Fireflies And Memories

Josh leaned out of the upstairs window to feel the breeze that had begun a while ago. The day was almost done, the sun going down, taking with it the unbearable heat that had encompassed the hours. A grayish light covered the tree line along the river bank with fog. The river had darkened to almost black, the hoot of and owl floated across it. This had been his room as a child whenever he visited his grandparents in the summer, and he always loved being able to look out over the river at night.

Josh rubbed his hands through his hair as the memories of childhood flitted through his thoughts, like a video in fast forward. His brother sitting on the edge of the muddy bank, fishing with a bamboo pole and chicken fat. An old paperclip fashioned into a hook that held the chicken firmly, but left little of the hook for a trout to grab hold of and become captured. Ben would come back to the house, pole in hand, his jeans rolled up to knees, barefooted. A smile on his face, it had been a good day.

He slid the screen shut and went down to the old kitchen. The smell of the wood stove stroked his senses. It always seemed to puff slightly when a breeze blew by it's chimney. The tired yellow linoleum creaked under his shoes, a familiar sound. He smiled as he poured a cup of coffee from the pot on the electric range. Looking into the cup, the ripples reminded him of the fish teasing his brother Ben. They would search for insects on the surface of the river, leaving circles of their presence behind. Just as one disappeared, another would show itself, rippling the surface over again, testing the boy. Ben would toss his make shift pole over to the new spot, only to wait in vain. The trout, or brim most likely, had moved on to another portion of evening dining of flying insects that dipped to the water for a drink.

Josh settled himself on the back porch on the old glider. The flower patterned cushions were long tattered and torn and it's old metal rails squeaked with each movement. He had sat beside his grandfather on it for hours, watching him shell butter beans. He helped for as long as he could. His small fingers tearing at the tough pod that held the precious beans, trying so hard to use his thumbs to press it apart the same way his grandfather did. Hard as he tried, the thick green skin wouldn't allow his tiny thumbs to pop it open. When his hands were too sore to continue, he would drop to the floor and run his truck over the painted boards of the floor, listening to the snap and pop above him.

He liked the sound the hard plastic wheels made against the rough and chipped gray paint. He imagined he was driving along a lonely path in the woods. He would race the truck along, making a noise in his throat that he was sure was exactly the sound a real one would make. Gramps would smile down at him over his glasses, never stopping the rhythmic pop of his shelling. His gnarled fingers kept opening the pods and dropping the pale green beans into the metal bowl. The clinking sound was soothing to the child.

Beyond the screened porch, birds and cicadas called an evening song, a serenade to another day come to closing. Dishes rattled in the kitchen as Gran washed up from their supper. Fried green tomatoes and boiled new potato's with chicken and dumplings had filled his tummy to bursting. A blackberry cobbler sat on the counter to have later for dessert. Golden thick crust, sprinkled with sugar, adorned the juicy sweet center. Josh had eaten a bowl of the berry's for a snack in the afternoon, covered in thick cream.

His sip of cold coffee awakened him from the memories. The breeze had become cooler while Josh rocked back and fourth, lost in time. He walked into the kitchen and stopped. It was almost the same, yet now seemed tired and frayed around the edges, worn. Old fashioned cupboards, painted many times, surrounded the old cast iron sink. Nicks and dents were evidence of the years of use. Heavy cast iron frying pans had been washed in the sink for over fifty years at least twice a day in that big open sink.

Josh glanced around for the frying pan. It wasn't in it's place on the back of the range. His lip trembled with the discovery. His grandfather had died last month, at ninety-five. He'd used that pan everyday, even after Gran was gone. They couldn't talk him into leaving the farm he'd lived his entire life on. It was home. His home. He didn't care if he died trying to take care of things, he wasn't leaving.

“Living longer isn't the good part son. Living on is.”

