Firefly

The stars are beautiful tonight.

That’s what Andrea would’ve said. The sky was clear, the air brisk and light — this was the kind of night that they used to dance in. Andrea would point out the fireflies and marvel at them while Robin would marvel at how Andrea’s joy made her eyes glimmer like gold. The Wilsons next door would peer out of their dimly lit windows, eyebrows furrowing in bewilderment as to why two girls would spin and sway along the sidewalk this late, only stopping to kiss each other gently under the soft light of the streetlamps. And they never cared. They felt safe here; in each other’s arms, in the liberty of midnight.

But Andrea wasn’t here.

She will never be here again.

That’s what Robin tried to tell herself, over and over and over. But as much as she heard it, she could still hear Andrea’s voice whispering in her ear, could still almost feel her soft hands caressing her face. Robin thought that being outside, away from the bed they used to share, away from the sofa where Andrea used to hold her during scary movies, away from the kitchen that still held Andrea’s favorite oven mitt, would help her process it all. Alas, it didn’t. She felt Andrea’s hand on her waist and her own on Andrea’s shoulder. She heard their shared, whispered laughter.

When is she coming back? When is she coming back? When is she coming back?

Robin shook her head and rested her face in her hands.

She isn’t. She isn’t. She isn’t.

But she had to be. They were going to have a small wedding, romantic and mostly private, save a few close family members and friends. They were going to travel to those places in their scrapbook. Maybe they’d move into the city for a bit, get out all that energy of their youth in the hustle and bustle around those towering skyscrapers. Maybe they’d eventually settle down in the countryside, adopt some animals, grow a garden. They would dance there until their bones were too frail and too worn. Then they would sit on the white porch swing in front of the house, whispering to each other and laughing about everything they’d done. There were so many things left to do.

Andrea is gone. She is gone. She is —- 

Robin couldn’t think of that word. It was too permanent. Too definite.

She stood up from the edge of the sidewalk and started to walk. With Andrea, her footsteps were light, weightless—- now, every step on the cold concrete had her feeling like Sisyphus. In the buzz of the streetlamps, she heard the songs that Andrea would hum as she cooked. In the rhythm of her footsteps, she felt Andrea’s heartbeat.

Robin was alone, now, but part of her didn’t feel that way at all. That was the worst part.

Her head full of static, Robin continued to walk wherever her feet would take her. She was too confused and too tired to care. Each house that she passed and each crack in the sidewalk were reminders of what she had lost—

what she believed was still there.

And there was the lake. It shone in the moonlight, perfectly glassy and still. Here, only three months ago, Andrea had taken a knee and presented Robin with the ring she’d dreamed of all her life. The most wonderful part about it was, she thought, that the ring would tie her to the person who she had dreamed of all her life. This was where Robin, through tearful words and blurry eyes, had nodded and agreed to spend the rest of their lives together. Why did one have to be cut so short?

This is where they—

we—

She couldn’t think of it. Robin closed her eyes and shook her head. When she opened them, she saw a speck glowing golden in the night.

A firefly, Robin! Look!

That’s what Andrea would’ve said. But Andrea wasn’t here. Robin couldn’t marvel at Andrea’s golden eyes; she could only watch as the luminescent bug danced in the air. She followed it with her gaze as it ew in circles around her head, not taking her eyes o of it for a moment. The little creature landed softly on Robin’s hand. Slowly, holding her breath, she raised her arm so that she could look more closely at it.

It’s beautiful.

Robin had never paid attention to how mesmerizing fireflies really were. A beautiful thing it was, to be able to stand out in the darkness. To be seen without fear— to fly.

The bug turned towards Robin’s face, and it seemed as though it was staring directly back at her. Robin’s heart felt warm for a moment— a feeling she hadn’t felt since the accident. That was when she knew.

“It’s you,” she whispered, a faint smile growing on her face.

Andrea had always said that, when she died, she would check on people. She never elaborated on that, really, but it didn’t seem all that important anyway; they were young, and they had their whole lives ahead of them. Robin never knew what to believe. Death, the afterlife— none of them were things she liked thinking about. But here she was.

“Here you are. Like you promised.” Robin giggled.

The firefly walked around in a circle on Robin’s hand, then turned again to face her, almost reaching its antennae out to her.

“Have I… lost it? Is that you, Andrea?” she questioned the bug.

In response, it waved its antennae up and down in what appeared to be a nod.

Robin studied the creature, awestruck. She stood there for what could have been minutes or hours, staring at it.

After a while, a moment of clarity. She needed to let her go.

“Andrea,” Robin started. A tear formed in her eye, and she didn’t care to brush it away.

“I’ll…” She sniffed, pausing for a moment. “I’ll be okay. I promise.”

The bug looked at her for a moment more before starting to hover once again over her hand. It paused, then started to fly over to the lake. Robin hadn’t noticed it before, but the sun was starting to peek over the horizon. The rey ew towards the light of the sun. Robin watched it, her eyes burning slightly from the light, until it disappeared into the sky. The night had gone. Dawn had come. Night would come again, of course, but now Robin knew that the sun would always rise to follow it.