He dug his heels into the ground.
“Do you see what I see?”
With his head pressed even deeper into the small of my waist, he peeked around my body. “I see trees.”
“Look there.” I pointed at the tree in a frenzy. “Don’t you see all the butterflies?”
At the sound of his gasp, I knew he had spotted them too. “Holy Mother of God.”
We hurried off the swing, then tiptoed toward the tree. I don’t know why we tiptoed; I guess we didn’t want to startle them, as more were pouring in.
With open jaws, we followed the highway of butterflies out to a small meadow, just beyond the tree line, where thousands of monarchs flickeredthrough the air. Streaks of the fading sunlight pierced their wings, casting an orange glow on the grass. Like a waltz of fairies, they fluttered together, soaring high, soaring low, creating a gargantuan kaleidoscope.
We gaped at one another at the wonder of it all, then crept into the open meadow, moving with caution into the swarm. Neither of us spoke; we were too mesmerized for words. And we sure didn’t want to take a chance on scaring the butterflies away. The setting sun above drenched us in warmth as the miracle unfolded. A butterfly tea party was in progress, and we were their honored guests.
With arms stretched open wide, we turned in circles as the butterflies waltzed around us. Many landed on our shirts, causing us to beam with even greater wonder. Leon’s yellow T-shirt held so many it looked as if they might lift him up off the ground and fly away.
In the distance, another small meadow abounded with goldenrod. Thousands more monarchs swarmed from flower to flower. With chins tilted skyward, we crept toward the meadow, seduced by our enchanting hosts. As we moved closer, I fantasized about Leon asking me to waltz along with them.
Our presence never seemed to deter the butterflies, so once we got to the second meadow, we lay down on our backs in the tall grass. Neither speaking. Neither moving. Just two stargazers marveling at the extravaganza above.
Minutes passed before Leon broke the silence. “Did your parents give you butterfly kisses when you were little?”
I moved my head from side to side, feeling the soft grass tickle my cheeks. “What’s a butterfly kiss?”
He rolled toward me, dipping down toward my face, fluttering his eyelashes. His lips hovered mere inches from mine. I could see my reflection in his eyes as my heart blasted inside my chest. I swallowed, curling my fingers in my palms, waiting for his kiss.
But his kiss never came. Instead of diving into my mouth, he dove into my cheek. His eyelids moved rapidly as his lashes tickled my skin.When he pulled back, beaming at me, I wanted to grab the back of his head and pull his face down into mine, touching his lips with my lips.
“Feels like butterfly wings flapping,” he said. “Don’t you think?”
“I think it tickles.”
“My mom gave them to me and my sibs when we were little.”
A cacophony of voices sounded behind us. Loud. Harsh. Obnoxious voices. We propped up on our elbows, turning at the same time to see intruders spilling intoourmeadow.
One of the girls bellowed, “What the hell? Wow, you guys. This is the grooviest thing I’ve ever seen!”
“Oh my God!” her friend shrieked. “Stu, look at this!”
Their voices, far too boisterous, caused many of the butterflies to fly away. Leon and I pouted at one another. Our tea party had been crashed by unwelcome visitors.
He sat up. “Ready to head back?”
Heck no,I wanted to say.I want to stay right here and kiss you. And not with my eyelashes.But in typical Suzannah fashion I said, “If you want to.”
“We should share. We can’t be greedy. That wouldn’t be the Aquarian way, now, would it?”
“Not the Aquarian way,” I answered with a forced smile, pondering the reality that he must have a girlfriend back home. How could this beautiful boy not have a girlfriend back home?
“Let’s go find that beer,” he said.
“Enjoy the party,” I told the crashers on our way out of the meadow, trying to put an Aquarian-way tone to my voice.
On the way back to our seats, we babbled nonstop about what had just happened. “I read about the monarch migration inNational Geographic,” Leon told me. “Blows my mind those little bugs fly all the way from Canada to Mexico.”
“It was the coolest thing I’ve ever seen.”
