Page 14 of When I'm Gone
I spent the next hour and a half spying on you until my mom caught on and gave me a bucket of Lysol and warm water to wash down the inside of the cupboards, which I worked on until dinner.
My brother brought you to our house for dinner that night, both of you dirty from playing in the backyard. I couldn’t imagine what you found to do with my ten-year-old brother for three hours in that wasp-infested shed, but I was superbly proud of Ben for remembering his manners and asking you to dinner.
At dinner, I tried not to look at you, but it was hard. You had a bright smile that made me want to smile back and light blotchy freckles on your cheeks that looked like flecks of sand I could brush off with my fingertips. I found out later that you hated them, but I loved them instantly.
Dinner was simple—pizza from Dan’s Pizza House and a few bottles of pop. I knew that night must be special because I couldn’t remember one meal in my whole life without some sort of green veggie being dumped on my plate. I didn’t ask questions; I silently crammed slices into my mouth, trying not to come off as a creepy stalker girl.
You told us about your family, your dad a seasonal fisherman on Lake Michigan, your mom a shopkeeper. You didn’t tell us your father’s real job was being an alcoholic and your mom’s was covering for it. But I could read the sadness in your eyes. I think it was the sadness more than your smile that made me want to know you better. So when Dad asked me to walk home with you to grab our spare key from your mom, my heart almost bounced out of my chest. He couldn’t have known what would come of that request.
Our feet whispered through the grass as fireflies flickered in slow circles around us. The night was moist and hot and felt like my home in Mississippi.
“I’ve never seen fireflies before,” I whispered, reaching out to touch one of the lazy bugs flashing in front of my face.
“Never? How is that possible?” The first words you ever spoke directly to me.
“Mosquitos are bad in Mississippi. The city sprays like crazy. Kills the mosquitos, but Dad says it also kills the lightning bugs.”
“Hm, well, we have plenty to spare. When I was littler we used to catch them, put them in jars with holes in the lid. I’d put the jar by my bed, you know, like a lantern.”
“Oh my gosh, I never thought to do that,” I drawled. I never thought I had an accent until I heard my voice next to your plain, halted phrases.
We’d crossed the hedge and were finally at your back door. You kicked up the back mat and retrieved a house key with a metallic scrape. The lights were off inside, and I had this sinking feeling you were going home to an empty house. “So, did it work? The lightning bug lantern?”
“It worked.” Twisting the knob and key at the same time, you forced the back door open and disappeared inside, leaving it gaping open. I wondered if you’d forgotten why I followed you home. You showed up with a key in your hand, the moon reflecting off its silver surface. I put out my hand, and you dropped the key into my palm and shrugged. “I stopped catching them though.”
“Why? That sounds like a lot of fun.” I searched your face, the freckles, the same upturned nose May and Clayton have. I wanted you to ask me to catch fireflies with you.
“I don’t know.” You shook your head, every part of your face frowning. “They were always dead when I woke up. It seemed like a waste.” Then you disappeared into your dark house.
And that was it. I was in love. Sure, we evolved over time, but even when you moved away a year later, I never forgot the boy who stopped catching fireflies.
I love you. Happy V-day and thank you for finding me again.
Love,
Natty (ha-ha)
“Why did she have to have such a good memory?” Luke wondered, rubbing his eyes as if he could push the tears back in. At some point during the letter he’d gone to his knees, leaning against the bed like he was praying. It felt odd. He hadn’t prayed since he was a child, and even then it was under a blanket in his bed while his mom and dad screamed at each other in the hallway. It didn’t work then. It wouldn’t work now.
May burst through the bedroom door fully dressed in a red jumper with a long-sleeved turtleneck under it. Her tangled hair hung halfway down her back, the strands surrounding her face chewed short.
“Happy Valentine’s Day, Daddy!” She jumped on his back, wrapping her arms around his neck.
“Right back at cha, sweetie.” Luke twisted her around into his arms, gathering her up like a princess needing to be rescued. “You got your valentines ready?” He kissed her forehead before sitting her back up on his knee.
“Yeah, Jessie helped me. They’re the coolest. She got the instructions off the Internet,” she said matter-of-factly.
“Hope you made one for me.”
“Of course, Daddy. I’ll show you!” She stood ready to run out the door. “Wait, I forgot.” She reached into one of the pockets on the side of her dress and pulled out a large pink comb with ponytail holders wrapped around the handle. “Will you braid my hair?”
Luke’s mouth went dry. He’d watched Natalie do it countless times; she even tried to teach him once, but his fingers couldn’t seem to figure out the simple pattern of over under. He couldn’t bear the idea of disappointing her.
“I sure can try. Come sit down.” He waved her over and sat her down on the floor in front of him. The first attempt at running the comb through May’s tangled nest of hair made her squeal and pull away. This would never do. “I’m sorry. Do you want me to try again?”
“Yes! Two braids, one on each side.” She paused before adding, “Please,” as though it would change the outcome.
“I have an idea. You sit down, and I’ll comb your hair and I’ll tell you a story.”
