Song of the Fireflies

“We have no car. No money. No phones. Fuck, we don’t even have any clothes!” She clutched my fingers, tangling them with hers. “We can’t call the cops. What are we going to do?”

“The beach isn’t far from here,” I said. “The exit we passed is probably about a ten-minute walk. We’ll go back the way we came and stop in at one of the gas stations there and I’ll call my father. I have money in the bank. I’ll have to risk that much at least. We can’t do this without money.”

She turned around halfway at the waist. “No,” she said. “We can’t get our families involved, you know that. They might already know by now why we ran. We can’t risk anything. I’m not going back.”

That look in her eyes told me she was terrified. Bray had been about as scared as one can be when I was with her back on that ridge. But this was a different kind of paralyzing fear. It was as if she had already made up her mind to believe that she was going to go to prison for Jana’s death, no matter what we did or how long we did it. I knew in this moment that I would never be able to talk her into turning back. She was going to run until things got worse, much worse, and until the day she died.

And like I vowed to her and to myself in the beginning, I was going to run with her. Because I f**king loved her. And love makes a person do crazy f**king things.

“I have an idea,” I said.

“What?” Her voice shuddered.

I got to my feet and took her hand, bringing her up with me.

“Come on,” I said and pulled her gently alongside me down the shoulder of the freeway.

We were exhausted by the time we got to the ocean nearly an hour later on foot. Neither one of us ever expected to be hiding out on a beach in Florida to get some sleep, hoping the cops didn’t shine their flashlights in our faces and run us off or haul us to jail.

“I don’t know if I like this,” Bray said, looking all around as we came upon the back of a beachfront hotel. “What if we get caught?”

“We won’t as long as we act like we belong here.”

The beach was empty at this hour, and the hotel was pretty much quiet except for a few of its guests sitting out on their balconies. Bray questioned me when we walked into the hotel and took the elevator up to the third floor and then came back down. I told her we needed a room number and she shrugged it off, not really understanding what for but accepting it. We passed by the pool and an outside shower, and we made our way down a wooden walkway and onto the beach. We lay down on the sand out in the wide open, and Bray curled up next to me.

Not ten minutes later a security officer found us and we got the damn flashlight in our eyes after all. “What are you doing out here?”

I raised myself up from the sand, partially shielding my eyes from the light.

“Just enjoying the ocean,” I said and then pointed at the hotel behind me. “We’re staying in room three forty. Vacationing from Missouri.”

He shone the light around the sand beside us.

“Where’s your room key?” he asked and I panicked a little inside.

I stood up and patted my cargo shorts back and front pretending to be searching for it and realizing it wasn’t there. Bray got up, too.

“Oh crap,” she said. “I probably dropped it by the pool. I’ll go look for it. Be right back.”

“Hurry up,” I called out to her, as she ran barefooted through the thick sand and back toward the hotel.

I had no idea how we were going to get out of this one. The only thing we could really do, I thought at that point, was run like hell. He was just a security guard, after all, and unlike a cop he probably wouldn’t care to chase us far. But I wanted to avoid a chase, even a short one, at all costs. We didn’t need any attention drawn to us. What we needed was a quiet night to ourselves so that we could think about what we were going to do next, because we had literally run out of options. We had nothing. No money. No car. Just the clothes on our backs and each other, and I was worried now more than ever about us being able to go any farther. Even if we got through this minor issue with the security guard, I still didn’t know how we were going to press on. I couldn’t tell Bray yet that I felt like we needed to go home. She was hell-bent on moving forward. She wouldn’t have accepted it. But I began to realize that something more was going on with Bray. Something that I couldn’t quite put my finger on, but it left me with a sense of deeper responsibility, as if she was incapable of being fully responsible for herself. I didn’t want to believe that. Bray was a smart and confident girl, but I started to feel like her reckless decisions no longer mirrored my own. They weren’t based on fear and natural worry, constantly licked by the voice of reason, like mine had been. Her reckless decisions began to seem fueled by something far more dangerous, something devoid of rationality.

I started to think that I was hurting her more than I was helping her, but I wasn’t yet sure what else to do.

I carried on with the security guard, trying to play off my tourist act as smoothly as possible while I waited on Bray. Though waiting on her for what, I didn’t know.

“Where are you from in Missouri?” he asked me.

“Springfield,” I said. “We come here every year.”

He nodded and shone the flashlight around on the sand again, probably looking for evidence of alcohol or drug paraphernalia. He wasn’t a heavyset man, but he was a bit out of shape, with a small beer gut that hung somewhat over his pants. I noticed when he moved the flashlight around, the skin under his bicep jiggled.

“How long are you here for this time?” he asked.

“We’re heading out tomorrow,” I said. “Been here since Wednesday.” I looked thoughtfully at him and added, “I didn’t see you around here last night. We laid out here for a while around this time.”

“I had two days off this week,” he said, and I was a little surprised at how well my improvising had played out. “But you should be careful out here at night. And you can’t be sleeping on the beach.”

“No sir,” I said. “That’s what we have the bed for.” I glanced back at the hotel.

Just then, I saw a figure shrouded by the shadows of the hotel’s massive pool deck, moving toward us. It was Bray and she was carrying something over one shoulder. As she got closer, kicking up sand behind her as she trudged through it, I saw that it was a see-thru mesh beach bag with what looked like a beach towel and other random items inside.