The Time of the Fireflies

by Kimberley Griffiths Little

  “I can’t stand it,” I whimpered, feeling like I was going to be sick.

  “Sit down, Larissa,” Mamma told me.

  “No,” I said, and I was shocked to actually say that to her. I’d never disrespected my mamma before.

  “You will sit down and finish your supper before I tie you to the chair, young lady!”

  “If I eat another bite, I’m gonna throw up!” I said, blinking back the tears seeping out my eyes. “In your heart, you do think I’m ugly. The scar will never go away, and I’m sick of you always telling me to brush back my hair, hold my head up high, and show it off!”

  I started backing toward the door. I felt trapped in the kitchen. Mamma’s shame and grief were going to drown us all.

  “She’s got a point, Maddie,” Daddy started to say.

  “I’m sick of talking about it!” I yelled. “Sick of thinking about it! Sick of you fighting about it!”

  Lunging for the back door, I yanked it open. The muggy evening filled the doorway, heat smacking me in the face. I pounded down the stairs, flew off the last step, and ran across the grass as hard as I could.

  The screen door slammed behind me. I could hear Mamma’s voice. “Larissa’s running off again.” Then Daddy, his voice rising. “Do you blame her, Maddie? You gotta leave her alone about the accident. You gotta deal with your own ghosts and get past this.”

  Ghosts. What kind of ghosts was Daddy talking about? It was the same argument I’d heard for a year. Mamma just had to move to Bayou Bridge. And now Mamma wanted to move again. Didn’t matter where. Just not here.

  Maybe my father was talking about Mamma’s sister, Gwen. But she wasn’t a ghost. She was lying peacefully in the town graveyard. She’d never lived anywhere near the antique store. I knew almost nothing about her.

  A narrow alley ran behind the stores on Main Street. I dodged garbage cans and freight pallets behind the stores and shops. Raced past the post-office trucks. Another block down, I smelled the fragrance of yeast and cinnamon behind Sweet Ellen’s Bakery where sometimes Mamma gave me a couple of dollars to buy cinnamon swirls when she got a sugar craving. She said having a baby did that to her.

  I’d hoped my parents’ arguments would stop when we moved to Bayou Bridge, but it got worse ever since my accident. I worried they didn’t love each other anymore. And I worried I’d be listening to them fight about money and my scar until I left for college. Or ran away to live with Grandma Kat in Baton Rouge, although that would mean leaving Shelby Jayne, my best friend.

  Shelby Jayne was lucky that she got to spend so much time with her grandmother Phoebe, who doted on her something fierce, although we both wished we had brothers or sisters. Maybe that’s why we’d become such close friends. We both needed a sibling. And we’d both been tormented by the kids on the broken bridge. Our mammas knew each other, too. Turned out Miz Mirage, Shelby’s mamma, had been best friends with my aunt Gwen who drowned so many years ago.

  Drowning was the worst way to die. Especially in the muddy Bayou Teche where you couldn’t see the bottom. A shudder ran down my spine every time I relived falling into the river last summer, ragged nails gouging my cheek that I’d have sworn were alligator’s teeth chomping on me, water filling my mouth. I could still feel the sensation of the swaying broken pier as I hung on for dear life — and pictured my own blood swirling in the water.

  My eyes burned with the memories — and I tripped in the dark alley and fell flat down to the ground. Pain throbbed at my elbows and knees as I rolled over.

  Glittery stars smeared across the evening sky. A slice of moon shimmered above the trees, hanging like a white jewel. Frogs croaked and belched. Crickets and cicadas hummed in the air.

  Then I heard the soft gurgling of water and knew I was near the bayou.

  Bayou Bridge Antiques was on one end of town. Alleyways lay behind the Main Street businesses and a couple of neighborhoods sat diagonal to Main, bordered by sugarcane fields. After running through the alleys and then cutting down a side street, I was on the long road that fronted the Bayou Teche. It was kind of crazy to come down here. The first time was accidental, but now I couldn’t stop myself from returning to the place where the accident happened, the place where my life changed forever. It was like teasing at a loose tooth. Or picking off a scab. It hurt, but you couldn’t stop yourself.

