Why Aren’t There Fireflies
by Doug Bond
Julie's moving a little crooked, and for a moment I want to steady her, slow down. I wonder if one will ever take. She's never been here this time of year. Doesn't know the way rain comes in summer, taking all day to build. A firefly lights up and disappears in the ferns along the roadside. We're walking quickly again. I'm trying for long deep breaths.
Mom's doctor had called at six am from ICU to give Dad an update. There were complications. Hematologist brought in from New Haven. We'd been at the hospital since we got in. It's been a long day. Julie needs sleep.
“We should probably head back,” I say, “I think my Dad wants us to watch something with him.” I'd seen the Victor Borge tape lying out on the table next to his coaster. Coming up the driveway to the house, the blue light of the TV reflects through the front window. Audience laughter and piano sounds mingle and pitch through the screen door.
I remember a Fourth of July as a kid, running around the house, my hands full with sparklers, being chased by our dogs. I want to tell Julie, but she is staring across the field. There are hundreds of fireflies crackling along the tree line and the old stonewall.
"It's not fair! Why the fuck aren't there fireflies in San Francisco..." Her voice starts to break.
I tell her to hold on and turn towards the open garage and make my way in the dark, past the rakes and shovels, back to the shelves, and to the web-skinned small pots, the loose-lidded glass jars.
Mom's doctor had called at six am from ICU to give Dad an update. There were complications. Hematologist brought in from New Haven. We'd been at the hospital since we got in. It's been a long day. Julie needs sleep.
“We should probably head back,” I say, “I think my Dad wants us to watch something with him.” I'd seen the Victor Borge tape lying out on the table next to his coaster. Coming up the driveway to the house, the blue light of the TV reflects through the front window. Audience laughter and piano sounds mingle and pitch through the screen door.
I remember a Fourth of July as a kid, running around the house, my hands full with sparklers, being chased by our dogs. I want to tell Julie, but she is staring across the field. There are hundreds of fireflies crackling along the tree line and the old stonewall.
"It's not fair! Why the fuck aren't there fireflies in San Francisco..." Her voice starts to break.
I tell her to hold on and turn towards the open garage and make my way in the dark, past the rakes and shovels, back to the shelves, and to the web-skinned small pots, the loose-lidded glass jars.
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Author's Note
I am honored to have this little
story nominated by Barry Basden, Camroc Press Review, to Best of the Net 2010.
Other stories by Doug Bond
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this is just like a storm, a little personal storm for a family - which you set up with the summer storm that is building but taking forever... I believe this moment, it takes me there. Great piece, Doug. I love Camroc Press Review.
The fireflies-into-sparklers bit is tasty, and "crackling" is the perfect word to tie them together.
Nice.
I think the matter-of-fact approach to detail & language work well here - as in the central paragrpah: "I'd seen the Victor Borge tape lying out on the table next to his coaster. Coming up the driveway to the house, the blue light of the TV reflects through the front window." That works so well. Very specific. And in the closing paragaph. Good work. I really like this piece, Doug.
Meg, Henry, Sam...thanks for reading. Sam, glad you think the matter-of-fact narrative works...1st draft came out much more florid and the re-writes tamped it down.
I like this story a lot, Doug. Great pacing & tone here. I really love the ending, the web-skinned pots and loose-lidded jars. Wonderful.
Thanks Marcelle! Appreciate the reading. I did work last line a few different times...so really appreciate your comments.
Love the first line re Julie walking crooked. Drew me in immediately. Held onto the end and got knocked out. Great way to end this piece: "loose-lidded glass jars." Kind of what life is like, huh?
Thank you Gay. Wonderful to hear good things about 1st lines and last lines..very appreciative!
this piece has such an expansive feel to it while also maintaining careful control over the emotion. very effective use of sentence structure. really, masterfully done. Would love to see how you took it through the revision process.
Julie...appreciate the comment about the emotional tone...that was big focus of revision work...so thank you!
The idea rings true. Growing up in Cali, I was always bummed we didn't have them (except in Disneyland's Pirates of the Caribbean ride). Came South and they were all over the place (at least out in fields in the country).
Well, you know I like this story, Doug. If I ever do a Best of CPR, it'll be in it. These kinds of moments make life so poignant. They're what CPR is trying to preserve...
thank you Barry! This story is special for me, thanks for your appreciation...you've sparked my morning!
Wonderful and evocative. Puts my memories of fireflies back into the time of evening when suddenly they are there (around the time you can see blue TV light in houses), and I can smell that rain that's coming.
Great concrete stuff--Victor Borge, fireflies, sparklers, stonewall, loose-lidded jars. "I tell her to hold on . . ." Just right.
"I tell her to hold on..."
nice! pulls it all together.
Excellent textured story. Fabulous, poignant ending.
"Mom's Doctor" should be "Mom's doctor."
"...the loose-lidded glass jars."
The perfect ending to this story...
thank you Tawnysha...worked at getting the ending the way i wanted, so appreciate the comment
Fireflies are very evocative to me. They appear centrally in one of my stories somewhere in my files, gathering dust. This inspires me to look. Your story is so brief, yet suggests so much under the surface. Very well done.
great use of language; rhythmic at times, no-nonsense at others.Dialogue conveys emotion perfectly within the scene. Is there more to this ?
and LOVE the fireflies!