The Firefly Dance

by Sarah Addison Allen

  Hill ran across the yard, which had patches of dirt and not much grass, and Petey turned around in a circle to take it all in. She couldn’t see any neighbors’ houses, but they’d passed them set back from the road, along with a grocery, post office, and a run down playground with a chain across the gate. She walked by the lower level and tried to see into the window set in the door. She stepped closer, pretending to be minding her own beez-wax. The inside was dark, and just as Daddy said, it seemed no one was home. She sneaked up and peeked in, her face pressed to the window.

  There was a kitchen and on top of the kitchen table was a big vase full of clear and colored marbles, with three feathers that stuck out at the top. The wall was painted a color that Petey couldn’t quite make out, and there was a painting of the same vase and what was in it, except the painting wasn’t very good. The refrigerator had bunches of magnets on the top part, the freezer part. When Petey pressed her face flatter against the glass, she could see where on the kitchen floor leading into another room stood a statue. Petey recognized it from a book; it was a Buddha. Petey had never seen a Buddha in a kitchen in her life.

  Hill called out, “Petey, come see!”

  She couldn’t tear her eyes away, and wondered what else was inside, and who lived there, and why they’d have a Buddha on their kitchen floor.

  “Peeeeeteeey! Hurry, come quick! Come see this here thing. I think it’s a alien.”

  She ran over to where he was squatted, and squatted down with him. They both watched the ugliest bug she’d ever laid eyes on. It had a flat roundish body, and the tail curled up and over its back. She’d never seen a bug like that in the woods where they played back in North Carolina. When she explored for discoveries, she found things like bright orange salamanders, fat centipedes, bagworms hanging from their silk thread, webworms that Hill and Petey knocked a hole in so wasps could get in and eat the worms, and there were mean no-see-ums that ate up Petey’s arms and legs, fireflies lighting up the night, but she’d seen nothing like the nasty thing Hill was excited over.

  “What’re you thinking, Petey?”

  “I dunno.” But she was thinking how that thing didn’t look friendly one little bit; she knew that, sure as she knew lots of things. Like Fort Worth was too hot and too flat. Like once summer vacation was over, she’d be starting sixth grade at a school where she didn’t know any kids at all. How her brother or sister would be born and not know what a mountain was. She asked him, “Where’d it come from?”

  “I tumped over that rock, and he was under it.”

  “I wonder what kind it is.”

  “A alien.” Hill picked up a twig to poke it. It turned towards him, curling its tail all jittery.

  She picked up a twig and poked it, and it turned towards her.

  Hill reached out towards it. She knocked away his hand. “It might bite, stupid idiot.”

  “Nuh uh. Can’t bite me if I grab it by its tail, dumb head.”

  Hill reached out to pick it up by the tail, and next she knew, she was snatched back so hard, her teeth slammed together. Hill was flying backwards, too. Daddy stared down at the both of them.

  “Are you two addled?” Daddy ran his hand through his hair, sending it up into spikes. “Scorpion’s stingers are in their tail and got enough poison to kill a hundred kids. They zap you and in five seconds you’re gone. Poof!” He meant business. “Stay away from scorpions and other things you don’t know about, you hear?”

  They both yes-sirred.

  Daddy searched for the scorpion, kicking at the dirt and dried up leaves, flipping over rocks. When he didn’t see it again, he turned back to where Hill and Petey were still sitting on the ground. “You kids be careful, you know how your momma gets to worrying.” That meant he was worrying, too.

  They nodded, and Daddy went back to unloading the car.

  “Is a scorpion a alien?”

  “It’s a bug, Hill.”

  “I still think it looks like a alien.”

  “Do what Daddy said, so it won’t sting you dead.”

  Hill ran off to explore more, letting out yips and barks. Petey didn’t know what to do with herself, but she sure was glad to be alive and not dead and full of scorpion poison.

