Butterfly Weeds (8 page)

             
“Okay, close your eyes,” he said finally.

             
“Why?” I lightly protested.

             
“Trust me,” he echoed back.

             
I reluctantly closed my eyes, heard some rus
tling and then heard him speak.

             
“Okay, open,” he said.

             
I opened my eyes to him kneeling beside me, a braided grass ring in his hands.

             
“What is…,” I started.

             
“Jules, will you marry me…someday?” he asked, before I could finish.

             
He looked so sweet and innocent, and beautiful, with his dark curls shooting up every which way – the result of his head being pressed against the grassy ground just moments before.

             
I giggled happy giggles.

             
“Yes, Will, I will marry you…someday,” I said, grinning from ear to ear.

             
Then, he slid the ring onto my left hand and kissed my forehead.

             
Just then, the ground in front of us was illuminated – this time, by another set of headlights.

             
Will turned and peered over the embankment. I held my breath until he looked back at me smiling.

             
“Our carriage awaits, My Future Mrs. Spiderman,” he announced happily.

             
Will stood up, brushed the dirt off of his spandex suit and helped me to my feet – or one, good foot, at least. And in one, solid motion, he scooped me up into his arms and
made his way toward the lights.

             
The two boys in the backseat welcomed us with cheers and shouts.

             
“We thought the police had picked you up,
” one of the boys bellowed out.

             
I lightheartedly rolled my eyes as Will glanced at me and smiled.

             
“Not this time, boys,” Will remarked back.

             
He then sat me gently into the passenger’s seat next to Rachel, and then he too jumped into the backseat with his two buddies. When they were all tightly packed into the back of the jeep again, Rachel once again put the SUV into reverse and then drive and headed back down the gravel road toward town, leaving the site of the previous hour’s commotion in the dust.

             
Two days later, I hobbled down the wooden stairs of my parents’ rural route home. Will had rewrapped my ankle with bandages the night before, and I managed to get
around fairly easily on it now.

             
Making my way to the kitchen, I spotted the weekly newspaper sitting as usual on the table. I glanced at it, looked away briefly, but then something caused me to take a second l
ook. A photo had caught my eye.

             
Without any more hesitation, I snatched up the ink-filled weekly as my eyes went directly to the image plastered on the front page below the fold and then raced over the
words in the snapshot’s caption.

             
Spiderman makes his way up what is believed to be the old windmill southwest of town earlier this week. An anonymous source dropped this photo off at the Journal’s offices Monday morning. So far, no one has come forward with leads as to who might be the man or woman behind the mask of the town’s elusive hero. For now, we can only rest assured that
New Milford
is a little safer knowing that Spiderman is in our midst.

             
I laughed out loud, unable to conceal my all-knowing smile.

             
So this was his scheme all along, my e
yes now returning to the photo.

             
“What is it?” my dad asked me, walking into the roo
m and interrupting my thoughts.

             
I jumped slightly.

             
I watched him make his way to the refrigerator, grab the orange juice, set it down onto the kitchen table and then face me, waiting for my reply.

             
I hesitated as my eyes feverishly darted to the photo again. It could be anyone up there. He’d never know, or at least, a girl could hope anyway.

             
“Did you see the front page today?” I a
sked in answer to his question.

             
“No, what’s on it?” he asked, reaching in my direction.

             
I reluctantly handed him the newspaper, face up, then watched his features for his reaction. I could see his eyes widen as a gaping smile broke across his face.

             
“Well, I’ll be. That’s Spiderman alright,” he said, cracking a full smile.

             
He read the caption, and then I watched as his eyes returned to the photo again. He snickered some more and then continued.

             
“Crazy nut. Well, that’s one way to get more dates. He might not be my hero, but I bet he’s somebody’s,” he said, chuckling and winking an eye in my direction.

             
Oh, God, did he know?

             
He handed me back the newspaper and shuffled toward the toaster resting on the countertop at the other end of the kitchen.

             
Well, if he did know, at least he was going to let it go. I sighed a sigh of relief, and then I held the paper in front of me once again, my grass ring in view, and got lost one last time in its front page image and in the night I hoped I’d never forget.

             
Moments went by, and the memory just kept replaying itself in my head. And before I knew it, I was smiling like a goofy, little kid, lost in my own little world, until my dad’s words from across the room suddenly jerked me back to reality again:

             
“By the way, you never told me what you did to that ankle of yours.”

             
I
left Will wrestling with the patchwork quilt as I ventured to the edge of the bluff. I could see downtown beginning to come to life like someone had just shaken the summer version of a tiny snow globe. Little street lights were illuminating miniature figures that were making their way around the old, red-brick buildings and paved streets. Only this time, instead of the mini people donning tiny, wool coats, they wore shorts and tee shirts, and freshly cut grass took the place of fake snow, devouring the ground where the mini people walked. I wondered for a second if I shook it
up, would grass fly everywhere?

             
Between a set of railroad tracks and the muddy
Missouri River
, a life existed – one of a more mature nature, if you will. Only several shops constituted
New Milford
’s downtown – a dime store, a tiny, one-room movie theater, the post office, a bait shop and a restaurant that changed hands every so often. They were the lucky ones – the only businesses that had survived a levee break in the last flood.

             
A freshly red-painted train caboose had, for decades now, made its home on a green, little patch of the world outside of the one-room post office. Every small town that I had ever been to had had a caboose. It was as common as a water tower adorned with the high school’s mascot or a lumberyard in the center of town, I guess. Although, now that I was thinking about it, the caboose did seem a little odd. What purpose did it serve – or was it just for decoration? Did the elders of all small towns really think it was ornamental – like a welcome sign or flowers?
Welcome to
New Milford
. Can I interest you in a photo next to our caboose?