Those were the words he'd said when Josh tried to get him to come live with him. He didn't hear the meaning that day. He was too frustrated and tired to understand their substance at that point. His grandfather's well being was his only concern. He'd become frail and thin. Just getting from one room to the next was taxing for him. Josh couldn't bear watching the life ebb from the man who'd given him so much love. Tears stung at his eyes while he watched his grandfather shuffle along, helpless to stop the inevitable passing of time.

He sat the cup in the sink and turned the light out. A shimmer of moonlight landed across the floor. Turning to look out the window over the sink, he saw the moon glide behind a veiling cloud. Gramps must be watching, he thought with a frown. It made him sad to think his grandfather could never shuck beans again, or smile at the child at his feet. A special child to him. Quiet and yet inquisitive. The inevitability of time, passing with the speed of lightening. Nothing can stop it, and yet, how he wished he could have somehow. A little more time with him...he should have come sooner -–and often. Grown men still have lessons to learn.

Josh stood in the beam that shone through the window, his hand resting on the back of the chair that Gramps always sat in. The head of the table, a man of kindness and grit. Gifted with a combination of traits that guided a young boy without a word said. His eyes sparkled with the start of a new day. Never dreading the chores that lay before him, a gladness in his walk, to be able to do them and do them well.

A restless night in a strange bed left Josh tired the next morning. He struggled through his foggy eyes to find the coffee pot, opening cupboards and moving boxes packed up on the counters. He finally spied it. Sitting on the back of the stove from last night. He smiled as he took the top off and pulled the strainer out, peering inside. He had no idea how much water or coffee to measure, but he gave it a try again. The burner finally heated up under the pot and he walked out to the back yard. Maybe it would taste better than the last he'd made.

Dew covered his shoes and glistened on the grass. A haze floated on the river, offering a postcard picture as a line of ducks glided past the opening through the trees. When they had gone out of sight, leaving him with a smile, he went in to check on the progress of the coffee.

He heard the sound, a bubble and a pop, then a pause. He smelled the familiar aroma before he reached the screen door. The glass top bubbled as the black liquid shot through the strainer into it. A few seconds passed and it reached the glass bulb again before draining back for another shot of black liquid to shoot through it. Josh closed his eyes and drank in the smell. It must be ready, the perfume in his nose reminded him of early mornings as a child. Pouring it into a thick rimmed cup, it looked perfect. He held the cup under his nose and inhaled the rich steam. A quick sip told him it was almost the way grandma made it. He took the pot off the heat and sat it on the trivet in the middle of the table, the same she always did.

Josh sat in Gramps chair and cupped his hands around the hot mug. It felt good. The warmth filled him with the memories of long ago. His grandmother bustling around, eggs frying while a mound of bacon tempted him to steal a piece. She pretended to smack at his hand, a tiny curl surrounding her lips and a wink from her soft brown eyes. Her hair was always tied up in a ball at her neck, fly away strands caressing her face. The lines around her eyes weren't unattractive to the child that felt secure in her presence, that was the way she'd always looked to him. She had a way of making him feel special, with the simple pleasure of a country breakfast. Her talents were in the kitchen and she made sure to serve his favorites whenever he stayed with them. Along with lots of hugs, feeding him was her gift to him.

Josh leaned back and stretched his arms up to the ceiling, trying to release the lethargy that pulled at him. A prolonged growl emanated from his stomach. Laughing at the sound, he realized he hadn't eaten dinner the night before. Rubbing his middle and draining the last of his coffee, he ran a hand through his rumpled hair and headed out the door.

Old Tom Banks sat across the table from him at the Apple Diner. His wiry frame shook all over as he laughed about a memory he shared with Josh.

“Yep, he was something all right, your grandpa. I almost fell outta the boat when I watched him catch that fish in mid air. Never saw another do such a thing. Nope, not another like him.”

Josh smiled, picturing the two men in the little bass boat, rowing to the 'best spot' on the river. Close to the banks where overhanging tree branches shadowed the water and the fishermen. Leaning back in the booth and stretching his crossed legs out under it, he imagined all the fishing trips they had taken. Warm days of summer, mosquitoes buzzing at their heads. A coffee can full of dirt and worms at their feet, and bamboo poles hanging over the side. A red and white bobber lazily floated close to the boat, waiting for a bass to cruise by and tug it under.

