Fireflies

Fireflies

Claire had never seen a light quite like this one; not white like a headlight, and not yellow like the old lamps that flickered along main street, but almost violet. It was funny, how once you got near the old slough how the air played with colors. Once past it into the fields she could see the flickers return to their normal pale yellow, weaving and dancing over the fields. She sunk into the deep grass, it’s sharp stalks poking and prickling at her bare arms and legs like tiny scalpels. Grabbing a stalk, she sucked out its sweet nutty flavor and rolled it around on her tongue. The night out here has it’s own language for those who want to hear it. Crickets and frogs singing out their rough edged melodies, while the hoots of the barn owls echoed from afar, weaving a lonely counterpoint to the sweeping overture of rustling leaf and swaying branch. And a light show to go with it.

Against the backdrop of stars and moon, fireflies danced like the fairies of old legends, weaving and flickering in careless motion against the satiny black night. A tear danced across Claire's cheek, an echo of their dance. Not for the first time she felt the burning bittersweet longing that left her as empty as a burnt husk. The yearning to be like them, wild and untethered and random floating carelessly in the summer sky. Free. The lights that danced blurred like the lightshow at the planetarium in town, streaking her sight with strokes of yellow and white.

The sharp crack of a stick breaking caused Claire to shoot upright, just in time to see a midget’s shadow capture all but two of the fireflies she’d been so intently gazing at. “Hey! You runt! Cut that out!”

She just could make out a gap toothed grin in the softly glowing light of the jar of captured fireflies. “Sorry, can’t sis. I need these for my science project.” The nasal snort that was Brian’s excuse for a laugh grated in her ears.

She jumped for the jar only to have it yanked back in the dim night. “Science project, shmience project. You’re just here to annoy me.” She lunged again.

He easily eluded her. “Am not. This is legit. It’s my project for Mr. Schueller’s class. That it annoys you is just a bonus.” Again the nasal snort.

“I swear, if it wasn’t a criminal offense, I’d have…”

“…throttled me long ago. Yeah yeah. That’s if you could ever catch me.”

She sighed. “Ok, prove it bright boy. What’s your project?” She edged her way closer to where she thought his shadow was hovering.

“I’m doing an experiment to test the radioactivity in these little suckers.” Brain held up the jar and, shook it in emphasis.

“That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard, now let them go!”

Brian dodged just in time and backed away, “Maybe it’s the dumbest thing you’ve ever heard, but the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard are the yowlings you record in your room every night.”


An invisible force came down hard against Claire’s chest, almost knocking the wind out of her. Stillness invaded her body, every muscle tensed.

A heavy hand clapped her shoulder. “Get back to the house Bri, before I deal with you myself. Dad needs someone to clean out the chicken shed. I volunteered you.” Claire could here Steve’s grin in every cadence of his voice.

Brian glared at Steve, his puglike nose wrinkling in anticipation of the smell. “You didn’t.”

“Wanna bet? Now get a move on.” A clod of dirt ricocheted off of Brian’s shoulder, and another grazed his left temple. Claire could hear his shout of outrage, and the tramplings of his feet through the grass like a miniature rhino.

The pressure on her shoulder lessened. “He’s just a kid.”

“Hah! He’s a troll.”

Steven’s chuckle helped ease the band of tension around her chest.
“He’s family kiddo - if he’s a troll what are you?”

“It was a hospital mix up, I swear. Did you know he’s testing the fireflies for radiation for a science project?”

Steve’s chuckle became an all out roar. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope, the kid’s whacked. He’s going to try to build a nuclear bomb with them I bet. Kid Frankenstein, that’s who I get for a younger brother.”

“Could be worse.”

“Yeah, yeah. Could be you.” A half-hearted grin crossed her lips in a futile attempt at humour before fading like a wilted violet. She stared up at the sky at the remaining flickers moving with the breeze. The night stretched between them, undulating in liquid sound.

“I saw your application on your desk when I came looking for you.” A flat statement.

“Yup.”

“Don’t you have to have it in the mail by tomorrow?”

“Day after. But what’s the use? I can’t go.” She spun around to face her twin. “You know it. I know it. I’m not going to pretend.”

“Why not? You somehow managed to get a full scholarship and you’re just not going to use it?”

She shrugged.

“Sounds like a waste to me.”

It was her turn to snort. “You should hear mom on the subject. You’d think I was carving her heart out with a dull spoon.” Claire fixed her gaze on the moon. “She’d never forgive me if I went to Boston.”