  In the twilight, shapes were just shadows, the edges of the world blurring. Streetlights flickered on near the houses set back off the road. The cemetery was just up ahead, too, and I did not want to end up there without a heavy-duty flashlight and Shelby Jayne by my side.

  The ground sloped toward the water’s murky edge, and I skirted the shrubs and a few cypress knees to sit on the edge. Wrapping my arms around my bent legs, I saw that I was sitting almost directly in front of the broken-pier bridge. The pier that used to connect the town to the deserted island across the bayou. Something about the bridge lured me, haunted me.

  When we first moved here, Daddy had taken Mamma across the water in a boat to see her old house. I remembered her saying that it was in terrible condition. Roof and porches sagging, weeds as high as her shoulders. The walls stained and moldy, floors ripped out.

  Far as I knew, Mamma never went back. She said it was too painful to know how beautiful the island used to be with a mansion house her great-great-great-grandparents had built when they owned most of the sugarcane fields around here. Back when Bayou Bridge wasn’t even a full-fledged town yet. Mamma said ships used to travel down Bayou Teche and pick up the harvest. Boats stacked tight with tons of cane to transport to the mills for making into sugar and molasses.

  Strange how a family could be so rich at one time, and now here we were — the same family two hundred years later — so poor. Well, not dirt poor, but money was tighter than a stuck crawfish trap. Our truck rattled like a pair of dentures in a skeleton. Daddy had to use a lot of gas when he went to garage sales and flea markets and estate sales searching for good stuff. Mamma and I held down the fort, then spent days unpacking and tagging each item.

  I sighed and perched on the edge of the bank, keeping an eye out for slow-moving red alligator eyes. The evening was quiet, ripples barely stirring the surface.

  Down the road, I heard the sound of kids jumping on a trampoline in their yard. A woman calling her children into supper. Were my parents looking for me, or were they still fighting?

  Laying my scarred cheek across my knees I could pretend my face wasn’t mangled up. I could pretend my skin was smooth and perfect. If someone were to walk over and see me sitting here in this position, they’d never know unless I raised my head.

  I wanted to call Shelby, but we’d said good-bye on the last day of school. She’d already flown to Paris with her grandmother Phoebe for two weeks to visit art museums and eat snails drenched in garlic. I missed her, especially when I heard all those kids in the distance talking and laughing as they trooped into their house. The door banged shut and the night fell still again.

  Sitting here pretending I didn’t have a scar lasted for about five minutes before tears started stinging my eyelids. I lifted my head and wiped at my eyes.

  Lightning bugs gathered just down the bank a little ways, where the cypress knees grew dense, jutting out of the water at the steps of the broken bridge.

  The swarm of crazy fireflies multiplied, growing thicker.

  Like dancing stars.

  Flying yellow lights.

  Buzzing pieces of glowing magic.

  My breath caught like an ache in my throat as I watched the beauty of the fireflies in the dusk. I stood up, brushed off my shorts, and moved across the damp, grassy bank. My foot slipped as I hit a patch of mud, but I grabbed the branch of a cypress and hung on until I got my balance again.

  The number of fireflies seemed to keep growing as I skirted a patch of leafy elephant ears. The fireflies became a spinning yellow cloud. Wispy and weightless, fluttering through the dusky, humid night.

  I’d never seen so many lightn
ing bugs at once in all my life.

  I wished I had a jar to catch some. Wished I had my camera, because the lightning bugs weren’t just flying; they were dancing and floating, elegant and graceful. A silent, beautiful light show.

  I took another step toward the cloud, hoping they wouldn’t fly off and disappear. But just the opposite happened. The fireflies came closer, swarmed me, and then enveloped me inside their cloud.

  I lifted my arms out to my sides and turned slowly, like a ballerina on top of a music box. Golden light shined on my face, and I could feel their tiny wings lightly touch my arms and hands and cheeks.

  I wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. It didn’t seem real or possible that they would wrap me up in their cloud of light, but it was actually happening.

  The cypress and tupelo and shrubbery fell deeper into shadow, but I almost thought I could lift off and fly with them.

