My Butterfly

roof-climbin’.”
    She tossed a sarcastic, but playful glare my way. Now, I didn’t have to imagine it.
    “Now, what do I do?” she asked, perched near the windowsill.
    “Just inch your way down,” I said. “I’ll catch you.”
    She hesitated for a second, then raised her chin and eyed the ground where I was standing.
    “It’s not far, I promise,” I assured her.
    She found my eyes again and then hesitantly left the windowsill and used her arms to balance as she slowly shuffled down the tin roof. It took a minute, but she eventually reached the edge and then stopped.
    “Come on,” I said, holding out my arms.
    Her eyes were planted on the ground, and she looked as if she were frozen.
    I threw my hands on my hips.
    “If you sit there and stare at it too long, you’ll never jump,” I said.
    Her gaze slowly found its way back to me.
    “William Stephens,” she softly said, kneeling down closer to the tin, “you better catch me.”
    There was a serious demand not only in her words but also in her eyes that now pierced mine. I felt a sly smile start to crawl its way across my face.
    “Oh, I will,” I said, holding out my arms again.
    She gave me a reprimanding smirk, while I tried to tame my wide grin. Then, she closed her eyes.
    “One. Two. Three,” she slowly whispered.
    Then, she opened her eyes, took a deep breath and stepped off the roof. I caught her inches before her feet hit the ground and wrapped my arms tightly around her little waist. And the next thing I knew, her lips were inches away from mine. But her eyes were closed, and she was laughing. She made me laugh too, and eventually, she opened her eyes and found mine. Then, her laughter faded into a sweet smile. I wanted to kiss her pretty lips right then. But I didn’t. Instead, I gently set her feet onto the ground and took her hand.
    “Come on,” I said.
    “Where are we going?” she asked.
    I could hear her giggling behind me as I pulled her along.
    “You’ll see,” I said.
    I led her down the long, gravel driveway. It was dark, but the big light above us made it easier to see our steps.
    “How did you get here?” she asked.
    “Lou,” I said, stealing a glance at her. “How did you think I got here?”
    “Lou?” she asked, scrunching the features of her face together.
    “My truck,” I said and then paused. “Or…SUV or main form of transportation—whatever you fancy calling her,” I said, with a sideways grin.
    “The girly name,” she exclaimed, as her expression brightened and she nodded her head in slow, exaggerated nods.
    I was guessing she was remembering the night of the bonfire and Rachel’s big mouth.
    “You named your truck?” she asked, with a wide grin.
    I just smiled and shrugged my shoulders.
    “Okay, but why Lou?” she asked.
    “Why not Lou?” I asked.
    “Come on,” she said. “I know you named it…”
    She stopped and then started again.
    “I mean, I know you named HER after someone.”
    I felt my smile start to edge a path up my face.
    “Come on,” she said again, lightly shoving my arm. “Who was it—a girl you had a crush on in first grade, on TV?”
    I threw my head back and laughed. If that were the case, I would have named the truck Jules . And believe me, I had thought about it, but in the end, decided against it. I had already been stalking her since we were kids; I didn’t need to make it any more obvious.
    “No,” I said, shaking my head. “You’re way off.”
    She flashed me a baffled look. Her puzzled face was cute, so I drew out the moment studying the perfect way she pushed her lips to one side and peeked through her big eyelashes from squinted eyes. And only after I had memorized her expression, I spoke.
    “It was my grandmother’s name,” I said.
    I continued to watch her as she paused in thought, maybe, for a moment.
    “But isn’t her name Willamina?” she asked.
    “No, the other one,” I said. “She passed away before I was born.”
    “Oh, right,” she somberly said, while tossing her eyes to the ground.
    “Her name was Louisa,” I said, trying to lighten the mood again. “Lou for short.”
    Jules looked back up at me and smiled.
    “Well, where is Lou, the truck?” she asked.
    “On the county road,” I said.
    “It’s on the road?” she exclaimed.
    Her question fit somewhere in between scolding and surprise.
    “I pulled it off to the side, in the field; it’s okay,” I said.
    I watched as a smile slowly returned to her parted lips. God, I