Do Fireflies Go to School?

Usually I love fireflies. Not tonight, though.

Usually, when I see the world light up around me with tiny suns, it means the next chapter of today’ fun is beginning. For two months, it meant grabbing that old jar Dad gave me and stuffing my toes into my already-tied sneakers. Mom hates when I do that. She says I’m going to ruin my shoes, and that I already grow out of my shoes too fast as it is. But I still do it because I know she’ll still laugh as I run out the door, swinging and grabbing at every firefly in sight. Most bugs are hard to catch, but not fireflies. It’s like they’re in on the game, wanting to give me a chance to catch them. They don’t get scared away, either. Even when they see a giant hand flying up to capture them, still they wait there for me. By the end of the night, my jar looks like a little Christmas tree, minus the tree part. Just a bunch of twinkling lights floating around, waiting patiently until, as the last sign of real sunlight disappears, I unscrew the punctured cap and watch them disappear back into the night. They don’t mind, though. For two whole months, they’ve always come again to play the next day.

Not tonight, though. Tonight, the fireflies coming out is like an alarm bell going off, telling everyone who sees them that another day is ending soon, and tomorrow is almost here. And today’s tomorrow is the worst tomorrow there is. Because today is summer, but tomorrow is school.

I try to hurry outside without Mom or Dad seeing and wave the fireflies away. I beg them to please, please, please not come to play tonight. If Mom sees them, she’s going to know that the day is almost over, which means going to sleep, which means waking up, which means going to school, which means saying goodbye to summer. For a whole school year. That means no summer until I’m seven, and I just barely turned six. Maybe if I can get the fireflies to hide for tonight, I can figure out another way for us to play tomorrow without Mom and Dad seeing. Normally, I like that the fireflies just hang in the air, not running away. Tonight I’m annoyed, though. No matter how much I try to shoo them away, they just float there, waiting to be caught.

And now it’s too late, because Mom is calling me back inside. She says I can’t catch fireflies tonight because I need to go to bed early. I try to ask her for just five more minutes, but she said I already got five more minutes. Even when I ask for just one more minute, she says no.

Upstairs, I try to do everything as slowly as possible. I don’t really like brushing my teeth, but tonight I brush each tooth an extra two times to make sure it’s clean. I don’t really like washing my hair, but tonight I make sure to scrub every hair on my head until it stings a little. Mom says I’m dragging my feet, so she stays to make sure I get everything else done more quickly.

My stomach is starting to not feel so good now. It feels a little bit like when I ate too much cake at Alex’s party. It was chocolate cake, my favorite, so I took the biggest piece Alex’s mom cut. It had been the best cake in the whole wide world, with so much chocolate icing and even crushed chocolate cookies sprinkled on the whole thing. After everyone had gone back to playing, I snuck back to the leftover cake to have another piece. And then another one. My belly felt ready to explode that day, so Dad drove me home and talked about listening to my body when it tells me I’ve had enough. My stomach still had a little case of the gurgles by the time the sun said goodbye that night, so Dad carried me on his back while I grabbed little fireflies from the air. When I looked up at the red and purple sky, I pretended I had my own wings like my fireflies. Closing my eyes so tight they hurt, I asked Dad if I was glowing. He laughed his big laugh and said he saw my glow every time I smiled.

Well, Dad, unlike with that chocolate cake, I’m listening to my body now. It sounds to me like it’s saying that I’ve had enough school and not enough summer. Maybe if I just get a little more summer, my stomach will feel better. I might need to stay home for a few more weeks, or months. Mom doesn’t agree, though. She says I’m just feeling nervous, but it’ll be better once I’ve made friends in my new class and met my new teacher.

As Dad tucks my pink blanket in around me, I can see little dots of light flashing outside my window. The fireflies. They’re still waiting for me. Every single night, when the sun dropped behind the tall trees in our backyard, they’ve appeared, one by one, ready for me. I wonder where they go during the day. Are they sleeping in the trees? Maybe they sleep in that big, dark hole in the oak tree. Brandon dared me one time to climb up the branches and stick my hand in. Suddenly that tree seemed as tall as a mountain. But I didn’t tell Brandon that because big brothers make fun of you when you’re scared. I had been halfway up the trunk when I felt a cracking underneath my feet. A lot of crying and one fast car ride later, I had fourteen new stitches in my knee. Brandon held my hand the whole time. When we got home, he even helped me climb down from the car. That night, when the little specks of light appeared in the bushes, he held the jar for me as I limped around after my shining friends.

Dad is reading my favorite book tonight, but something’s wrong. Is he reading faster than usual? It doesn’t sound like it, but then how are they already to Foxy Loxy’s cave? I stare at the illustration of a little chicken and duck peeking inside a black cave as a red fox grins behind them. The cave looks so dark in the book, like a big, scary mouth waiting to swallow them up. It’s a good thing that chicken decides to run away. I wouldn’t want to go in there, either. That’s why I sleep with a little mermaid nightlight by my bed. Darkness means I can’t see Mom or Dad or my teddy bear or even my own hand. Brandon told me that darkness lets monsters that are usually trapped in shadows go wherever they want to eat little sisters.

