Free Butterfly Weeds by Laura Miller Page B

choice to make. And he had already planted his heart and had made up his mind, and there would be no changing it. I knew this much. Beyond that, he had been smiling – that little, goofy smile of his when he thinks all the world is right. That’s w hat really mattered in the end.
     
                  I shuffled to a chair behind the lab table and fell into it.
     
                  He had been smiling, and now I was smiling again too thinking about him and his decision and my decision to support him – reservations or no reservations – because in the end, I knew that our lives were about to change. And I had already promised myself that I would spend the next several months bottling his smiles for safe keeping – for a time when they wouldn’t be an arm’s length away.
     
     
     
     
     
     
     

 
    Remember
     
     
     
     
     
                  B y Thursday morning, I had my worn-in, ebony jeep packed with the essentials – clothes, TV and CD player – and I was just about ready to set out on my new adventure when something in the distance caught my attention. While searching for an available space to stuff the last of my treasured possessions, I heard a car treading over gravel on the county road just up the hill. The sound caused me to look up from the dusty floorboard.
     
                  Through the leafy oak trees that lined the rock-covered path, I could see a red SUV kicking up sand-colored dust and gravel as it hurriedly made its way to the edge of my driveway. As a wave of excitement jetted through my body, I quickly found a tiny crevasse on the jeep’s floor and squeezed the final duffle bag into the last existing available space inside the vehicle. Then, I brushed the strands of my hair that had fallen into my eyes away with the back of my hand and waited anxiously.
     
                  The SUV came to rest behind my jeep moments later, and the boy in black, basketball shorts, a cut-off, red tee shirt and red and white tennis shoes stepped out and stood rigidly in front of me. His tee shirt made it possible for me to see his tan muscles protruding from his biceps, and I couldn’t help myself from noticing that his calf muscles, left exposed where his basketball shorts stopped, were just as defined. I wondered for a second if he had planned his outfit especially for today, yet quickly tossed the idea out. Will didn’t plan, and besides, this was his usual attire. Maybe I was just now realizing how much I was going to miss it, miss him.
     
                  Today, he also wore his favorite hat bearing a popular brand of golf clubs across the face of the cap’s crown. I always thought the cap gave him a certain ruddy and handsome look that was completely irresistible. Today, as always, and even after three years, butterflies danced in my stomach as I watched his still figure watch me.
     
                  “You all packed?” he asked finally, through a half-smile.
     
                  “I think so,” I said, taking a glance inside the jeep.
     
                  Will watched as I then took two tries to close the passenger’s side door, leaning against it with all of my might.
     
                  “I told you you’d get in,” he said softly.
     
                  I paused and smiled up at him.
     
                  “Well, we can’t all make it into the fire academy,” I said.
     
                  Will’s eyes fell toward the dusty ground at his feet, and his cheeks turned a slight reddish color.
     
                  “I brought you something so you remember to remember me,” he said playfully, though slightly somber.
     
                  He stood stiffly in front of his driver’s side door, still facing me.
     
                  I gave him a gentle smile that froze into a half-smile as I spotted the sadness in his