  Maybe I was dizzy from dancing, maybe I was dreaming, but I knew deep inside I wasn’t. This was really happening.

  All at once, my foot sank into the bayou as I slipped into a mud hole. “Ack!” I squealed, jerking my knee up. My sandal was soggy, my toes gooey with slime. The fireflies had brought me right to the steps of the broken bridge.

  In the twilight, the pier was gloomy and menacing. After my accident last summer, I swore I’d never go on that bridge again. Even if someone bribed me with a suitcase full of money.

  The cloud of lightning bugs stopped, hovering in the air at the steps to the bridge. Then, all together, those hundreds of dancing lights moved forward across the first few wooden planks.

  Halfway out the bridge ended in blackness where it lay broken. There was a huge gap of at least twenty feet before the bridge picked up again on the far side. The spot where the planks of the bridge had fallen in was scary and dangerous, with jutting, broken boards and rusted nails, water rushing fast as ocean waves.

  “I’m not going out there,” I said, stopping on the first plank. I gave a nervous laugh, and my legs shook. I was talking to a swarm of fireflies!

  My head ached, and I put a hand to my forehead. My brain seemed to turn to mush. My vision filled with the thick swarm of fireflies, and I couldn’t see the bayou in front of me any longer. The tiny flying creatures lighted along my arms, touched each of my fingers, tugging at my shoulders, urging me forward. How very peculiar.

  I couldn’t seem to think straight. What were they doing? Luring me into the water? If I fell in, nobody would ever find me in the dark. Nobody would even hear me scream. I’d drown like Gwen. Only worse. She’d been found. I might never be seen again, but pulled out to sea for real this time.

  The moon rose across the murky waters, a thousand ripples silently moving across the surface.

  The fireflies danced faster, thick as heavy syrup, the light blinding and beautiful. I was in a tunnel of light, and yet, I wasn’t scared. They didn’t want to hurt me. Only wanted to — to show me something. Maybe I was dreaming! Or going crazy.

  The girl on the phone had told me to find the fireflies. Were these the fireflies she was talking about?

  I took two more steps forward. The fireflies were right there with me, kissing my cheeks, my hair, propelling me forward.

  The bridge shimmered under the moonlight, and all at once the edge where the planks had collapsed into the water had miraculously been fixed. The rusted nails were gone. The broken, empty space filled up with brand-new planks, tight and strong and sure. The bridge stopped shuddering as I stepped closer to the middle of the river. Protected by the fireflies. Like a miracle.

  I rubbed my hot neck as the image of the perfect bridge wavered like a mirage in front of me.

  Then, out of the darkness, a scream sounded behind me. A girl was yelling my name. Feet pounded the bridge. I held out my arms so I wouldn’t fall down, but the sudden flailing scared the fireflies. The tiny yellow lights spun off into the night, disappearing into the trees and darting under the elephant ears. “Where are you going?” I cried out. “Don’t leave!”

  Someone yanked on my arm. “Larissa Renaud? Is that you?”

  I whirled around. My head spun and my stomach lurched like my dinner was about to come back up. Through the twilight, I stared into the face of my mortal enemy. The girl who’d almost drowned me a year ago. The girl who’d scarred my face forever.

  Alyson Granger.

  My eyes locked onto Alyson’s eyes, just as it began to drizzle rain. Her hair dripped, long strands of brown sticking to her forehead.

  She ogled me like I was a crazy person. “What are you doing out here?”

  “What are you doing out here?” I spat right back at her.

  “You were gonna jump, weren’t you?”

  “No, I wasn’t!” The words flew out of my mouth just as my stomach shot into my throat. I willed myself not to throw up. I felt like I’d just been yanked back from a different dimension, a different time…. I’d seen the bridge whole and new. Was it the future? The thought made my head spin furiously.

  “Look!” Alyson yelled, pointing. “There’s the broken end of the pier right there. If I hadn’t grabbed your arm, you would have gone right in!”

  I gazed down at my feet. Water rushed past the pilings not a foot away. I had no idea I was this close to walking right off the end into the bayou. Prickles of heat raced up my neck. What had I been thinking?

  “The fireflies …” I began. “They were just here.”

