FIREWORKS

BOOK ONE: FIREWORKS

one

peppermint patties

i am nocturnal. i sleep by day and awake by night. that’s  just how it’s supposed to be.  i’m used to it, though. but, people who aren’t allergic to the sun, which i am, can see both night and day, which i can’t.

not many are allergic to the sun, not many at all.    

i was born with it, and i can’t do anything about it. so i play in the night, i play deep into the night, with the moonshine on my shoulders.

but still.                       

i yearn to feel the sun’s radiance, his rapturing warmth. i yearn to see his replenishing beauty and brightness, but i can’t. i have no hope. it will never happen. i just can’t.

but i don’t mind the moon. i don’t mind her at all, i love her so. her cool, sweet touch is comforting and familiar and knowing. the moon herself is as cool and swift as a peppermint patty. as dark and mysterious as the shadow of midnight chocolate that cloaks the glowing white peppermint inside.

i was born to the moon.

i was born under the light of the moon.                     

the moon, the moon, the moon. 

two

the red ball

yesterday at exactly midnight, a hollow rubber bounce sounded in the backyard. i was napping in the backyard, cradled in the gnarled roots of the oak tree, but i was awoken by the faint noise. i looked about and noticed a big red rubber bounce ball as it rolled along our dewy backyard lawn. it probably came from over the tall wooden fence that separated our house from our neighbors’ next door.

a few moments later i heard a wooden clatter and heavy breath and i watched without a sound as a boy tried to shimmy over the fence. i’ve never seen him before. apparently, he was just trying to retrieve the ball.

as he got to the top of the fence, he looked up and scanned the backyard with his big brown eyes, straining to see through the pitch night, searching for the ball, catching my eye. he was surprised.

i must’ve been staring pretty hard because when our eyes met, he lost balance. realizing at the wrong moment that he was about to fall off from the top of the fence, he fell off from the top of the fence. back into his own backyard. i heard the wind knock out of him.

“oof!”

immediately i scrambled up from my nap spot and ran over to the fence. i climbed a little over it so i could see if he was okay.

“are you okay?” i gasped.

he looked a little hurt but he managed a crooked smile and a weary thumbs up. i smiled back.

“do you need a hand?” i offered, bending over the fence, jutting my hand out. the boy groaned loudly as he sat up. his eyes were tightly shut as he grimaced with pain.

he grabbed my hand and instantaneously i felt as if the moon were playing tricks with gravity. like she switched of the gravity level to zero. but it was just me. she was just a tiny sliver against the starry dark tonight. i didn’t see the boy floating above ground like how i felt i was doing. it was the strangest sensation. i liked it.

i pulled him to his feet.

he rubbed his back. “thanks,” he said.

“that’s okay. did you want your ball?” i asked.

“oh, yeah.”

i hopped down and retrieved it for him.

“here you go!” i said, catapulting the ball above the fence.

thwank!

that didn’t sound too good.

“oww!” i heard him howl from the other side of the fence. oh great.

“i’m so sorry!” i yelled.

“no, no! it’s good!” he called back.

“okay,” i said uncertainly. there was a silence for a while.

“hello?” i called. maybe he left. there was another silence.

“i’m still here! i’m coming over!” 

in a few minutes time, he emerged from his backyard into mine. his cheeks were flushed with rosy cold and his breath was visible in the starry night air. he was smiling a wide white smile. he was very, very handsome. i thrust my hand out. he shook it without hesitation. i like him.

“i’m evangeline,” i pronounced.  

he got this admiring look in his eyes. we continued on shaking hands. i got that sensation again, you know. except, i think a little stronger than before.

“evangeline,” he repeated. "the name is satisfying to the mouth. rolls right off the tongue.” i liked him even more. “i’m thomas.”

“thomas.” i smiled. i let go of his hand, the feeling still lingering wonderfully on.

“so, how come you’re up so early?” thomas asked. it was probably about twelve thirty in the morning.

“i was going to ask the same thing to you.”

“i asked you first.”

i hesitated to answer. “well, i’m allergic to the sun. i was born with this rare disease where whenever i’m touched by the sun, i get severely burned and i could possibly go blind if i stay too long in it’s light.”

i stopped and looked at thomas. he was listening intently, showing no signs of interruption. i continued on.