Mom said monsters aren’t real, but one almost got me once. One night as I sat among the fireflies, I found a bright green rock I had never seen before. It felt smooth like water and looked like the pictures I’ve seen of the ocean. I wondered if maybe it actually was from the ocean and imagined what fun stories it had to tell me about living in the underwater world. I got so caught up in dreams of mermaids and pirates that I didn’t notice the fireflies say goodbye, or the sun going to sleep behind the trees. When I looked up, all the green leaves had turned black, and all the bushes around me had combined to make one big, dark wall. The blanket of dark lawn between the back door and me felt like a whole football field. I was alone, and darkness was inviting out the night monsters.

Would the shadow monsters eat me before I can get to the door? Just as I jumped to my feet to run inside, leaves nearby rustled softly. Monsters! Tears were threatening to fall down my cheeks, and my voice cracked as I yelled for Dad. I had dropped to my knees and hugged them close when the dark was chased away by a bright light in front of my face. Right in front of my face, blinking slowly bright yellow, hung one of my wonderful fireflies. It must have heard me crying, because it stood like a knight in one of Brandon’s books, guarding me from any shadow monsters waiting in the dark. Finally, with a shuffle of branches, Dad pushed aside the bushes where I hid and scooped me up. As he carried me to the safety of the kitchen lights, I waved one last goodbye to the firefly who had protected me.

Dad closes the book and says it’s time to sleep. I ask Dad to read another story since that one went way too fast, but that doesn’t work. As he gives me a kiss on the forehead, I look back at the flashing lights outside my window. Tonight is the first night all summer that I haven’t stayed to play with them. They’ll be wondering where I’ve gone. Do fireflies go to school? I bet they don’t even know what school is. They might not know that tomorrow is different. They might keep coming back, waiting for me to come play. But I won’t be there. Each night, they’ll keep coming, and I’ll still be missing. Until one day maybe they don’t come. And one by one, they all disappear. And maybe I’ll become just a memory for them, until even that goes away.

I thought Dad was going to turn off the lights, but instead I feel his warm, rough hand wrap around mine. He brushes my hair off my forehead softly and asks why I’m crying. I feel my chest start to shake up and down faster and faster as loud sniffles slip out my nose. I ask Dad if the fireflies forget their friends when summer ends.

Dad is quiet for a moment as he continues to stroke my hair. Then he asks me something funny: do I think my mouth forgets my hand when it’s not eating? What does that mean? Mouths don’t have memories, do they? Maybe they do. Maybe that’s why mine is always asking for ice cream. Dad laughs at that. Then he takes my hand, looking so little in between his, and holds it up for me to see. Without my hand, he says, my mouth would never be fed. Every day, every bite, my mouth trusts my hand to return when it needs food. And, he says, without the mouth feeding my body each day, my hand would become tired and weak. They work together, forever partners, and even when the mouth is finished eating each meal, still the hand will come when it’s called. Together, along with every other part of my body, they make one, whole, beautiful me.

Dad says that’s the truth of the entire universe, everything tied together, like a beautiful spider web. I never thought that spider webs could be beautiful. But he says this one is. He says with every memory I’ve made with my fireflies, with every touch of their little legs in my hands, they’ve become a part of me, and me a part of them.  Even when I’m not here, my little fireflies carry me with them.

I ask Dad if the fireflies will come every night to see me for the rest of my life. Maybe I could show them what it looks like when the leaves turn orange and red and fall like snowflakes to the ground. Or I could even show them how real snowflakes turn to blankets of snow over the grass. And maybe they could stay forever with me. Squeezing my hand softly, Dad shakes his head. He says there will be days where it’s cold and dark and even when I look for them, I won’t see those glowing lights out my window. He says every person I meet will have days where they can’t see the fireflies. On those days, he says, I should remember them in my head and feel them in my heart, and there I will find them again.

As Dad closes the door to my room after a kiss goodnight and whispered goodbye, I look out the window as the last of the glittering dots disappear. My eyes feel scratchy and heavy now. I guess there was no fighting off tomorrow forever. Right before I let sleep take me, I put my hand on my chest and feel the gentle thud of my heart, and I promise my fireflies to take them with me wherever I go.

***

My hands feel sweaty, but somehow my fingertips still feel cold. My shoes smack loudly against the tile floor as I follow behind Mom’s long legs. I hear shouts and laughter from each door we pass as other kids see old friends and greet soon-to-be new ones. Outside each door, a teacher smiles and waits, waving in other girls and boys who hide behind their parents.

Mom says first grade will be so much fun for me. She says each class has its own special name for the school year. She points to each door as we pass. A bright poster hangs on each one, decorated with cartoon pictures of that class’s theme and a message from the teacher:

Welcome Ladybug Class! Come find your “spots”!

Hello Bumblebee Class! I’m “buzzzzing” with excitement to meet you!

Come on in Grasshopper Class! Time to “hop” into fun!

Mom gives my hand a tight squeeze as we stop in front of the last doorway. She says this is my class. With a deep breath, I look up at the door that seems to tower over me. And I gasp. I press my hand to my heart, and for a second I’m certain I can feel it glowing.

Welcome Firefly Class! I’m de“light”ed to meet you!