Butterflies

Butterflies.

I cannot recall what it is that I first noticed about her, but that’s because I was so lost in her from the moment I saw her on that first day of geology class. Her short blond hair brushing against her cheek, the little rounded nose, the big blue eyes looking up to see me. I was drawn to her and without thinking I found myself sitting next to her.

I accomplished remarkably little that semester and remember even less. While I cannot recall the differences between metamorphic and those other two kinds of rocks, I can recall in detail the way her face lights up when she’s happy, the cute little tattoo on the inside of her left wrist, the care with which she doodles on her foot, the way she looks when she pulls a red cap down over her eyes when she hasn’t had enough sleep. I can’t tell you the feeling of being able to toss an Altoid in her mouth from two seats away, but I remember how much we laughed when a stray one hit her in the eye. It’s not that I didn’t try to pay attention in class, but it was always more exciting to be poked or have one of her sandals tossed at me for attention.

We never did anything normally, not even flirt. We text-messaged each other from two seats away. I passed notes to her by writing them on paper and then sending pictures of them by cell phone. But the conversations were the best – the way we both leaned in, the way our eyes always met. The way no one else existed in those moments. And it never mattered what we were talking about. It was all the things that were unsaid. The way she looked at me. The way I hung on every glance.

She had chased me that day and nearly tackled me in the plaza. I hadn’t seen her and my only warning was the clapping of shoes on pavement quickly approaching from behind and then there she was – her cheeks flushed, lips parted into a big smile and the excitement in her eyes when I saw her. It was then that I knew I was in trouble. There was no going back. I felt the butterflies.

And sometimes it’s all about the butterflies.