“i’ve got the allergy pretty bad … to the point where the sun for me could be lethal, so i stay away from it. i’m pretty much nocturnal. but, you know, i really, really want to feel the sun, i want to ... to bask in it!”

thomas shifted closer to me. there was a long silence between us.  

suddenly he leaned in so close i was sure he was going to kiss me. and i wasn’t even exactly sure what a kiss was.

a strong onrush of unexplainable feeling flushed through me, making me uncontrollably dizzy. i felt like i was a bottle of highly-carbonated soda pop, right after having been shaken and let to fizz ferociously. this feeling buzzed all inside me. it was a really nice feeling. i loved it. but it scared me so bad. his cheek brushed mine and his breath warmed my chill-tipped ear.

“i want to help you,” he whispers. 

time went by very fast after that. pretty soon, we found ourselves standing in the pink glow of the sunrise, and i had to go. 

three

stories

our backyard is vast. it is big, with about a million different trees smothering it’s territory. i never understood how we could have become so rich as to own such a house with a backyard as big as ours.

i later learned that this house was instructed to be built by my great grandmother on my mother’s side, who was, apparently, filthy rich. we inherited this home without further ado.

every night, ever since the night thomas and i met, thomas would climb over the fence and we’d wander through the trees in my backyard.

thomas is actually very talkative and he tells me lots of stories.

i remember every one.

i write them all down in my notebook. he told me a story about a girl who soared across the milky way on wings of spun glass, threaded with diamonds and light, gathering stars and riding shooting ones that sparked twirling rainbows, because she really believed she could.

one story i really liked in particular was about three children, a boy and two girls, and the miracle of the dancing sun that made thousands have faith in God. he told me it was true, but i didn’t believe it for one second. i know absolutely everything about the sun, and for it to move like that in our atmosphere, means that it’d have to move a katrillion times faster in it’s own atmosphere. one million earths could fit inside the sun to estimate the crazy size of that thing.

thomas just told me i don’t have enough faith.

four

what is love?

all the summer, every weekend, thomas visited me. week days he stayed at his mother’s house and every weekend he stayed at his father’s, which was the house next-door to our house. his parents had recently divorced.

when i asked him what he meant, he explained, “it means that they don’t love each other anymore.” when he said that, i just sat there, wondering.

“you’re wrong,” i said after a while.

thomas was a little startled. “what?” he said.

“thomas, you’re wrong.”

“about what?”

“there is no such thing as no longer loving someone.”

"how would you know?”

“i just do.”

“that’s not a good explanation, evangeline.”

i swung my legs on the bench in our backyard and held my breath.

“i remember mother telling me one night, after father had died, that once you love someone, you’ll never not.”

“but what if your feeling change? what then, evangeline?”

“you don’t know what love is. it seems no one does anymore.”

i was so certain.

i’ve never been so certain.

suddenly, thomas reached out and caught my wrist in his. i thrilled. i turned my head to face him. he stared straight into my eyes as if trying to reach my soul. his soft brown eyes hardened. he seemed somewhat angry.

“evangeline,” he breathed. his grip tightened around my wrist, his fingernails digging in.

“what are you doing, thomas?” i was afraid. his voice was smoky and stern. thomas was always gentle with me. he was never like this.

“don’t ever say i don’t know what love is … i do, evangeline. i know i do,” he rasped. it looked almost as if his deep brown eyes were welling with tears, but it was hard to tell.

“what are you saying?” i started to worry. “thomas, is there something wrong?”

his warm brown eyes softened. staring into them made me slowly melt away.

“i’m sorry,” he whispered. loosening his grip from my wrist, he got up to go, said good-bye, and went over the fence.

five 

broken

the way thomas acted that night kept me wondering for days about why he got so strange all of a sudden. 

i thought maybe i hurt his feelings by being so inconsiderate of what he might be going through, with his parents being divorced and all. i was sure that was the solution.

but one sunday night, i was sure i had lost our friendship. 

i was waiting for thomas to climb through my window that sunday night, but after waiting for hours, i grew anxious. he still hadn’t come.

thomas always came. always.

i decided that i would go to him. i rarely did.

i drew my white lace curtains apart and climbed through the open window. there was strong wind, filling the air with the rustle of trees.

i climbed the tall fence and crossed his backyard to his room window. thomas’s father liked to hang wind chimes beneath the balcony. the gentle music of the chimes made me happy.

i searched for the wooden ladder thomas had left underneath his room window for me, in case i ever came to visit him. it was hidden behind the blackberry bush, that same bush we had spent warm summer nights eating the sweet berries from.        

once i reached the top of the ladder, i peered through the window. his curtains weren't drawn. there he was, hunched over his desk, his head in his arms, staring down at his lap. he looked sort ... sad.