He entwined his fingers together behind his head, listening to another story, envisioning his grandfather talking and laughing with his buddy. His stomach was full, from the sizable breakfast of bacon, eggs, fried tomatoes, fresh from the owners garden, and soft angel biscuits. A calm enveloped him. His eyes traveled the room, taking in the decor of typical red and silver. Cleanest place he'd ever seen. One waitress sat at a table with a family, chatting about local going on's. Another leaned on the counter, teasing a patron about how picky an eater he was. Smiles and laughter drifted throughout the cozy building.

After he'd left the diner, he walked down the street to the local feed store. Wooden chairs sat in front of the windows of the turn of the century building. Only one of them occupied today by an old timer that spent his mornings there, greeting all that entered. The steps had been replaced with cement formed ones, in accordance with the town ordinance. He missed the old wooden ones that gave a bit when you stepped on them, but the rest of it was the same. Painted barn red, some of the siding boards missing an inch or two here and there. Wash boards and buckets hung from rusty nails on the wooden ceiling of the porch.

When he entered through the double doors, the smell of hay and fertilizer seized his nose. Familiar, yet foreign at the same time. It'd been many years since he'd been here. His mind went back to the days of walking down the isle full of nails, bolts and screws. His fingers couldn't resist picking them up in a pile to hear them fall back into their metal bins.

“Can I help you find something, young feller?”

He turned to find Elmer, at least eighty years old, bending close to him. Old Elmer's back was permanently bent, so that he had to hold his head up to be seen and hold onto the shelf beside him. Bald headed and pale, with a cacophony of age spots covering his face. His look at Josh was with crinkled eyes, as if he were trying to place the person he'd offered help to.

“No sir, I'm...just remembering.”

The old man nodded several times and turned to go back to the counter and lean some more.

Josh sauntered around the store a few more minutes, then left as quietly as he'd entered, unwilling to encounter anyone he might know today. His thoughts full, memories flooding him. Tears threatened and a lump formed in his throat. Swallowing became difficult as his throat constricted. He walked to his jeep, barely able to see through the mist that blurred his vision.

The past seemed to be flooding him today. Maybe he shouldn't have come back after all. Loneliness overwhelmed him as the door shut. Rolling down the window seemed to help, so he drove back to the farm allowing the wind to flow around him and through his hair,the way he'd ridden with Gramps. He traveled the three miles slowly, taking in the winding road with tall pine trees alongside it. The enormous canopy of pine needles creating a shadowy feel of a tunnel on the narrow back road.

Pulling into the small farmyard, an unfamiliar truck was parked under the big oak tree. Getting out of the jeep he looked around. The screen door of the porch slammed. That was a sound he recognized. His brother Ben. No one else had ever let that old door slam shut quite like Ben did. As he rounded the corner of the porch, his brother stood before him. A silly grin covered his face. Ben was always the better looking of the two and he knew it well. Tall and dark with a lean fit body, a grin always on his too- pretty- to- be- a -boy, mouth.

Josh shook his head, walking to his brother. “What are you doing here? And what's up with the new truck?”

“Worried 'bout my big brother.”

“No need. I'm fine,” Josh told him, embarrassed that he'd allowed Ben to know how he was feeling.

Ben stood up taller and grinned. “Good, then let's go fishing. Look, I dug some worms for us.” He pointed to an old can sitting by the truck.

Josh shook his head. Whenever and whatever it struck Ben he wanted, he just went for it. It didn't matter what it was, Ben would jump in headlong first and think about the consequences later. Josh was just the opposite. He over-thought everything. Sometimes he worried so much about getting up on time, he couldn't sleep.

He turned to Ben. “That old boat would probably sink. It hasn't been used in years.”

