Laura Miller - My Butterfly

Ive only got one story to tell, and its about a girl, and it starts with you. But first Ive got to do this one thing because I worry if I wait a second longer, Ill lose even more of what Ive already lost. I promise, though, there is a method behind my madness. And if everything goes to plan, youll see why very soon.

But like I said, Ive got this story to tell, though I dont yet know the ending. All I know is that it can end only one of two ways with or without you. But despite which way fate will have it, the way I see it, Im left the same still in love with the one that got away.

Youve given me hell, Julia Lang, just by being you. But then whats love if it aint worth the fight? And Ive got some fight still left in me.

Are you ready, Will? a young man with shaggy hair asks from the other side of the glass.

I anxiously readjust the big microphone hovering above me.

Yeah, I eventually say.

A restless sigh is attached.

Okay, I hear the man say, Im going to start the track.

I look through the glass and slowly nod my head.

My palms are sweaty; my heart is pounding. But it isnt the young man on the other side of the glass or the taller man sitting next to him who is making me sweat. It isnt even that I am about to sing in front of them or that I am here at all. In fact, now, right now, I only have one thought cycling over and over in my mind. The only reason I am standing here, gripping an old, metal pin as if it were my lifeline, praying my silent prayers continuously in my head and replaying all the memories that have led me to this place is for a chance that she will hear this song.

I suspect that she doesnt know its coming. But I also pray that she hasnt forgotten her promise. I pray silently that this song will make her stop, will make her remember a different time, years ago, lifetimes ago.

A soft melody starts playing in my headset. I press the metal pin tighter against my palm. I am waiting for my cue, my lips almost touching the mesh in front of the mic. Then, suddenly, as if by instinct, my mouth opens, and my first words fill the tiny, soundproof room. And my only thought is: Here goes everything.

Jeff, is that Julia Lang? I asked, as I leaned up against my locker.

Who? Jeff asked.

Jeff was busy digging up remnants of pens from the bottom of his backpack and scribbling faded lines onto the front cover of his notebook. I, on the other hand, knew full well who the girl was, but he didnt have to know that.

Her, trying to stuff that bag into her locker, I said, directing his attention to the girl.

Jeff stopped scribbling and looked up.

I dont know, he said, shrugging his shoulders. She must be from that little, country school.

He turned back around, as if not interested, grabbed a book from his lockers shelf and then slammed the metal door shut.

But I know who Im asking to the homecoming dance, he said, setting out in the girls direction.

Without hesitation, I grabbed the collar of his shirt.

Whoa there, son, I said, pulling him back. First of all, homecomings months away. Second, youre not taking her anywhere.

Geez, buddy, watch the threads, Jeff said in a higher than usual pitch as he paused to readjust the shirts collar around his neck. And why cant I ask her? If I dont, someone else will.

I kept my eyes on the girl across the hall. She had just gotten the oversized duffle bag into the tiny locker. Impressive, except now I watched as a book slipped from underneath her arm and fell to her bare toes, causing her nose to scrunch up and her eyes to wince in pain.

You got a point there, buddy, I said, patting him on the shoulder.

I handed Jeff a working pen and then quickly pushed past him.

I got it, I said, bending down to pick up the book from the floor at the girls feet. Are you all right?

The girl looked up at me, still cringing a little.

Im fine, she said, softly smiling.

She took the heavy text book from my hand and shoved it into a row of books already on the lockers shelf.

Thanks, she said.

Its Will, I said, extending my hand.

She stopped, and her stare found my hand. She looked suspicious.

I know, she said, cautiously placing her hand in mine. Will, its Julia.

Julia Lang, I said, smiling and acting as if I had just now put her face with her name.

Yes, she replied, slowly nodding her head.

I watched as a coy smile fought its way to her face.

You remember me? I asked, hesitantly.

I was really hoping she only remembered the good parts if there were any of those for her.

I noticed her eyes fall on my hand, still holding hers, but she was smiling, so I kept a tight grip on her hand. It was soft and girl-like.

Yes, she said. How could I forget?

The hardware store? I asked.

She nodded her head.

We used to play on those toy tractors outside, and all the old people would give us candy as they walked in, she said.

The corners of my mouth started to lift as I watched the green in her eyes light up.

Thats right, I said, starting to laugh.

But just then, her smile faded slightly.

You would never let me ride the big tractor, she said, sharply pulling her hand back from mine.

My laughter stopped. And then what was left of her smile turned into a smirk.

Ugh. She remembered.

If I remember right, you said that it was a boys tractor and that girls werent supposed to drive tractors anyway, she said. And then, when we were nine, you

Okay, okay, I said, stopping her. Thats probably enough memories for one day. The good news is that the big tractor is still up at my grandpas store, and you can ride it anytime you want. Oh, and best of all, I have finally come to the ultimate conclusion that girls really dont have cooties.

Really? she asked, giving me a sarcastic look.

Really, I said, leaning against the row of lockers. It was all a myth. Turns out, it was just some scorned second-grader who didnt get a Valentine from his secret crush one year.

She glared at me with narrowed eyes.

And then after that, I continued, without missing a beat, the kid decided to ruin love for all kids from then on, declaring every girl was stricken with the cootie disease.

She laughed once and then went back to fidgeting with something inside her locker.

I smiled, silently hoping that getting her to laugh was enough to erase the memories I had accidentally resurrected.

She turned back toward me a second later and gave me a soft side-smile.

I have to get to class, she said, pulling a book from her locker and then slamming the door.

The door didnt close on the first try, so I watched her put her weight into her next try.

Can I walk you there? I asked, once she had successfully shut the locker door. Whats your first one?

She shot me a suspicious look again and then pulled out from the back pocket of her tight-fitting jeans a small piece of paper with a set of classes and times printed on it.

Umm, history, she said, stuffing the piece of paper back into her jeans. Its just down the hall. I think I can make it.

I think doesnt sound very confident, I said. I should walk you, just to make sure youre not late for your first high school class. This isnt kindergarten-through-ninth-grade anymore.

I smiled a confident smile. She, on the other hand, stared at me with two impatient eyes, then turned and started walking in the opposite direction.