My Butterfly

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.”
 
    When I finished singing, she was laughing.
    “How romantic,” she exclaimed.
    There was sarcasm in her voice.
    “I wrote it myself—just for you,” I proudly said.
    “Thanks. I’ll just do some creative interpreting, I guess,” she said, meeting my eyes before returning to her place on my chest.
    “But seriously, though, minus those passionate words, you can really get a girl’s attention,” she said. “You should sing, you know, for people, as a career. You’ve got a gift. You can’t hide it forever.”
    I raised my head off the ground again.
    “Why can’t I?” I asked.
    She met my gaze. Her long eyelashes batted impatiently.
    I saw an opportunity to kiss her pretty forehead, so I did. She smiled but seemed to stay focused on her mission.
    “Because someday, somewhere, somebody’s gonna find out. Then what are you going to do?” she asked.
    “Easy,” I said. “Tell them I’ve got everything I need right here.”
    I squeezed my arms tighter around her little body.
    “Wouldn’t it be a dream come true though?” she asked. “Plus, you would be doing the world a severe injustice if you didn’t.”
    I quietly chuckled to myself.
    “Mine is a far simpler dream, my sweet Jules,” I whispered into her ear.
    “See what I mean with that voice; I almost believed you,” she said, softly laughing.
    “Jules, trust me,” I said. “My life’s a dream already. I don’t need to go chasin’ somethin’ somewhere else.”
    She paused before she spoke again.
    “You haven’t even thought about it just once?” she asked.
    I smiled and shrugged my shoulders.
    “Not once,” I said.
    “But you like singing, right?” she asked.
    I traced the little lines in the green part of her eyes for a few seconds. Then, I kissed her lips to slow down her thoughts.
    She was smiling when I pulled away from her.
    “All right, my little Hollywood agent,” I said. “I’ve got you, and that’s all the fan I ever wanted.”
    She tried to put on another one of those pouting faces she keeps in that little expressions box of hers, but she wasn’t quite successful at it. Her smile never really went away.
    I intertwined my fingers in hers. Then, suddenly, I felt something wrapped around her finger, and I brought her hand closer to my face to get a better look at it.
    She must have noticed me examining her hand because I felt her eyes on me again.
    “Funny story about that little, grass ring,” she said.
    I started to smile.
    “Oh, really?” I asked. “Let’s hear it.”
    “Okay,” she said.
    I noticed her eyes travel back to the ring on her finger.
    “See, one night, this boy and his buddies decided to take this girl and her best friend—practically as hostages—to this old windmill at the edge of town.”
    “Hostages?” I asked.
    Her smile grew as she nodded her head and continued.
    “Evidentially, the boy had a plan to dress up like Spider-Man and to climb said windmill to fool all the townspeople into thinking that Spider-Man was alive and well in their own town.”
    “Hey, I bet some people still believe it,” I said.
    She stopped and playfully rolled her eyes.
    “Anyway, that same night, in the shuffle of almost getting caught, I sprained my ankle and wound up hiding from Officer Brian on the other side of a mound of dirt and grass next to, who other than, Spider-Man himself.”
    I angled my head back and laughed.
    “Baby, I still don’t know how you managed to sprain your ankle,” I said.
    I heard her giggle.
    “I don’t know either,” she said, shaking her head. “But anyway, this boy or Spider-Man made me this grass ring,” she said, eyeing the ring again. “And right there in the grass and the dirt, he asked me to marry him someday.”
    I was quiet and busy trying to fight back a wide smile after she had finished her story.
    “That sounds made up,” I eventually said.
    She lifted her head and met my gaze.
    “But I have the ring to prove it,” she said, positioning her hand so that the ring was clearly in my view.
    “So, you do,” I said, bringing her hand to my lips.
    I kissed the ring and the finger it was on.
    Then, suddenly, a loud thud forced both of our eyes to the river where a stream of reds, whites and blues were already sprinkling the night sky and lighting