Ben grabbed his arm. “Naw it won't, look. Some body's been keeping it tight as a tick on a bloodhound. I don't care who's been using it; today is our turn. Come on, Bro. Let's go fishing.”

Ben's grin was so infectious Josh joined in with it and lost his sullen mood. They pulled the old boat down the hill to the river bank and slid it into the water, laughing as they stumbled over pine cones along the path.

Ben held onto the rope, while he pulled off his shoes and socks and threw them up the bank onto the grass. “Hey Bro, whoever keeps the boat up must be cutting the grass too. Unless you did it?”

Josh glanced up. The whole bank and beyond had been kept trimmed. Now that he thought about it, the yard wasn't the least bit overgrown either. Someone was taking care of it, but who?

“Not me. I just got here late yesterday.” His brow furrowed, and he wondered who would do that for them.

Soon they were paddling down river, close to shore and no plans to go out any farther. Just far enough to find a hole. A fishing hole, as Gramps had called them. A place where maybe a fallen tree or limb created a hiding place for catfish and the like.

Josh began to laugh and Ben gave him a quizzical look.

“I was remembering when you used to fish for hours with a paperclip and a piece of chicken fat. You never caught a thing, but your butt got wet from sliding down the bank.” He tried to cover his laughter, but his body shook so hard, it was unmistakable he was still having a moment.

Ben picked up a worm and threw it at him. It landed on Josh's shoulder. He had never liked the feel of worms on his fingers, so the thought of one crawling down his shirt sent him into a fit of brushing it off. The boat began to rock back and fourth and Josh slid down the seat to the side. Reaching out for the edge, he missed and went flying over the side, head over heels into the water.

Thrashing about for a few seconds, he finally got his balance and dog-paddled to the side of the boat. While he hung on with one hand and wiped his eyes with the other, Ben doubled over in laughter, as only a brother can. The humor couldn't escape Josh, even though he tried to be mad, splashing water over at Ben. He laughed harder than he had in years. It seemed to be the release he'd been searching for these past months.

Later in the evening, the brothers sat on the old glider, gently pushing it back and fourth, staring out at the river.

“I'm getting hungry. Wanna go to the diner?” Ben asked. His curly dark locks going every which way from the humidity in the air.

Josh reached over and shoved his brother's head back. “You're always hungry.”

The diner was full, but they found a booth and slid in. A very pretty waitress came right over to them.

“Well, the brothers,” she said mischievously.

They looked at each other. Neither recognized the woman, yet there was something about her that seemed familiar.

She held her pad across her chest and cocked her head to the side. “Ben, the cocky one. Josh the think-it-over one.” She waited for their brains to kick into gear. With no response from either of them, she said, “Mel. And don't tell me you don't remember stealing your grandfather's boat one night and getting caught in the current all the way to Melba. I was sure your grandfather was going to tan all our hides.”

Both brothers instantly remembered her.

Ben was the first to speak. “Melody Harper. I sure do remember that night. Thought Gramps was gonna send us both packing.”

Josh nodded, remembering too. He'd though she was the bravest girl in the world that night. The dark didn't scare her at all, or the fast moving little boat heading down river without a paddle. Both paddles had gotten overboard somehow. That's how they wound up in the middle of the channel, paddling with their hands to retrieve the oars. They had no idea they were being drawn out by the tide, until it was too late to get back in. The current was too strong for them to fight against with bare hands.

“Well Josh, do you remember too? Or are you still too shy to talk to me?”

He turned red and grinned up at her. “Oh, I remember.” His thoughts went to the summer nights chasing fireflies, stuffing them in jars to see who could catch the most. Mel thought they would light the porch if they caught enough. She was disappointed when the only light they cast was in the jar.

“Okay, what can I get you two tonight? The special is pret-tee good, red-eye gravy over ham and grits. Biscuits of course and a side of collard greens. Betty made apple pie today too.” She raised her eyebrows as if that would entice anybody, even those boys.

“That'll suit me just fine, Mel,” Ben said.

