Fireflies

It’s 10 pm; the moon trickles through the big window above my bed and I feel a strong hand rub my back. A sweet, familiar voice draws me awake and out of bed. I see my father, light in his eyes, holding a lantern in his hand, the other on my shoulder. 

“Come on, I wanna show you something.”

He smiles his gapped smile as one of his cheeks sinks into his singular dimple, and he takes my hand to help me out of bed. Once my feet lift the ground he catapults me to his shoulders. I am on top of the world. The steps creek as our weight sinks into the wood. Down the stairs, to the front door, the dogs know not to bark, for this is a sacred moment between a father and his daughter, one that she will remember when she is old and wrinkled, and he is long gone from this earth. 

The door hinges cry as he gently eases it open and the dogs fly out the door under him, but he stays tall and strong, steady despite the sudden sweep of movement beneath him. I duck under the doorframe and we make our way onto the porch. The warm summer night air fills my lungs and wakes me up. I look to the full moon guiding our path to the swings on the freshly installed play structure. He would’ve built it with his own two hands if he could, but he was busy; he was off building homes that would hold for centuries, during even the strongest of storms. 

The swings danced slightly in the wind, the chains they dangled from clattering against themselves. He lifts me from his shoulders and places me carefully on one of the swings like he always does because I am too short to reach them from the ground. The dogs run circles around us, excited by this chance of freedom in the night. Fireflies circle us, bobbing in the air. 

“This is what I wanted to show you. Look at all of them!” 

The sky is illuminated by hundreds of tiny lanterns, dancing just for us. The dogs nip at them, but their efforts to kill this special moment remain unsuccessful. I smile at him, and he smiles back, both our cheeks hollowed now, in the same spot, on the same side. It’s like looking in a living mirror. His hand reaches up to my other cheek, his warm palm bringing comfort to my chilled face. 

“This is our little secret, yeah?” He asks. I nod and smile even wider.

And so it has stayed our little secret. I think back to this moment often, how grateful I am to have a memory of magic with him from when I was younger. 

I thought about this when my mom first got the call a few months later, and when I first saw him in the hospital bed, all bandaged up, his neck stuffed with a brace and his face bruised, but his hands still soft and strong. I think about it as I lay awake at night after years of the memory muddling together. I second-guess myself sometimes, Was it a dream? I ask. I’ll never know now. It’s rare to see even a few fireflies today, never mind hundreds, but sometimes I do. When the temperature is just right and the moon is just as bright as that night, though it seemed to have dulled ever since his accident.