“So what then? You’re going to stay here and what? Work at the local Home Hardware until you marry Derrik Enns and have dozens of little Ens to make ma happy?”

She snuck a look at him from the corner of her eye. “Maybe.”

He hooted. “You’d never be able to do it – you’d self combust. Blam! Claire pieces everywhere!” He flopped on the ground, shoulders shuddering in mirth.

Lines began creasing her forehead, “I could! I mean not with Derrik, that guy’s a Neanderthal, but you never know, someone, something, might turn up….”

Steve pulled her down beside him in the grass. “What do you hear?”

“What?”

“What do you hear?”

She stopped and listened to the crickets and the frogs. The wind and the whispers of the night and the long drawn out hoots of the owls. The lines of the individual sounds blurred and blended in rising cadence and swirling melody.

A barely audible whisper escaped her lips, “Music.”

“Ah hah! Do you know what I hear?” He didn’t wait for her to answer. “I hear frogs, and crickets and owls. And a wind telling me that it’s probably going to rain tomorrow.”

She shrugged. “So? What does that prove except that you’re short on imagination?”

“Ha ha. Don’t so me, you know what I’m saying.” He pulled her to her feet. “We have to get back, Dad’s waiting.”

They began the meandering road back through the field, the nights symphony weaving it’s legato melody around them, slowing their steps in languid grace.

He was right. Music was in everything she heard, in the rhythmic sounds of the heavy machinery, the sharp whistles of the winter wind in a blizzard, the soft seductive music of a summer night. She sang it, she wrote it, and now it got her a full scholarship to Berklee. But what did it matter? Against all that song was a picture painted in grey ash, eyes worn with the look of a cast off kitten, and a mouth drooping like the sad face of a beagle.

If music was woven through her being, so was guilt.

The brightness and chatter of the kitchen assaulted her in a barrage of sound and light. Blinking she quickly moved through to the family room on the other side, warming herself by the fire her father always kept lit. As quick as she was, she wasn’t quick enough. A lithe form moved with a catlike grace to the kitchen door.

“The dishes are done now. How was your walk?”

Brisk yet mournful, neglected yet self-sufficient. It was a trick Claire would never be able to master in a thousand years, but her mother had it down to a science. Her father coughed twice and rustled his paper, gazing at it over smudged reading glasses.

Steve breezed into the living room. “Brian was tormenting her in the fields again.” A self satisfied smile lit his face. “I told him you needed him to clean the chicken shed.”

Her dad’s gaze fixed on Steven for a full two seconds before dropping back to the paper. “Really?”

“Oh Steven.” Her mothers pained yet longsuffering gazed bored into his back. He grinned openly at Claire, before making a mournful puppydog face at her. She turned to the fire, unable to stop the upward creep of the corners of her mouth. “When will you stop tormenting your brother like that?”

He shrugged. “I suppose when he stops bugging Claire.”

“He’s just a boy.”

Her father cleared his throat. “‘Bout time the coop had a good cleaning at any rate. Won’t hurt the boy any.”

The corners of her mother’s mouth drooped, and she sighed as she wiped her hands on the well worn dishtowel. “Speaking of cleaning, that kitchen could sure use a good scrub down.” Sighing, she looked out the window before lethargic steps began to draw her towards the doorway.

Claire felt the leash tighten around her neck and drew a deep breath. She began to move away to the kitchen, ready to tell her mom that she would take care of it. Like the good girl she was. As she brushed by her father’s chair, his farm roughened hand reached out and took hers. The shock of it completely halted her progress and silenced her tongue.

“Nothing in there that can’t wait until tomorrow for a good cleaning.” Resting his paper on his lap, he turned the page with his free hand. “Why not join us in here for a cup of tea Madge?”

Her mother froze midstep and glanced back, taking in the fireside scene. “Well, Henry if you think so.”

Steven moved to the couch. “Yup, Brian was bugging Claire about her music again. Oh, while he was catching fireflies to test for radioactivity.”

Her father grunted in response. Her mother wafted her way to her chair and pulled out her knitting. “Have you finished the sweater you started Claire Elizabeth?”

Claire shrunk closer to the fireplace. “Not exactly.”

“She finished up her Berklee application though. I saw it on her desk.” Steven grinned openly.

Claire’s eyes widened, and she tried to move from the room, but her hand was held in a iron grip.

“Oh. I see.” brisk yet mournful. All around Claire the color and music seemed to be draining into the floorboards.