Josh nodded, “Me too.”

Mel turned and scribbled on her pad, before winking back at them.

“Man, did she ever grow up gorgeous!” Ben exclaimed, leaning toward Josh and glancing over at her.

Josh nodded.

“Josh, are you crazy? I noticed there wasn't a ring on her left hand. You ought to talk to her.”

Josh rolled his eyes, then covered his face with his hands. “I'm not interested, Ben.”

Ben was never one to give up easily, especially when it came to match-making. His wife referred to him as 'ol woman' whenever he tried to fix up one of their friends. “Josh, it's been two years. You need to start living again. It's time. Ann would want you to.” His voice was low and held a loving tone.

“Can we drop it? Please.” Josh's lips were drawn into a thin line.

Ben started to grin, looking past Josh. He got up and left the booth to greet two of the townsfolk he recognized.

Josh didn't join him. His mind was full of Ann. She would have liked it here -– for a day. What a shame he'd never brought her here to be with his grandparents and learn to love them. She was a city girl though. Starbucks location was the most important part of where they would live. It must be on her route to work everyday. She probably wouldn't have liked it here at all. Too small, too quiet and too old fashioned. His reverie was interrupted.

Mel sat a huge platter in front of him and said, “Enjoy. I'll be back in a bit when I get a break.”

Josh watched her hurry away to pour coffee at other tables. Her smile was infectious and he found himself grinning. She was speaking to each person as she passed by them. He was amazed at her personality and how full of life she seemed to be. But then, she was always feisty as a kid. She wasn't afraid of anything. Unlike himself.

Ben came back to the table. “Would you look at this? It looks just like the food Gran used to make for us. You know, Josh, this was a good idea coming here. That was Mr. and Mrs. Jones over there. I thought it was them. They still live right down the road, but they're younger than Gramps and Gran. Getting on though, in their eighties they said. Still driving.” He dove into his plate, saving any more talk for later.

Josh ate more of his dinner than he'd expected to. It tasted darn close to Gran's cooking and made him feel comforted.

Just as he pushed his plate away, Mel came back with three plates of pie, ice cream on top, melting down the sides and over the plate.

“Mel, you sure know just when to show up with the good stuff.” Ben wasted no time diving into his.

She sat down on the edge of the seat that Josh occupied. He moved over to give her room.

She took a big fork full of pie and shoved it into her mouth. “So good.”

Josh grinned at her open hunger and enjoyment of the pie. He was too full to appreciate the taste, but nibbled at it. The crust tasted just like Grans. He toyed with it, his fork picking at it while the other two gobbled theirs down.

“You don't know what you're missing, Josh,” Mel said, through a very full mouth. Her eyes sparkled when she glanced over at him.

He smiled, then lowered his head.

Ben piped up with, “Mel, you should come out to the farm after you close. It still looks the same as when we were all kids.”

“I go there all the time,” she said, unabashedly.

Josh narrowed his eyes and looked at her over his shoulder. “Why? I mean-- why would you go out there now?” He was totally confused.

Mel sat up straight and pushed her plate away from her. Another waitress came over then and collected all the plates. After she'd gone, Mel said, “I looked in on your grandparents all the time. Did what I could to help out. So, I still do.”

Ben came to life. “So you cut the grass and take care of the boat?”

She grinned. “Yep. I do. Is that all right with you? I don't want to over-step, but I've always loved going over there. They were like family to me. After my mom died, they sort of took me in. Oh, I was grown of course, but they lent me their love.”

Josh frowned, “Lent you?”

She laughed, “Well, I know I'm not really family, it just felt like it. Like at Christmas. We exchanged gifts and made dinner together. It was wonderful, learning how to cook from your Gran. She was a wonderful woman.”

Ben and Josh looked at one another. Neither of them had ever heard of any of this. They usually came out to the farm on New Years. By then the tree was gone and any aspect of Christmas put away. They were so shocked, neither could speak. Slowly the realization that their grandparents would have spent the holiday alone came to him, if not for Mel.

