My Butterfly

for the ground. Seconds later, I heard her scream or laugh or something, and the next thing I knew, we were in a pile in the dirt.
    “Aah,” I sighed, exhaustedly thrusting my head back against the ground. “I almost made it.”
    “What are you talking about?” she asked. “You did make it.”
    I could barely move, but I forced my head out of the dirt and grass and looked up. We were in a clearing, and I could see downtown below us and all its people walking every which way. I must have fallen the rest of the way.
    I met her eyes, and she kissed my lips.
    “Thanks, sweetie,” she said, giving me the most perfect smile.
    I squeezed my arms around her with the little strength I had left, and then I kissed her forehead.
    “Told ya I’d make it,” I proudly said.
    She smiled and playfully rolled her eyes.
    “Did Furballs make it?” I asked.
    I watched as her eyes made a circle around us. Then, eventually, they stopped. And within the next second, she was out of my arms and moving toward the edge of the bluff.
    I slowly pushed myself up from the ground and watched her secure her ugly cat again. She had dirt on the side of her little jean shorts, and I think there was a twig in her hair, but she still looked beautiful. I sat there for another second watching her dust off Furballs. Then, I got up and grabbed the quilt from the ground and made my way back from the edge a little.
    I tossed some twigs and some little rocks out of the way. Then, I stretched the blanket out over the grass and dirt, sat down and caught Jules peering out over the edge.
    This bluff was probably the highest point in town. Down by the river and on this side of the levee, people danced around little, brick buildings and short, narrow streets. The Fourth of July had always brought people downtown. Otherwise, this part of town was pretty quiet, except for maybe when there was a state game playing at the little theater or when the river was extra high and people couldn’t stand not to come out and stare at it.
    And now, even though we were pretty high up and the evening was quickly turning to night, I guessed Jules was still finding things to look at because she had been lost in the scene below us for a good while now. Then again, I guessed she was good at that too—good at always getting lost in little things. Her head seemed as if it were always churning out little thoughts.
    I smiled at the thought and then lowered my eyes and noticed the edge of the quilt sticking up. I leaned over and pulled it back. There was a twig underneath, so I tossed it to the side.
    “You need some help with that?”
    I looked up and found her eyes on me. I smiled and shook my head.
    “Now you ask, after all the work’s done, as usual, my dear,” I answered her.
    A playful side-smile hung on my lips.
    She gave me her best pouting face and threw her hands on her hips.
    I, on the other hand, made a quick decision to take full advantage of the moment and get a good look at her. Her hair was down and fell in waves against the sides of her face. And she was wearing a tight tank top and jean shorts, and at the bottom of her long, tan legs, were her favorite, little boat shoes. She called them something else, but I was pretty sure, in the end, they were just plain old boat shoes. Though, somehow, she still managed to look as cute as hell in them.
    “Get over here, pretty girl,” I demanded then.
    I watched her saunter over to me, her playful smile growing. And when she got close enough, I reached up, scooped her into my arms and fell back against the quilt and the soft earth.
    “How much longer do we have?” she asked, nuzzling her head into my chest.
    “Oh, probably about a couple more minutes,” I said, squeezing her closer still.
    “Sing to me then,” she said.
    She pulled her head back and found my stare just as a smile was forcing its way to my lips.
    “What do you want me to sing?” I asked.
    “A song about us,” she said, tracing with her delicate fingertips the places around my eyes and nose and then lips.
    “Okay then,” I eventually said, slowly nodding my head.
    Satisfied, I guessed, she rested her head back onto my chest, and I watched pieces of her hair fall over her sun-kissed shoulder as she made herself comfortable. Then, my mind went to stringing together some words for her song. And when I had them, I brought my lips closer to her ears and whispered her a melody:

“Though you’d rather watch a sappy ending
Than a football game