My Butterfly

Chapter Eight Senior Year

I heard a knock at the door just as I was signing my name to the last page of paperwork.

“Come on in,” I said.

I heard the door push open, and I took a quick glance back.

“Hey, babe,” I said, setting down the pen and flipping through the healthy stack of pages.

“Hey,” I heard her say, making her way over to me.

And within seconds, I felt her arms wrap around my neck and her weight press down onto my shoulders.

“Whatcha’ workin’ on?” she asked.

My hands left the pages and found a spot to rest on her arms, and I reached up and kissed her.

“Oh, just filling out forms for the fire department,” I said. “Even if you’re a volunteer, it requires an autobiography, evidently.”

I heard her take a deep breath as she pushed off of my shoulders.

“Can I have some water?” she asked.

I turned in my chair and watched her make her way into the kitchen and pull out a glass from the cabinet. She filled the glass with water from the faucet and took a drink. I smiled at her when her eyes finally met mine again, but her lips only slightly turned up.

“What’s wrong, Jules?” I asked.

She took another deep breath, then set the glass down onto the counter and walked back over to me. My eyes followed her as she fell into the chair next to mine and began to study my face.

“You really want to be a firefighter?” she asked.

Her question made me pause. Yesterday, when I had told her that I had driven by the fire station and the thought had just sort of overtaken me, she seemed happy for me.

“Yeah,” I said. “I mean, I can’t believe I hadn’t thought about it before. At least, then I could have gotten Counselor Old Fart off my back a lot sooner.”

She seemed to be tracing the lines in my eyes, until she eventually nodded her head.

“It’s just so…,” she started.

I furrowed my brows and tilted my head.

“So?” I asked.

I watched as she took another deep breath.

“So what, Jules?” I asked again. “You seemed fine with it yesterday.”

“I know,” she said. “It’s just so dangerous, you know?”

My eyes settled on hers, and I started to smile.

“Jules, it’s not that dangerous,” I said. “And, you know, it’s me. Jules, you know I’m not the type of guy who can sit in an office all day. Hell, I can hardly sit through a class.”

A soft, guarded laugh fell from her lips, but then her smile went limp again.

“It’s just…,” she started and then stopped.

My eyes stayed on her expression, even though I couldn’t read even the slightest part of it. Her eyes, on the other hand, were turned down toward the floor. Then, it finally dawned on me. I sat back in my chair and took a deep breath.

“It’s just that future lawyers who are future presidents don’t date future firefighters,” I said, crossing my arms.

I felt my expression turning cold, as her eyes quickly shot up at me, and her sad stare seemed to grow annoyed.

“That’s what it really is, isn’t it?” I asked in a firm tone.

She was quiet.

I knew it. I should have known. If I could be a lawyer or a doctor, maybe I would, maybe I wouldn’t. But I knew how the world worked even so, and I should have known that girls with ambitions like Julia Lang didn’t stick around long with guys like me.

I watched as her eyes narrowed into little, cat-like slits.

“What are you talking about?” she asked.

“Just say it, Jules,” I said. “You want a doctor or a lawyer or some senator or someone who’s smart enough to cure cancer and who makes six figures and who can take you to fancy parties and buy you everything you want.”

I paused for a second and swallowed hard before continuing.

“Well, that’s just not gonna happen with me, Jules,” I said. “That’s not in my stars. I’m just a small-town, country boy, and that’s all I’ll ever be.”

Then, I pushed up fast from my chair. Its wooden legs scooted across the floor hard and made a loud, unpleasant sound. Her eyes were still narrowed on me and were now piercing my thick skin. I kept my own eyes on her for a second longer, and then I darted toward the back door and pushed hard through it.

My feet hit the wooden porch boards, and I stopped and ran my fingers through my messy hair as I took a deep breath. The air was cold and merciless. It stung my throat and lungs, but after a second, I forced the breath back out and watched its fog leave a trail from my lips and eventually disappear. Then, I walked over to the railing, doubled over it and cupped my face in my hands.

I couldn’t even remember a time that I didn’t want this girl. How could I, in all that time, never have thought that I wasn’t the one who she would want?

I brought my fingers to my lips and took another deep, cool breath, and suddenly, I felt a hand on my shoulder.

I stood up fast, turned and squared up to Julia.

“It’s not that,” she whispered.

I searched her expression — her eyes and her lips. Nothing I found on her was angry. It all seemed sad, and suddenly, I felt like a jerk.

“I’m so sorry, Jules,” I said.

I nudged her arms, willing her closer to me. She hesitated but then gave in and fell into my chest.

“Say that you forgive me,” I whispered low and near her ear.

She felt so small in my arms.

“Forgive me, Jules,” I said.

I squeezed her tighter, then pulled away and lowered my face to hers and rested a hand gently against each side of her face.

“Say that you forgive me,” I said to her again, bringing my forehead to rest on hers.

I watched as her mouth tried to turn up a little.

“I forgive you,” she whispered.

Her words made me smile, and instantly, I pressed my lips passionately against hers. The first thought of losing her was the most terrifying thought I had ever had. And her words had saved me from it.

When our kiss broke, I caught her gaze in mine.

“It’s not that, Will,” she said in a soft voice.

I nodded and brought her head to my chest again.

“I know,” I softly said. “I know.”

I pulled her closer to me and caressed the strands of her long hair.

Honestly, I didn’t know if I fully believed her, but I also didn’t know if I blamed her either. She deserved those things I would never be able to give her. She deserved those things, but there was also a little part of me that believed that maybe, just maybe, what I couldn’t give her in riches, I could make up for in love.