Fireflies

Fireflies

By: Alli Lee

TW: Abuse

The boundless mix of orange and pink in the sky swirl together like a beloved painting that hangs on a wall. I like to just sit watching the buttery clouds swallow up the sunset. I can hear the chipper crickets enjoying this sunset just as much as me. The ever-deepening horizon seemed to go on forever. Pengrove field, I just know was going to be my favorite place. I can lay back and know all the wheat and flowers will catch me. The best part is, when the night falls, the elegant moon lingers through all the stars. Somehow it always seems to be full. Even as the moon grazes the sky, its still so warm. The air blankets around me wrapping my skin in a warm hug. I take a lascivious breath. Fireflies emerge from the shrubs that lay to my left side, they light up the sky, like they always do. I sprawl open my palm, like I always do, and my favorite firefly lands right in the middle. Its little legs tickle my hand, so full of life. I pull my fingers up to my cheek, so that the buzz nestles in. The rest of the fireflies twirl off with the breeze, then the one resting on my palm flies off with its friends, like it always does. Everytime it leaves, it takes a little piece of me with it.

A jolt of pain rips through my head, completely ruining my moment with sweet mother nature. My eyes lift to the sky and there lurks a large shadow. I jerk my head up, or at least try to, but this shadow is standing on my hair. “Sorry,” they mutter, parting backwards. There hasn’t been anyone at my field in 11 years, people barely even drift by the street across. Flustered, my head shakes and I scramble to my feet. My disheveled hair has wheat crumpled in it, pants have grass covering the whole backside, and there’s a boy? He’s got brunette wavy hair that sifts carefreely through the wind, a burly build with muscles pulling out of his tee shirt, inviting hazel eyes, and mysterious smile protruding on his face. It just now hits me, there’sa a cute boy standing in front of me, in MY spot. I can’t decide whether to be angry or curious. “You dropped this,” he says brushing his coarse hair out of his eyes. In his hand he’s holding one of my flower earrings that I dropped days ago. “Thanks,” I replied awkwardly, taking the earring from his slender fingers. His skin feels like authentic leather that’s been washed repeatedly with baby lotion. Our eyes lock and I know he sees the pang of hurt in my eyes. Mystery boy lunges toward my hand, grasping onto my fingers then tugging me to the ground. His sly smile shoots an electric current all down my spine. The next ten minutes, we just sat in complete silence. Not the awkward kind where you don’t know what to say to each other,  but the comfortable kind, like I’ve known him forever. Our knees pulled to our chests, we stare at the stars which are dazzling through the mist of the night. “This one is special,” one of the stars whispers to me. I look over at mystery boy, who’s name I need to figure out, and his bold jawline seems like someone carved him out of stone. His wanting eyes glance in my direction and catch me staring at him. Shit. Then I remember this man is a stranger, so I laugh. I let out the most defiant and effortless laugh that surrounds the field. I haven’t laughed like that in a long time, but just as I am about to stop, he starts laughing with me. Not at me like all the other kids at school, not for me like my pitying parents, but with me. Our laughs tangle together into one and bloom over us reaching the moon, I bet even the stars heard us. 

“What’s your name?” I say finally breaking our silence. “Doesn’t matter,” he says, pulling out that same sly smile that keeps crawling on his face, “I know who you are.” I’m looking down at my dirty shoes, because there’s only one reason people know who I am. My fingers reach to my shoelaces and I start thumbing the material out of nerves. Out of nowhere, he pulls my lone body into a tight hug. His arms are wrapping around my back like he is never going to let go and his chin is resting on my shoulder sending warmth through my veins. I usually hate physical touch, but this is different, this is like hugging the sunshine, except I know he won’t burn me. I let myself fall limp into his arms and he only squeezes me tighter. “Everything is going to be okay,” he says, planting his gentle lips atop my head. I can’t even register that a boy kissed my head because everything that has happened to me in the past year is sprinting through my brain at 100 miles per hour. The time my dad hit my mom so hard that she was knocked out for 3 hours, and threatened to kill me if I called 911. The time when it was the middle of the night and I cried quietly into my pillow while my parents screamed at each other on the other side of the door. “I’m not safe, my parents…their going to hurt me…” I say violently sobbing into mystery boy’s tee shirt. He pulls me off of him and rises to his feet, I’m still curled on the ground rubbing my eyes. I don’t think he realizes that he is the first person that I’ve ever told about what’s happened inside my house. Everyone else just makes up rumors. “Ainsley, I can’t save you, but one day I’ll come back for you. We’ll escape this town and chase the wind far, far away,” he whispers with a tear falling from the corner of his eye, “We will love harder, fall harder, and dream harder together. We can heal together. I’ll aid your bruises and you can care for my scars. Until then, follow the fireflies through the dark. They know their way.” I finish wiping all the tears from my eyes to look up at him, but then he was gone. He vanished from the field and left nothing but a promise. 

3 years later

I feel like I should be more upset than I am about my parents dying in a fire. Here I am about to go say a speech of remembrance at their funeral, but I’m not sure what parts I want to remember of them. I can’t say the truth of what really was going on, I can’t say that I didn’t love them, and I can’t lie about how they made me feel. “Please welcome, Mr. and Mrs. Stratford’s daughter, Ainsley,” the funeral officiant says. My legs feel like jello and my hands can’t stop shaking. I have my whole speech planned out, but none of it feels right anymore. I take my time walking up to the podium making sure to keep my eyes down. The podium wobbles when I place my second foot on it, and the mic squeaks. The fireflies in my stomach are currently doing billions of flips that are about to come out of my throat. I take one last shaky deep breath and look up. “My parents were-” I start to say but then I notice something odd in the back of the room. There’s fireflies hovering around someone, all lit up like they are the soul of the person. The fireflies distract me from realizing who I’m staring at when the person looks up. It’s him. Mystery boy remembered my fireflies.