The Summer I Caught a Firefly.

When the pavement of Southaven became too hot for bare feet, it meant that it was time to leave. In the summer just after I graduated the fourth grade, my family did exactly this. I was sat

outside on the back deck, trying to keep sweat out of my eyes when Jacob -9 at the time- came bolting from the house.

            ‘Dad said we’re going to Gunnison tonight,’ he stammered, attempting to catch his breath, “we’d better get packed.” He scampered away before I could get a word out.

            I had been expecting this news for a while, albeit with a bit more notice. It wasn’t uncommon for our family to spend weeks at a time down there, especially with this heat. Mom and Dad had taken a trip there almost 20 years before, which resulted in them purchasing a run down log cabin on the outskirts of the already small town. We’d been making the 2 hour drive every summer since I was born.

            I wasn’t particularly thrilled. Leaving Southaven for the summer meant trading my friends for frogs, my bedroom for a shared room with two siblings, and brick buildings for marshland and trees. There was never anything particularly captivating about the whole ordeal, at least I never thought so. Which makes me wonder what my parents seemed to gain from the whole thing. Mom often kept to herself during the day; calling us for meals and when she had to wash clothes. I imagine it was Dad that pushed for the idea. He’d often sleep into the afternoon, then escape somewhere without notice most nights. I never knew for sure, but I think the bartenders down there snuck him drinks, despite the terms of his probation.

            It turns out, Jacob was right in his call for liveliness, as it was less than an hour before the car was packed and we were soaring down Route 49. The road itself consisted of a single lane, without a curve for miles, the occasional Wateroak being the only disruption to the flat horizon. Once we passed Clarksdale, however, the brambles on either side were slowly replaced by Dogwood and Cypress trees. We had made it to the marshlands.

            I don’t remember much about the day we arrived. We probably ate lunch from the small wooden table meant to be the dining room. Sandra was probably told to watch Jacob and I as we climbed trees out back. Nothing out of the ordinary. What I recall next was saying good night as Mom came to tuck us in. Dad had already left the house by that point, his only goodbye being: ‘don’t stay up late.’

            It wasn’t 15 minutes after Mom left when Sandra sat up in her bed.

            ‘You guys wanna do something cool?’

            Of course Jacob and I were both up for whatever she had to offer. It had been decided amongst the three of us years ago that Gunnison wasn’t a hit vacation resort and that any ideas of making it more enjoyable were welcome.

            ‘One of my friends from school was telling me about, how, when her family went to the Everglades last year, they caught fireflies in plastic containers.’

            I looked to Jacob, the hallway light highlighted the smile on his face.

            ‘Let’s do it,’ he said.

            So for the next hour we sat alert, listening for signs that Mom had gone to bed for the night. Finally, the TV down the hall clicked off, a glass of water was filled in the sink, and the door across the hall softly latched shut. Ripe with adrenaline, the three of us peered out into the hall, confirming that the coast was clear.

            ‘Go slowly Jacob, watch for the loose board up there,’ Sandra whispered.

            The three of us, doing our best special agent impressions crept from our room, hopefully out of earshot of Mom’s door.

            ‘Grab the mason jars’ Sandra said, gesturing to the kitchen cabinets. Even though she was older, I was still the tallest kid in the family. I climbed on the peeling vinyl of the kitchen counter while Sandra jimmied the sliding patio door. Once all was settled, the three of us snuck outside.

            The Mississippi air was thick, even in the dead of night. The moisture clung to you like an extra layer of skin. Everything was wet. Despite this, I couldn’t help but think how beautiful the whole scene was. Being so far away from the city, stars covered the sky. Below them sat the marshlands, emanating a cacophony of croaks, chirps and buzzing. Every few seconds, a firefly would pulse, shooting a warm glow of light into the air, often making it hard to tell where the stars ended and the horizon began.

            ‘Mason jar,’ Sandra said, gesturing to me. I had barely handed her one before she disappeared into the darkness. I remember admiring Sandra’s boldness. To the outside she always played between the lines. Whether it was getting top marks in class, acing her piano recital, or working a part-time job, she seemed perfect. It was only Jacob and I who ever got to see this side of her. We were the lucky ones.

            We watched for minutes in anticipation. Finally, out where the cattails met grass a faint glow illuminated Sandra’s figure. The light slowly expanded, filling the glass with a luminescence that shifted as if it were liquid.

            Now having a marker, Jacob and I leapt from the wooden deck and bolted down the hill to Sandra’s side. She greeted us with a wide grin.

            ‘Pretty neat, huh?’ She said. We both nodded. She looked at me, ‘your turn.’

            Although I never particularly enjoyed my time in Gunnison, I always think back to this night with a removed fondness. For hours we stayed out in the marshes, catching and releasing fireflies. Each time we caught one, we’d run to the others so we could all observe it together. For an onlooker, it must have looked quite strange, like a kerosene lamp was being lit and unlit across the thickets all night. It was to us, however, a moment of escape. There was no pressure besides wanting to be the next person to make a catch. There were no adults to tell us what to do. We had made our own world out in the marshland: safe, comfortable, free.

            Then without warning, all the mason jars illuminated brighter than they had all night. The brambles around us shone while frogs retreated to their burrows. The sounds of the swamp went quiet, and were replaced by the thunder of an engine. With a click, the sound ceased, and the light snapped off. The only figure visible was that of my father as he stepped out of his car. Just like that, the world we created was shattered.

/ / 

            We only went back to Gunnison a few times after that, though it never had anything to do with us getting caught. Life got in the way, we grew up. Dad would leave a few years later. Even when we did go, it never quite felt the same. Nothing could replicate the feeling of purity we found in the marshlands that night. Surrounded by nothing but trees, fireflies, and each other.