His voice had grown somber.

“South Carolina, huh? So, does this mean you’re still on the market, for all those ladies listening tonight?” the announcer asked.

Now, both hands were clenching my steering wheel.

“Not that I think there would be any of those ladies here,” Will said, chuckling again. “See, they all knew me in junior high.”

The DJ joined in Will’s laughter.

“But no, Sir, to answer your question. I’m taken, and I have been since I was sixteen,” Will confessed.

“Alright, well, if she’s listening now, is there something you’d like to say to her?” the DJ asked.

The airways went silent. My fingers reached for the volume button and increased it yet again.

Still nothing.

Then, eventually, his voice came pouring through the speakers.

“I just want her to know that she’s still beautiful, after all these years, and that I’m here — always,” Will said.