             
My forehead wrinkled slightly as I pondered to myself the great questions of modern times before my eyes left the caboose for more grass-globe images.

             
My gaze rested on a spot on the levee. Park benches and a small, white gazebo sat overlooking the river, begging passersby to pause from the world for a moment – to take in the way the current pushed its way south or the oaks that swayed in the wind on bluffs far off in the distance. The levee had always been my beach, the world beyond it, my ocean. That’s as close as it got here, anyway. No waves, no dolphins, no white sand, no sea gulls. If you were lucky enough, though, every once in a while you did g
et to see a crane, or a beaver.

             
A smile crossed my lips. If you could be so lucky, I thought as I took one last look at the world below my high perch before m
aking my way back over to Will.

             
I could hear the crickets and tree frogs starting their night song in the small, wooded area behind us. A faint smell of lilac filled the air. There was always lilac in this part of town. Where there were grandmothers, there was always lilac. And by now, a blanket of darkness had just swallowed up the sky, captur
ing us in its shadowy web.

             
“You need help there, Chief,” I asked Will playfully, avoiding a small tree branch strewn across my path.

             
“Now, you ask, after all the work’s done as usual, My Dear,” he answered playfully.

             
I paused and smiled at him.

             
“Get over here,” he demanded with a grin.

             
I took a couple more careful steps and slid down onto the patchwork quilt spread out over the dirt and grass below it. Will scooped me into his arms and together we fell back onto the blanketed earth.

             
“How much longer do we have?” I asked him.

             
“Oh, probably about a couple more minutes,” he replied, squeezing me closer to him.

             
“Sing to me then,” I protested happily.

             
“What do you want me to sing?” he asked, smiling wildly.

             
“One about us,” I said.

             
We were both on our backs. My head was resting against his chest. I could hear his heartbeats.

             
“Okay then,” he said softly.

             
There was a slight pause before he began, but when he did, his voice was almost a whisper – raspy and sultry – perfect.
             
“Though you’d rather watch a sappy ending
             
Than a football game
             
And you’re not very good at fleeing the scene
             
Without a sprain,
             
I wouldn’t want it any other way
             
I’m yours forever, My Butterfly
             
So, looks like you’re stuck with me
             
‘Til the end of time.”
 

             
I laughed.

             
“How romantic,” I gushed sarcastically.

             
“I wrote it myself – just now –
just for you,” he said proudly.

             
“Thanks. I’ll just do some creative interpreting, I guess,” I joked and raised my head slightly off of his chest so that I could see his face. “But seriously, though, minus those passionate words, you can really get a girl’s attention. You should sing, you know, for people, as a career. You’ve got a gift. You can’t hide it forever.”

             
“Why can’t I?” Will bantered back, using his hand to nudge my head closer to his body again.

             
I followed his lead, and he kissed my forehead.

             
“Because someday, somewhere, somebody’s gonna find out. Then what are you going to do?” I continued.

             
“Tell them I’ve got everything I need right here,” he said, wrapping his arms around me.

             
I smiled wide and allowed his muscular arms to form around my body, though I was determined to get my point heard.

             
“Wouldn’t it be a dream-come-true though?” I persisted. “Plus, you would be doing the world a severe injustice if you didn’t.”

             
Will lowered his face to mine and then brought his lips to my ear.

             
“Mine is a far simpler dream, my Sweet Jules,” he whispered in that sultry voice of his – the voice that only a year ago I wouldn’t have heard the same way.

             
“See what I mean with that voice. I almost believed you,” I said, laughing.

             
“Jules, trust me. My life’s a dream already. I don’t need to go chasin’ something somewhere else,” he said.

             
“But you’re not at all attracted to the thrill of it all, the lights, the fans that would adore you?” I asked sincerely.

             
“Okay, okay, don’t you think you’re getting a little ahead of yourself?” he asked me, laughing softly. “Fans?”

             
“Well, you won me over, and I’m not easily convinced – you said that yourself,” I reminded him.

             
“Alright, my little
Hollywood
agent,” he said, continuing to smile. “You’re right, I’ve got you, and that’s all the fan I ever wanted.”

             
He softly kissed my lips, while someone went and let loose butterflies in my stomach again. He had won, and the butterflies were the sign to prove it. I was forced to surrender. I really didn’t want to argue with him on that point.

             
I sighed – a content, happy sigh, as the first fireworks soared to our height over the muddy water below. Reds, whites and blues sprinkled the night sky and lit up the countering bluffs in the distance.

             
I could feel Will’s hand caressing the strands of my long, blond hair now and laying each piece gently back down onto my shoulder.

             
“I love you, Jules,” he said softly.

             
His words sounded like a love song in themselves – one that I had never heard before tonight. My heart raced, and little jolts of excited energy shot through my body faster than little squirrels upon realizing winter would come early and
they hadn’t gathered any nuts.

             
I followed the path of his words to his lips and then met his eyes. I watched for a second as the red and white lights danced against the background of his blue irises.

             
“I love you too,” I whispered back.

             
Then, I returned my head to his chest, listening to every heartbeat, as he squeezed me closer to his side, and I watched the lights dance in the night’s sky – fully content with my happy, little, grass-globe world, caboose and all – praying those lights would dance forever.