Fireflies

I abruptly wake up to the sound of a voice over the speaker. The train is empty, which is bizarre considering it’s a popular travel time.

“Next stop is Wistful Park.”

I remember this park so vividly despite the fact I haven’t been there since I was a small child. It stretched across what seemed like a thousand acres and contained open meadows, lush forests, and a lake adorned with lily pads. My family would pack a wicker picnic basket with peanut butter and marshmallow sandwiches for lunch. My fingers would get so sticky that I would run to the water’s edge and let my hands submerge in the lake’s ripple. Sometimes a small sunfish would curiously swim up to my fingers before retreating back to safety. When I would come back to our picnic site, I’d find my sandwich completely covered with ants. My mother would tell me that I should have been more thoughtful about where I set my food down before surprising me with a spare sandwich she had made. She was always so prepared.

In the afternoon, we would walk through the forest. The trees provided relief from the blazing summer sun. I would always try and climb the trees as high as I could, and with every passing year, I was able to climb a little higher. My parents would worry about me, and I’d assure them that I’d be fine. Sometimes I would scrape my knees or stub my toes, but that’s life. Plus, I knew I always had my parents to come back to if I needed them.

As the sun would go down, I’d run into the meadow to catch fireflies. My dad would tell me that if I could catch more than twenty, he’d take me to the ice cream parlor. I always caught twenty. I’d put them in a mason jar and watch as they blinked on and off, creating an incandescent glow. After we finished our ice cream, I would take off the lid of the mason jar and watch them fly away into the dark of the night. A part of me was sad to see them go, but my father reminded me that they were going to a much better place.

The overhead speaker comes back on, bringing me back from memory lane.

“Next stop is Downtown.”

The last time I was downtown was in my 20s. I used to be quite wild during those days. Every weekend I would put on a dress, red lipstick, and killer heels. My girlfriends and I were always the first to test out the hot new bar or trendy new restaurant. Men would line up to buy us drinks or get our phone numbers. Though I always accepted the cocktail, I never gave out my digits… that is, until Grant.

I remember it like it was yesterday. My friend convinced me to accompany her to the grand opening of this pretentious speakeasy. It was fall, and the air was crisp and the leaves were changing. I was tired from the night before, but something inside of me told me to go anyway. I arrived in a red dress, red coat, red lips, and red nails. Men would flirt with us, buy us overpriced drinks, and ask for our numbers. After a few hours, my friend seemed to have found “the one” for the night. I decided it was time to leave them be, and as I walked outside, there was Grant. For a split second, time stood still. His eyes were dark and sparkling and his hair was sandy with soft waves. We were in a trance, eyes locked and hearts open.

He broke the silence to ask me for a cigarette. I told him I didn’t smoke. He said he didn’t either, but was willing to start if it meant I’d spend the next ten minutes with him. I told him that I surely wasn’t worth the impeding lung cancer. He took a deep breath, looked me straight in the eyes and said, “I know damn well you’re worth it.”

I spent the next ten minutes with him, which soon grew to 30 minutes, and then an hour. I never once had to think of what to say or who to be. I was immediately myself with him. He finally asked me for my number, and I gave it to him. He asked if we could go on a real date, and I agreed. For the first time in a long time, my soul felt illuminated like a thousand fireflies in that tucked away meadow. Only Grant didn’t need to keep me in a jar to get me stick around.

“Next stop Suburbia,” the voice echoes overhead.

I look around the train in disbelief. Not a single soul had gotten on or off yet. What were the odds? Especially since suburbia is always such a popular stop.

Grant and I moved to Suburbia after we got married. We had found our dream home—cedar shakes, white shutters, and a bright yellow door. Flowerbeds lined the entire property. As the years passed, we adopted a dog, and then a cat, and then another dog, and another cat before realizing we were still missing something, or rather, someone.

Our daughter, Noelle, was born during one of December’s worst blizzards in years. But she was happy and healthy. Grant and I couldn’t believe how perfect she was. When we were able to go back home, we lit a fire, curled up, and watched Rudolph with her sound asleep in my lap. I glanced at our tree, strung up in lights from top to bottom. They twinkled like those fireflies in the meadow, and I couldn’t help but shed a small tear at how happy I was to have the best Christmas gift of all. Grant put his arm around my shoulders, and I whispered to him that I would remember this moment forever.

“We are approaching Memorial Hospital,” the overhead voice calls out. I shut my eyes really tight. This is the hospital I said my final goodbye to both of my parents. This was the hospital I said goodbye to all the things I loved most in life…

It was a rainy spring day when Noelle, only ten at the time, begged us to go to the arcade. She was bored of staying inside and wanted to get out of the house. I tried my best to convince her otherwise, but she was not taking no for an answer. Grant offered to take her on a daddy/daughter date since the thought of going to the arcade repulsed me. Noelle put on her yellow raincoat and polka dotted boots, and off they went. It wasn’t even thirty minutes later before I got a call no person should ever have to receive.

I rush to Memorial Hospital amid the downpour. I am told Grant is in surgery. “And Noelle…?”

“ I am so sorry to have to tell you this, but the impact of the car was too severe…” I stop listening. I wail. I beg to trade places with her. I contemplate ending it all right there. I never got over the guilt I felt by not joining them.

I sleep in the hospital waiting room all night before getting word about Grant. “I am so sorry…”

I dissociate and imagine a world where the three of us are sitting around the table eating fettuccini and talking about where we wanted our next family vacation to be. I’m sure Noelle would have pushed for an ocean trip. She loved playing on the beach. Grant loved spoiling her and would have booked a hotel right then and there. “We have grief counselors we can connect you with,” the doctor continues. I can’t seem to listen though because a fluorescent light in the ceiling distracts me. The light bulb is starting to go out, causing it to flicker on and off. I wish it were the flickering of the fireflies instead. I wish I got around to taking Noelle to that meadow and passing on my childhood traditions. But now I will never get the chance to do that again.

35 years would pass, and I would never get over the loss of Grant and Noelle. 35 years would pass, and I would still keep my eyes closed every time I rode past that hospital. 35 years would pass before I would have to go there myself and finally open my eyes.

“We are approaching our last stop for the day,” the voice calls out, interrupting my darkest thoughts.

I panic. Last stop? How can that be? We haven’t even gotten to where I’m going yet! We haven’t gotten to my stop! Suddenly, the conductor comes walking down the aisle. What had taken him so long?

“Sir, why hasn’t the train been stopping?”

“It has been.”

“No it hasn’t! And why hasn’t a single person gotten on or off yet?"

“Its not that kind of train.”

“Excuse me?”

“This train is just for you.”

“How can that be?”

“It’s making all your scheduled stops.”

“But I haven’t gotten to where I’m trying to go!”

“Not yet, but soon.”

“How soon?”

“We have arrived at our final destination,” the overhead voice calls out. The man smiles at me and says, “It looks like now is the time. You’ve arrived.”

I make my way towards the doors and feel a sense of relief to finally be exiting the train. Pain and panic and guilt leave my body as the doors slowly open. On the other side are Grant and Noelle. They each take one of my hands and lead me off the train into a vast meadow filled with millions and millions of fireflies.