  The moving truck rumbled up and two men jumped out talking and laughing, their big bellies blobbing around. Daddy laughed with them, and soon they were clapping each other on the back. Momma joined them, pointed to the truck, then to the house, put her hands on her hips and cocked her head. Daddy said something to Momma. The men looked from one to the other, then at each other and shrugged. Momma said something to Daddy, and then turned to go back up the stairs and into the house; she wasn’t happy. Daddy hung his head for half a tiny bit of a second, then turned to help the men unload the truck.

  Petey was itching to see what the house looked like inside, and wondered if she’d have a room like at home where she could gaze out the window at the mountains, except there weren’t any mountains in Fort Worth. She lay on her back under a puny tree and imagined she was lying under the tulip poplar by the creek at home, listening to the water run by and the wind making the leaves wave so that peeks of sky winked at her. She pretended she was going to walk the trail to search for hawk feathers, or buckeyes to put in her pocket for luck, or for the wild turkeys that hid up to the last minute before they half-ran, half-flew up high into the full mountain woods.

  Petey pulled up from the ground and went under the rusted iron stairs, peeked into the downstairs window again. She felt bad for being a snooper, and thought how embarrassing it’d be if the person really was home and caught her. As if that happened, she jerked back from the window and stood out in the dirt, kicking at it to send little dust storms into the hot air. Even the wind felt as if it blew out of an oven door.

  “Peeeteeeey! Come play with me.”

  Because she was bored, and for no other reason at all, she ran to catch up with her little brother. They chased each other until the sweat ran into their eyes. He fell on all fours and howled like a wolf, running around her legs and sniffing her ankles.

  “You are such a fool. Get up.”

  “Awoooooo!” He sniffed her leg, stuck out his tongue and touched it to the top of her foot.

  “Yuck! What’re you doing?”

  “I was tasting you to see if you’re tasty.” He grinned, then said, “I’m a hungry wolf looking for something to eat. Maybe I should gobble your leg!” He grabbed her leg and pulled it to his gaping mouth.

  Petey pulled away her leg and ran, laughing in fun-terror.

  Hill was right at her heels, calling out, “Come back here. I won’t eat but a bite of your leg and you can keep the rest.”

  When they tired of that, they sat with their backs each against a scrawny tree. Hill said wolves got hungry the same as people, and they can’t help it if they eat a farmer’s cow or goat. He said, “I’m so hungry I could eat a cow or goat, even the guts. I’d slurp up the guts like spah-guh-etti.”

  “That’s nasty.”

  He jumped up and tried to climb the tree that wasn’t even a good climbing tree at all.

  Petey sat there, a lump of boring and sad.

  When Momma called them in to eat supper, they raced up the stairs, feet clanging the iron, trying to see who could reach the top first. When Hill won, Petey said, “Well, I made the most noise.”

  Hill haw hawed; he knew he’d won fair and square.

  Inside the door was the kitchen, just like downstairs. The kitchen wasn’t dirty, but it sure looked wore out. The yellow paint was faded, and the curtains on the window were uglier than a baboon’s behind, with pictures of fruit and vegetables all over them.

  Petey peeked into the room next to the kitchen. It was the living room, painted yellow and with Venetian blinds pulled open. Their furniture stuck out like a bruise on a baby. She then wash
ed her hands in the kitchen sink, and Hill copied her, even though at home Momma had told them not to do that.

  Momma stirred canned chicken noodle soup in a pot and from the oven drifted the smell of something sweet. She already had sandwiches, cut in triangles, on the table. She pointed to the chairs, “Sit down, kids.” She checked the oven, then next spooned out soup into two bowls and set the bowls in front of them. “When you’re done, I’ll show you both to your room.”

  “Room?” Petey asked.

  Hill had a tomato sandwich halfway to his opened mouth, asked, “Room?” just as his sister had.

  Momma huffed out her breath, then said, “Eat, you two.” She went down the hall.

  Petey thought she’d never tire of tomato sandwiches or tomato on her meat sandwiches. Momma’s garden at home gave them plenty. From the looks of the dirt outside, she wasn’t sure Momma could grow anything much.

  They ate fast, slurping up the soup even though it was too hot for soup, stuffing the sandwiches into their mouths until their cheeks puffed out, red juice dribbling down their chins.

  Petey said, “You look gross.”