“Hey, Bro! Where'd you go?”

Mel lowered her eyes, she felt that her careless words had offended Josh. She hadn't meant any harm. After all the years gone by, seeing him again had made her nervous. His mild manner still the same, although his looks had changed. He was no longer the gangly shy kid that she'd played with as a kid. With each year that passed, the boys became involved in sports and camp for the summer and didn't come to stay anymore. Leaving a void in her young life, since she had no brothers or sisters. She and her mom were all the family she belonged to.

One Thanksgiving, she'd run over to the farm to say hi to Gran and Gramp, but the family had arrived. She was beginning to turn into a teen, unsure of herself and not wanting to be embarrassed by her actions. She went home, but not before a glimpse of Josh leaning against the counter in the kitchen. That vision had stayed with her all these years.

Mel looked up and found Ben staring at her. “Sorry, took a little trip down memory lane. I better get back to work. Nice to see you both again.” Her long blond pony-tail bounced on her slender shoulders as she hurried away.

She was through the swinging door to the kitchen before the two men could speak.

Josh stood and Ben laid some bill's on the table, more than enough to cover their tab. Dusk had fallen over the town, cicadas called in the distance breaking into the quiet as the two men walked in silence to the truck.

“I love that sound. What is it?” Ben looked at Josh, knowing he would have the answer.

Josh smiled. “Summer singers, Cicadas.”

Ben nodded, his brother always had the answers. Except about himself. Life had stood at a standstill for him since Ann's death. Gramps death hadn't helped his inward plunge either. He'd come to check on him, unsure if it was a good idea for Josh to come to the farm at all. They were both owners of it now. Gramps had left it to his grandsons equally. Ben didn't care one way or the other, but he guessed they should make decisions about it.

 

“So Bro, what do you want to do with the old place? Sell it?” he asked.

Josh didn't move a muscle. “Keep it. I'll buy out your half.”

Ben wasn't sure how to answer that. “You don't have to buy me out, we can share it. Keep it just like is if you want. You always loved it here. It'll make a nice place to visit.”

“I'm going to move here.”

“Aw man, you don't want to do that, Josh. You've got a great house in the city. Or the berbs rather. What would you do out here?” He was worried that his brother would fall victim to his depression even more.

Josh laughed and glanced over at his brother. “I'll live here just as good as in the berbs. I feel at home here, more than in my own house. I know it's hard for you to see, but I need to move out of there before I can move on. This will be the right place for me.” He paused and sighed. “There are things you don't know, Ben. Ann was planning to divorce me before she died. We weren't angry with each other, we just outgrew each other. That's what I need to put away. I'm very aware that I need to pull out of this mood, depression, whatever label you want to put on it. I'm ready to live again and this is the right place for me.”

Ben didn't know what to say to this admonition. He'd had no idea they were having trouble. “Would you sell your house?”

“Not yet. The farm has some repairs needed and I'd like to try my hand at doing them myself.”

“Sorry, Bro, but you don't even own a hammer. How're you gonna fix stuff?”

Josh laughed, louder and harder than he had in several years. It felt good, as though a release to the pent up feelings he'd been clinging to. “I know how to read and I'm a pretty quick learner. Thinking about asking Gramps buddy, Joe, to help me. I think I'd like to learn some of those trade things. The art of construction.”

Ben frowned and cut his eyes over to his brother. “Uh huh. Fine, if that's what you really want, you can buy out my half and I'll put in a pool for Jody.”

Josh grinned at his brother, always one to come up with a plan as fast as lightening.

Arriving back at the farm, fireflies danced in the yard, twinkling their light through the pine and magnolia trees. The light left on in the kitchen beckoned them in, just like when they were kids.

Josh could almost see Gran through the window, putting the finishing touches on a pie, shoving a strand of hair out of her eyes with dough covered hands. He was finally home again. Maybe Mel would come over and catch fireflies with him one day.