“Hmm. That so, is it.” Her father turned another page, not even looking up.

“I suppose you’ve decided to leave us then.” her mothers words came out in a strangled voice.

Words stuck like bile in Claire’s throat. “I haven’t exactly decided.”

“Hrmph. Thought you were just short of a stamp.” Her father’s gaze brushed her face before returning to his lap. She didn’t recognize the expression in his eyes, it passed so quickly. Color started returning, and she could hear the rhythm the fire made as it cracked behind her.

“I wasn’t sure, I mean, well… I didn’t know if…” her voice faltered off the edge of the precipice she felt she was standing on.

“I suppose the whole farm would go to wreck and ruin if you went.” Her fathers gaze didn’t move from the article he was looking at.

Her mother’s shoulders straightened, and the teacup shimmied against the saucer. “Well, heaven knows you are such a help to me. I’m not too sure how I’d be able to get all the gardening done without you around to help, not to mention the kitchen chores …”

“I hear Diane Willimson is looking for part time work. I bet she’d be a great help around here.” said Steven, his eyes glinting deviously.

The rattle of the teacup increased in volume, the tremulous vibrato of a frightened bird. Her mother quickly set it on the table and began to knit her project in brisk stacatto rhythm. “Well, I’m not sure that we can afford that right now. After all, with it being so dry this year…”

“Don’t see that would be much trouble Madge. The girl’s only 14, she’s not going to break the bank.”

“Well, I see.” the stacatto of the knitting increased, like the rhythm of a mad tap dancer. “I suppose I could see if she’s suitable.” Her mothers lips were pursed, nothing more would come out of them that night. Her eyes fixed on her knitting. Click click click.

Claire took a shuddering breath, and sank down to her knees by her father’s chair, resting her head against the arm rest, her arm at an awkward angle.

“I suppose you’ll be needing a lift into town tomorrow then girl?”

Her father squeezed her hand gently.

Her voice, like the soft song of a floutist echoed in her head, “Yes. I mean, if that’s ok, if someone’s not busy…”

Her father looked up at Steven. A look she couldn’t begin to fathom at this moment passed between them. “You’ll make sure she gets there, won’t you son?”

Steven’s face radiated with glee. “I’ll be more than happy to.”

Her father’s eyebrows came together for a moment. “The post office. Not Maggie Peter’s house.”

Heat in red fingers crept up Steven’s face. “Of course. Post office and right back.”

With a hrmph and another gentle squeeze her father released her hand. “You have anything left to do for that application?”

“No. It’s done.”

“Hmm.” His attention returned fully to the paper.

Her mother placed her knitting on the table with the motion of an automaton. Raising her hand to her head she said, “I believe I’m getting one of my headaches, I’m going to bed for the night. Good night children.” Her gaze lingered briefly on her husband and Steven, and completely missed Claire as she shuffled from the room.

“Speaking of headaches, you look rather pale yourself sis.” Steve came across the room and pulled her up with both hands and pushed her towards the door. “We’ll head into town by eight so I can get back in good time, so you’d best head to bed.” In an already dreamlike state, she allowed him to guide her towards the door. At the edge of the room she turned back and looked at her father.

“Dad?” Her voice quivered, “Thanks.”

“For what? Now get yourself to bed, you look like a ghost.” He glanced up at her, his gaze again brushing her face lightly, before returning it to his page.

Steven pushed her through the door, and pressed a key into her hand. She could hear, or more accurately smell Brian’s entrance to the house, and she could hear the sputter and splurt of the shower begin overhead.

“He keeps them locked in the shed. Under the feed buckets.” Steven winked at her.

In her mind’s eye, she pictured her fathers and Stevens face as they looked at each other in the living room, the brown envelope of her application on her desk. Her father’s voice sang in her ears as she looked down at the key in her palm. She looked at Steven, mischief and hope bright in her eyes. She winked back and ran out the door.


Empty jars lay strewn on the ground at her feet as the music of the night swirled around her. She opened up the last jar of fireflies, and spun in a circle, releasing them all to the night. Flitting here and there like benificent fairies, they danced and swirled their way through the night air, on the breeze that caused the leaves to dance and the branches to sing. Watching the flickers of light dance across the moon and stars, the music wafted its way deeper into her soul. Her arms spread like an airplane she spun in circles as she watched the lights ascend in random motion. Watching each flicker escape into the night, she smiled. She looked back for a moment at the dull yellow lights of the house, and then turned her head away, and lifted her gaze to the stars.