Dance of the Fireflies

rising up to the stars

A cloud of dust and barking dogs followed the beige mini-van up the short drive toward the old house.

Sharon turned to her husband and said, “Look, John, the yard is full of fireflies.”

“I see them. It’s almost as if they knew we were coming all the way here from California and put on a special show for us. “

Sharon said to her elderly father, Reese, in the back seat, “Dad, just look at all the fireflies!”

“Oh, yes, I see them! We caught some and put them in a fruit jar last night, but mom made us turn them loose before we went to bed.”

“Now, dad, you know that’s just an old memory. You haven’t caught fireflies and put them in a jar for 60 years.”

The old man smiled, consumed by the sights, smells and sounds of his youth. There before him was the house he’d grown up in, the oak tree he used to climb, and the woods where he and his friends had gone on so many adventures. Clicking crickets and oxygen-rich country air energized and refreshed the octogenarian’s long-dulled senses.

“Y’all get out and come on in here!” came a friendly voice from the porch. “How was the drive?”

“Very, very long, Brad,” said Sharon to her brother as she got out and gave him a hug.

“It’s good to see you again, John,” said Brad, shaking his brother-in-law’s hand.

“It’s good to see you, too.”

John opened the rear door of the van and helped the old man out. “Watch your step, now.”

Brad hugged his frail father and helped him up the steps. “I think the ol’ house is still about like it was when you lived here, dad.”

The old man looked about and said, “I believe you painted it, didn’t you?”

“Well, dad,  I did. Quite a few times, actually.”

Soon the family sat around a big dining table where they drank iced tea, ate homemade vegetable-beef soup with cornbread muffins and talked about all the latest news. The eldest of them all tried his best to listen and respond to  the questions directed his way, but was very tired, and kept nodding off.

Sharon said, “Brad, I think dad is worn out from the trip. Is there a bed ready for him upstairs?”

"There sure is.” he told her.

Sharon helped her father up the stairs to a familiar old bedroom, gave him his medications, and helped him into bed. The low rumble of voices downstairs didn’t disturb him in the least, and he felt good to be back in the bedroom he’d known so well as a child. Decades melted away, and he floated off into a dreamland of youthful memories. He thought of how the next day was the fourth of July, and there’d be firecrackers.

***

“Dang, Reese, where’d you get ‘em?” asked Billy.

“I found a nickel by the mailbox and bought ‘em in town yesterday!”

“Put one in that tin can!”

Bang!

Billy squealed, “Ahheee!" and cried, "Just look at that! It blowed that can up and rolled it out like a pie crust! Pop another one, Reese!”

“Okay, I’ll put one in that knothole, right over on the sweet gum tree,” mumbled the old man as he lay in bed, smiling.

***

The smell of coffee brewing drifted upstairs and found Reese’s nose. Rising up, he put his khaki pants and brown slippers on and went downstairs. Birds sang and chirped outside the open dining room window and a warm rising sun flooded the space with brilliant yellow light. Silent as a ghost, the old man entered and sat down at the large wooden table.

Sharon quickly served her father a cup of coffee and asked, “How did you sleep last night, Dad? Did we keep you up with our loud talking?”

“No, sweetheart.  I slept better than I think I’ve slept in years. This Arkansas air is making me feel young again.”

“Well, don’t get too young and frisky on us. I don’t want you trying to wander off again. You won’t do that, now, will you?”

Reese smiled slightly and replied, “Oh, I don’t reckon I need to go anywhere.”

“Be sure you don’t. Are you ready for some real country eggs and homemade sausage?”

 “Oh, yes,” he answered, so Sharon made him a fantastic country breakfast that tasted like his mother had made it.

***

“You’d better leave some of them biscuits for your father, young man!”

“But me and Billy’s goin’ fishin’ and we won’t get nothin’ to eat all danged day!”

“Oh, alright, then. Take that leftover cornbread and a jug of well water. I don’t want y’all havin’ to drink out of that muddy creek.”

“Yes ma’am.”

***

“You don’t have to talk to me like I’m your mom, dad--I’m your daughter." said Sharon. Looking at his cup, she added, "Why, you don’t need a refill. Your cup is still nearly full!”

After breakfast, Reese sat on the porch swing and enjoyed the beautiful summer morning. Everything he saw--every familiar rock,  tree, and hill sticking up in the distance made him smile. Cars soon began arriving in the yard and many grandchildren and great-grandchildren  poured out. Most spoke and shook his frail hand or kissed his cheek, while others passed by, seemingly oblivious to him entirely. There were a few whose names he knew, and even remembered how old they were. Whether his eroding memory could place them or not, he loved them very much. His day was near its end, but theirs was just beginning.

After a huge lunch at a crowded, noisy table, Reese returned to the porch swing and continued his happy reminiscing. Brad stuck his head around the corner and said, “It’s getting hot out here on the porch, Dad. Come around back where it’s shady. We’re all eating watermelon--don’t you want some?”