  In the dim light of dusk, I saw Alyson frown. “There were a few lightning bugs along the banks as I came down the road, but they never last long.”

  “But the bridge —” I tried to see beyond the trees and water. I’d seen the bridge whole and unbroken just a minute ago. As though it had never been torn apart. No rotting planks submerged with rusted nails for teeth.

  I reached up and touched my face. My scar was still there, and my hair was going frizzy from the drizzle. Goose bumps crawled along my arms. I was cold, my fingers stiff, like I’d been standing out here for hours.

  “What time is it?” I asked, and then I stiffened. I was talking to one of the two girls I hated most in the whole town.

  “Almost eight thirty,” Alyson said.

  I had been out here a long time. Supper had been at six. Just a minute ago I’d been dancing with the fireflies, whirling right in the middle of their cloud of shimmering light….

  Alyson’s hand came toward me like she was going to touch me, then she pulled back self-consciously. “You were going to fall in. If I hadn’t stopped you, I mean.”

  My chest tightened. “No, I wasn’t. I know where I am. I have eyes, you know!”

  Alyson took a swipe at her soggy hair, which just made it stick up funny on her forehead, and shrugged. “I know what I saw.”

  I pressed my lips together. “I bet you wish I had fallen in again. Just so you could make fun of me.”

  Alyson’s mouth dropped open and her eyes widened. “No, I don’t,” she said in a low voice.

  “Yeah, right. Just keep telling lies.”

  “I’m not lying. You don’t understand —”

  I started to shake. “What don’t I understand? That I got this scar on my face for the rest of my life — because of you!”

  “That wasn’t supposed to happen. It was an accident!”

  “Some accident.” I heard my own voice laced with hate. Tears bit at my eyes and I blinked to hide them. She wasn’t going to get the satisfaction of seeing me cry. Not this time. This summer I was older, smarter. I wasn’t going to let anyone hurt me again, ever. Right now, I wished she’d move out of my way. “Where did you just come from?”

  Alyson glanced off to her right. “Tara’s house.”

  That’s what I was afraid of. “Thought so. Now, if you’ll excuse me, you’re blocking my way. Unless you came out here to push me off the bridge again. Although you probably need Tara to help you.” My words were like spitting darts.

  “You’re wrong, Larissa. That’s not why I ran out onto the bridge.
You were about to go in. I mean it! I — I was scared for you.”

  “Ha!” My voice sounded mean to my own ears, but I couldn’t stop. I wasn’t going to believe anything Alyson Granger said.

  She took a step back. “I’m not your enemy. At least I don’t want to be.”

  I didn’t want to hear it. “You ruined my life!” The truth came out in harsh, jagged pieces. Like a knife in my throat. “Just go away. Leave me alone.”

  Alyson’s pale blue eyes went wide, and her lips trembled. She turned and ran down the bridge toward the road, her feet pounding the old wooden planks so hard the bridge shook.

  Once she hit the bank, she sneaked a peek at me over her shoulder, but I didn’t move. I just waited for her to get out of my life, hopefully forever. I’d spent all school year pretending she didn’t exist. Her and Tara Doucet both. They thought they were better than everybody else. They thought they owned this bridge. Thought they could get away with torturing and bullying new kids.

  Anger bubbled up into my throat as I brushed away hot tears. Rain came down harder, and my fingers were like ice. Puddles formed on the slippery bridge planks. My parents were going to have a fit.

  I’d never said hateful words like that to anyone before. I wanted to hurt Alyson, but I never expected her to look so shocked. Upset, even. Words might hurt for a few minutes, but what they’d done to me was a thousand times worse. I pictured Tara Doucet in her rich house with a fire and silk pajamas. Sipping hot cocoa from a champagne glass, carried in by the butler on a silver tray with a doily.

  I gulped back the lump in my throat. Funny how, only a few minutes later, the feeling of satisfaction was gone. All I could see were Alyson’s eyes, distressed, like she was going to cry. But I’ve cried a million tears over the last year, I reminded myself.

  The current of the bayou kicked up as the wind rose. Waves whipped into froth, rushing downstream. Black cypress branches swayed along the shoreline of the island as wind tossed leaves from the ground.