Song of the Fireflies

“They’re going to be so proud,” she said later, as we made it to the end of the driveway at her house. She let go of my hand and said, “Want to come in with me this time?”

I shook my head. “Uhh, nah, your dad doesn’t like me much. I’ll just see you in a couple hours for the marshmallow roast.”

She grabbed my hand again and started pulling me along. “My dad always looks like he doesn’t like people,” she said.

I let her pull me, but I really didn’t want to go inside. I never liked to, because her parents always eyed me with suspicious looks, as though I was something evil that needed to be exorcised. I crawled inside her bedroom window a lot over the years, after her parents had gone to sleep, and I never got caught, but I was always pretty terrified.

“Bray, really, let me just catch up with you later.”

We made it to her front porch. A little swarm of bugs buzzed around the porch light just above the door. An old wooden swing hung from the porch roof on one side; two lawn chairs were pushed against the side of the house on the other side, with a table situated between them. Cigarette smoke lingered faintly in the air, as though someone had sat out here and smoked in the past hour.

The screen door opened with a creaking sound as she pulled it back. She was smiling so brightly. I knew she wanted me to be there when she showed her parents her grades. And I wanted to be there for her.

We entered the living room together, the smell of pot roast and potatoes and garlic filled the air and made my stomach rumble. It was always a little too much on the warm side in Bray’s house. I didn’t know if her parents just didn’t like to turn on the air conditioner or if it was because her mom cooked a lot and it kept the house heated. Every time I went there it seemed like I smelled freshly cooked food of some kind.

Bray dropped her backpack on the floor and looked back at me, her smile getting bigger as she walked around the back of the couch to where her parents were watching TV. I stayed where I was, at the entrance to the living room, where it felt safer.

“Mom, Dad, you’re not going to believe this,” Bray said and started unfolding her report card.

“That you didn’t clean your room last night when I told you to?” Bray’s mom snapped as she looked away from the TV.

Bray’s smile almost faded, but she was too excited to show them her grades, so she didn’t let the comment about her room not being clean get to her. “I promise I’ll clean it right after I show you this.” She unfolded the report card the rest of the way and held it out to her dad first.

“Why don’t you clean your room now, Brayelle?” he said sternly, not even looking at the paper in her hand. “It’s always about later with you. You’ll do it later. You’ll get to it later. Do what your mother said and clean your room now. Elias can go home. You won’t be roasting any marshmallows tonight. You’re grounded.”

Her face fell. I saw it. But she gathered herself quickly and tried once more to get them to look.

“Daddy please just look at my grades.” She pushed the paper further into his view. “I only got one C. The rest are Bs, and I have an A in Art.”

Her dad snatched the report card from her fingers, looked down into it, then back up at her.

“Better than the last one,” he said still with the same uncaring emotion as I always expected of him. “But bringing up your grades doesn’t excuse you from having to do your chores, or keep your room clean. Rian has good grades, does her chores every day, and her room is spotless. If she can juggle them all, why can’t you?” He dropped the report card on the table and turned back to the television.

“Honey, please go clean your room,” her mom said, probably with a bit of guilt for the way her dad was treating her. But the woman never stood up for Bray, and I just never understood it.

“But—”

“Now!” Her dad shot up from the chair, and the remote control hit the hardwood floor.

Bray stepped backward away from him. Her parents were never abusive to her, but from what I had seen over the years, the way they talked to her at times was almost as bad.

Her mom looked at me and said in a calm manner, “Elias, it’s best if you head home.”

Bray’s blue eyes were brimmed with tears. She looked at me once, grabbed her report card off the table and tore it to shreds in front of them. She screamed something inaudible, clenching her fists down at her sides and threw the ripped pieces of what was once something very dear to her at her dad and then ran off to her room. The door slammed shut so hard behind her that it rattled the pictures hanging on the walls in the living room.

Bray’s older sister, Rian, walked through the front door just as I was going to leave.

“Hi, Elias,” she said, but I pushed my way past her without a word. “Is Brayelle home?” she called out to me.

I turned to face her as I stood at the door with my hand on the knob. “Yeah,” I said icily. “But some home this is.”

I slammed their door almost as hard as Bray had and ran down the dirt driveway and away from that house.

I looked down at Bray curled up next to me in the Jeep, and I combed my fingers through her soft hair, choking back the memory. I guess Bray was right. They didn’t want to understand her.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Elias

Caleb raised his back from the seat and pointed up ahead. “Pull in there,” he said. “I need to piss.”

Tate took a left at the stop sign and pulled into the parking lot of an old run-down liquor store on the corner. Various beer and whiskey advertisements completely covered the windows. An ice cooler sat beside the front door with a faded polar bear plastered on the side. There was only one car parked outside, on the edge of the building underneath a metal carport. It was probably the owner’s car.

“Hurry up!” Tate shouted out the Jeep window as Caleb walked quickly inside. I heard the faint ringing of a bell when he swung open the door.

The three of us sat in silence for a moment. Bray had almost fallen asleep before we stopped.

“Are you two hungry?” Tate asked.

“No, man, I’m good,” I said and then looked down at Bray as she sat against me with her head on my shoulder.

“I’m not hungry,” she said.

“You sure? I can run in and get you a stick of jerky or something.” Tate offered. He was turned around in the driver’s seat and facing us, with his right hand wedged behind the headrest of the passenger’s seat.