  Hill answered, “You do, ugly beast.”

  “You are a worm’s hind end.”

  “You’re the stuff that comes out of it, out the . . . out the a-nus.”

  “That’s disgusting.”

  Hill looked prideful at Petey, pleased as sweet iced punch to be disgusting.

  They put their dishes into the sink, shoved each other enough to make their point, and then trudged off to find Momma.

  Down the hall to the right was Momma and Daddy’s bedroom, painted blueberry blue, with the baby cradle on what Petey knew would be Momma’s side. A few more steps to the left was an ugly bathroom in the nastiest shade of green Petey had ever seen, even the ceiling was green. She said, “Yuck, it looks like a ugly sour pickle.”

  Hill stood in the doorway. “We got to pee and get baths in there?”

  “Where else, you fool?”

  Next door to the bathroom was a closet, and across from it to the right was another blue bedroom. They stepped inside. Momma had their beds already made up, with Petey’s orange and white bedspread that Petey was so tired of she could yawn and vomit at the same time, and Hill’s bedspread with scampering dogs all over it that he never was tired of. Her bed was to the right and Hill’s to the left. Just as with the other rooms, furniture was crowded in. From the opened windows, Petey heard one of the movers say something, and then Daddy’s rumbling voice answer, then the other mover said something, and Daddy answered him.

  Momma stood on a chair, tacking a sheet to the ceiling to cut the room in two. She had that look that said no kids had better start their whining, even though Petey was getting ready to start up anyway. Momma said, “This will make it more private. Later I’ll fix it better,” and her voice sounded so thick with the about-to-cries, Petey shut her mouth and let it be. Momma stepped down from the chair, gave a little “Oh!,” and held onto her stomach.

  Petey ran to her, tried to help her sit. “Momma? Are you hurt?”

  “I’m okay. Just wore to a frazzle, I guess.” She eased down into the chair. “Maybe I better take a soak in the tub.”

  ”I’ll run you a tub,” Petey said.

  “Thank you, sweetie.” Then she said to Hill, who looked from Petey to Momma and back again. “Go help your daddy.”

  “Oh-kay, doe-kay.” He galloped off, shaking his head and neighing.

  Petey hurried to the bathroom, said, “Ugh, it’s ugly,” and ran a tub for Momma. She searched through the box with BATHROOM written in black letters, and found Momma’s lilac bubble bath. She poured a bit under the running water, sat on the toilet lid until the tub filled halfway, and then tested the water to make sure it wasn’t too hot. When the tub was almost full enough, she went back for Momma, who sat on the chair holding her stomach, a far and away gaze settled in her eyes. Petey said, “Your tub’s near-abouts ready.”

  “Thank you. I’ll be there in a minute.”

  “I can help you walk.”

  “No, no. I’m fine.” But she didn’t get up. “Get the cobbler out of the oven for me, will you, please?”

  Petey went back to the bathroom and turned off the water, tested it again to make sure it was okay, pulled the bubbles into high peaks and blew them up and around. The little rainbows were pretty and the lilac smell made Petey feel better. She left the bathroom, and in the kitchen took out the peach cobbler to cool, then went to the living room to stare out of the window. Daddy and Hill worked to get the last of the two boxes into the house. The truck was gone. From the way she could see it, some of their furniture hadn’t made it into the house and she guessed the men were taking it. Maybe Daddy sold it to them. Whatever had happened, she hated not having all that was theirs.

  She hated how it was all so final. She hated how they were stuck there.

  She thought sure she heard Momma crying. Once she’d heard Momma tell Mabel something about being naked in the tub could set off crying more than any other time. Petey’s own eyes burned and her throat and chest felt hot. Her whole body turned itchy and on fire.

  She ran outside, down the steps, and tore off to the scraggly woods. Behind her she heard Hill calling out to her to come back, where was she going, wait for him, don’t run away. If she could have, she’d have run all the way back to Haywood County. If she could have.

