Fireflies

Fireflies were my favorite thing when I was younger. Samantha Barr and I spent every summer night collecting them and every summer day developing intricate little bio domes wherein they would live forever. At night, before bed, I dreamt about keeping one on a leash and sauntering about on Tremont Ave.

My mother wouldn’t let me have a dog.

Once, on my way out the door, my mother called me back in to find out where I was going. I stole her crystal sugar pourer or syrup thing (I don’t know what they’re called), thinking it would make a beautiful home for my pets. I shoved it in my underpants and explained that I was going to Samantha’s.

Running out of the house, crystal in hand, I screamed: “I have such a full life”. I was 7 and had no idea what that meant. I watched a tremendous amount of Oprah. As I screamed, I crashed into a fence, presumably blinded with glee. The crystal shattered everywhere - in my hair, all over the ground and piercing my arm leaving me with a thick, short scar that still remains.

My mother never noticed the her missing crystal pourer thing or the cut on my arm much to my relief.

I forget who, but someone’s brother – either mine or samantha’s- taught us what happens when you step on a firefly and slide your foot. After that, we collected them and stomped on them all night long, showing each other our caucus’ glow – as if we’d never seen it before.

After you you learn how to kill something, you stop appreciating its life, it beauty. That was the last summer we collected fireflies, but every time I see one of I think of Samantha and our very full lives.