My Butterfly

Chapter Thirty-Three New York

I put my arms through my grandpa’s old military jacket. His name and division were still etched on the tag inside. I had worn the jacket for every gig and show that I could tolerate its extra warmth under the bright lights. It made me feel as though I had a piece of him and a piece of home too, I guessed, everywhere I went.

I adjusted the jacket over my shoulders and arms while I stood in front of the tall mirror. The dressing room was nicer than any hotel I had ever stayed in. I was alone but only because Daniel, Matt and Chris were in the other room making a big stink about the food they had left us.

I started to fix the collar of my jacket but then stopped when I noticed the scar on my wrist. It had become a constant reminder of the night I had broken it. But what was funny about it was that I didn’t remember the fire or the fall or the trip to the emergency room anymore. Now, the only thing I remembered was waking up next to Julia in that little hospital bed. The scar had become something of a little souvenir of sorts from our last night together.

I felt my lips start to slowly turn up as my mind got stuck on Jules. I was pretty sure she didn’t know about the crazy events that had led up to this moment, unless Rachel had told her. And I guessed Rachel hadn’t because this seemed as if it would have been something Jules might have went out of her way to mention — unless she really had forgotten about us, like Rachel always joked she had.

I looked at my reflection again in the mirror and took a deep breath and closed my eyes.

I let a moment pass before I opened my eyes again. I would look for her out there — just like I had every time I had stepped onto a stage. Though, I was pretty sure I wouldn’t see her. I reached into my jacket and pulled out a small pin from its inside pocket. It was a guardian angel, her guardian angel. I ran my fingers over its metal surface. She promised she would come back someday, and I believed her.

“Hey, Will,” Matt said, as he poked his head into the room.

I turned and faced him.

“They’re calling us up,” he said.

“Okay,” I replied. “I’ll be right there.”

I turned around again and glanced one more time into the mirror and then at the angel in between my fingers.

“I feel like I can’t get to you fast enough,” I whispered under my breath.

Then, I slid the pin back into my pocket and pressed it against my heart.

“Good morning, New York City,” I yelled into the microphone.

Just then, a roar of screams echoed off the tall buildings that surrounded us. It was loud — louder than I had expected. And there was a row of people pressed up against the stage below us — girls, guys, kids.

I looked back at Chris and smiled.

He nodded his head once and smiled back.

“This is our first time in New York City,” I yelled into the microphone again.

The crowd screamed louder.

It seemed as if every time I said the words New York City, the volume of the place increased ten times. I waited for the cheers to die down a little, and then I continued.

“We’re just some small-town, Missouri firefighters who decided one day to start a little band, and we’re happy you invited us into your little town,” I finished.

I smiled then and lowered the mic as the crowd seemed to erupt. And within seconds, Matt started a count, and a melody came pouring through the speakers surrounding us. I readjusted the strap across my chest; my guitar was slung behind me. Then, I casually touched my heart, feeling for my guardian angel, before I gripped the mic with both hands and brought it to my mouth. And just before my first words pushed past my lips and out into the crowd, I thought about her.