  Chapter 4

  Momma hurt so bad. Everyone wanted to hurry to the car, but Daddy had to help Momma and she couldn’t move fast. Momma walked easy, as if walking normal would cause something awful to happen, and her face was bound up into a knot of worry. Daddy at first asked Petey to stay home with Hill and when she threw such a hissy fit, Daddy said she could come. Once they were all in the car, they rushed to the hospital, the whole car gone quiet.

  Ever since moving day Momma had been feeling poor, and at first Petey thought it was because she felt like Petey did, missing home. Then one night, Petey heard Momma cry out to Daddy and Daddy hurry to their bedroom.

  Petey sneaked out of her room and stood in the hallway.

  Daddy asked, “Is this normal?”

  Momma answered, “Not so I can figure.”

  “Should we go to the hospital?”

  “I hate to worry over the money. Let me rest a spell and see.”

  “This worries me something fierce,” Daddy said.

  “If it gets worse or if I’m not feeling better by morning, we best go then.”

  When they were quiet, she peeked around the doorjamb. Momma and Daddy lay together in bed, the top of Momma’s head tucked into the crook of Daddy’s arm, her face into his chest. It had made Petey’s heart feel funny.

  After that, Momma had felt better for a while. Then Momma felt worse than ever.

  At the hospital, they took Momma back to where Hill and Petey couldn’t go, and all they could do was sit and sip orange drinks and wait. After a time, Daddy came out to them, hugged them hard, and then backed away, his arms down at his sides, his eyes like shined marbles.

  Hill said, “What we got? A brother I hope. He can be in my wolf clan. Awoooooo!”

  Petey stared at her daddy, waiting. She touched his sleeve. “Daddy?”

  Daddy took their hands and led them down the hall. Petey’s ornery stomach was hollering at her again. Hill let out a sharp whine.

  When they stepped into the room it was cold.

  The nurse held the baby, said, “You kids aren’t allowed in here, but I made an exception.” She sniffed.

  Daddy took the tiny baby from the nurse and cradled it. He said, “Poor little Rock.”

  “Momma?” Petey’s skin tightened all around her face. Momma had died. She couldn’t stand it. She couldn’t. Her heart beat so hard it hurt her chest. Her veins bubbled up hot blood. Her
brain exploded in a headache like she never had before. Petey reached out to touch her. Her skin was warm, and then Petey saw a tear slide down into Momma’s ear. Petey was so relieved Momma was alive, she had to lean on the bed so she’d not fall to the floor.

  Daddy touched Rock’s tiny fingers and toes. “Oh, little fella. My little boy.”

  Momma held out her arms, reaching for Rock. Daddy gave him over and then he sat on the bed, put his hand over little Rock’s head, his palm so big on that little head that it near disappeared under Daddy’s touch.

  The nurse said, “He’s with God, poor little thing.”

  Momma held Rock close, and sang, “Sadly we sing and with tremulous breath, as we stand by the mystical stream; in the valley and by the dark river of death, and yet ‘tis no more than a dream; only a dream, only a dream, of glory beyond the dark stream; how peaceful the slumber, how happy the waking, where death is only a dream.”

  It likened to tore Daddy to pieces so he stood and turned to the wall. Even the cranky nurse wiped her eyes and left the room.

  Hill kept asking, “What’s wrong with my little brother? Huh, Petey? What happened? Why’s he not crying? Why’s he blue like that? What’s going on?” Until Petey told him to hush.

  Daddy gave Petey nickels and dimes and told her to find the candy-bar machine. He whispered in her ear how she was to explain to Hill that Rock had gone to Jesus. She wasn’t sure what she thought about God and Jesus herself, anymore. They both sure didn’t seem to be around when people needed them most of all. Petey never said that aloud since it made people look funny and be upset.

  Hill gobbled down his Hershey’s bar. Petey took tiny bites of her Zero; her stomach kept giving little shivers and rolls. She watched the doctors and nurses come and go, with their stethoscopes around their necks, trays of medicine, their shoes squeaking on the shiny floors. One doctor stood talking to a man, and put his hand on the man’s shoulder. The man shook his head no fast then slow, and the doctor stared down at his shoes. The man began to cry. Petey looked away and handed her Zero to Hill.