Reese loved watermelon, so he lifted his skinny frame off the swing and stood up. Feeling suddenly light-headed, he grabbed a porch beam and steadied himself. Confused, he continued walking toward the sound of voices.

***

“C’mon Reese--over here!” cried Billy. “Everybody’s waiting for us at the swimmin’ hole!”

“I’m comin’--wait up!”replied Reese, and he followed Billy through the woods.

The sound of voices and splashing water could be heard just ahead. The swimming hole was right there. All Reese had to do was climb down the steep bank. It would be no problem for a young, agile boy.

Someone gently kissed his forehead and said, “Honey, wake up. You’re sleeping.”

Rising up from his crumpled position beside the stream, Reese looked at the one who'd kissed him and cried, “Jenny! I thought you were….”

“No, honey, I’ve never left your side.”

“B-but, there was a funeral.”

“Oh, that? Cancer can’t keep us apart, my darling. Look--the fireflies are coming out.”

Reese and his wife sat beside the stream with their bare feet resting in the cool water. Holding each other close, they watched the fireflies dance and rise up through the trees until they mingled with the heavens above.

Author's Note

One of my old ones.

Reviews

[Vivian Fisk]

I found myself easily transported back and forth, seamlessly, first between the present and the memory, and it was joy to be in both. Then the last reality, with him and Jenny at the swimming hole, another seamless transition, was the most joyous of all, and not just for Reese, but for all of us who know that it really will be like this. The flow of this story is very, very artful, very accomplished. This is beautiful, this is flawless. An amusing thought just occurred to me: the asterisks you used to separate the times are actually the fireflies lighting the way....

[Samuel Dickens]

Thank you. For eight years, this story has been posted here, and you're the first to make that observation. It's nothing I intended, of course, but I'm a bit bowled over.

[Penlady]

Well I'm glad you shared it, though it made me cry....I am a widow twice and the way you have written this story, enveloping the old man in the tenderness of his physical family and the love and happiness of his memories, is the exact way all humans should be able to transition through life to their final Heaven....I think I will keep this story in my special memory place...I was right there! Thank you!

[Samuel Dickens]

I'm most appreciative. Thank you.

[TheWordWanderer]

I agree with this. Surely heaven is a state of mind rather than being. I truly believe this old man found his heaven in this story.

[Will Neill]

My goodness! Sam, it maybe an old one but it held all the charm of a warm tale of love and life. A lovely story.
Will

[Samuel Dickens]

Thanks, Will.

[J. K. Beach]

Sam, that was beautiful! I am amaze at how you can write the most perfect twist, and here the smoothest transitions in an old man's scattered memories. You populate your stories with just the right supporting characters and they play only the least part needed to keep the action or meaning moving along. I wish my poems could learn from your stories... they would be much better for it. Great story, my friend!

[Samuel Dickens]

Thank you, Jacob, but your poems are fantastic just as they are.

[Lyn Anderson]

I picked it because of the title, and was not disappointed. A clear pictorial of everyday drama, life and death, encapsulated in a jar with the little fire flies.

[Samuel Dickens]

Thank you. I'm so happy you enjoyed it.

[Claire Twinn]

Both achingly sad and uplifting, this story is simply lovely. I love the firefly imagery too

[Rogue]

This was another lovely one, Sam. Though sad it also seemed very right. The place he loved and surrounded by people he loved... And the tender ending of the fireflies and his wife.

Just beautiful. :)

[Samuel Dickens]

Thank you. My intention was to show how a seemingly terrible end might not have been what it seemed.

[Rita L. Sev]

Sam, I loved this story. The details of an ordinary family gathering, extraordinary to the one who was in the best position to cherish times such as those... and the absolute gift of being able to let go where he was most at home... I am crying, melancholy tears, but also in gratitude for your ability to make death seem beautiful. Thank you for sharing this.

[Samuel Dickens]

Rita, I don't know what to say, but, "thanks".

[Marie]

This made me cry too, and that does't happen often. I loved it all.

I could make one tiny suggestion:
Soon the family sat around a big dining table where they drank iced tea, ate homemade vegetable-beef soup with cornbread muffins and talked about all the latest newsI think "talked OVER the latest news) would work better in this sentence.)

[Samuel Dickens]

Thank you, Marie. That's a good suggestion. I was inspired to write this one after hearing on the local news about an old fellow with alzheimers that wandered off from a family get together. Saddly, he was found dead, tangled in a barbed wire fence a few days later. With my story, I wanted to show how his death might not have been as terrible as it appeared.

[Georgina V Solly]

Now I know how your mind works and why you liked my story about Joel.
Georgina.

[emmajoy]

Oh dear man, what a beautiful story. Sam, you have a way of turning a story into a precious reminder of what life's all about, how childhood memories lay in the mind to jump up and enrich the present. As always your dialogue fills the bill and your desriptions paint a scene .. as to that ending, i'm so glad there are tissues near at hand. Thank you.