The Boy With the Fireflies in a Grove of His Own

Memories Written Down

I first met the boy with the fireflies when I was twelve. We had just moved in and instead of unpacking, I'd gone exploring. I found the grove of trees easily enough. There was a calm amongst the trees that I hadn't felt before. I'd grown up in a city so the country side was quite different for me.

He appeared on a stump in the middle of the grove with a firefly sitting on his finger. He was staring at intently until I stepped on a twig. His eyes met mine. I got lost in them. They changed colors between blue, grey, green and gold. Once he realized I wasn't there to hurt him, he started asking me the usual questions, 'where are you from?' 'What are you doing here?' And so on. I answered all of his questions then asked him a few questions as well. His answers were more vague but that didn't bother me. We had only just met after all. I stayed out in the grove until dusk. He guided me to the edge of the grove then pointed me in the direction of my new house. I started walking off then stopped and looked back. The boy was gone, but fireflies were in his place, flying around calmly.

After that, I visited the grove every chance I got. The boy was often there and we made fast friends. My parents were elated that I found myself a place to belong. I did well in school. Made a few friends though I never took them to the grove. I felt that it was too precious to take someone else there. I might have also just been selfish and hadn't wanted to share it with anyone else. Both are possible. The grove was the quiet place I went when I was stressed. The boy helped me through all sorts of issues with patience not matched in anyone I knew. He never once said I was silly for feeling a certain way. He never yelled at me or said harsh things. He was my closest friend and yet I never knew his name. He would not give me one. He avoided the question with ease and soon I forgot to keep asking. I think he preferred it that way.

On the day my father died, the fireflies visited us at the house. It made me smile despite the overwhelming despair I felt. When we buried him, the fireflies came to the grave. They hovered around everyone. It made us smile then. I thanked the boy the next time I went to the grove. He said the fireflies went where they were needed. I thanked him nonetheless. He had helped ease some of the pain of losing my father.

I chose to stay in the house even after my mother left. (She moved across town to be closer to her job plus the house had too many memories that had become painful over time) I would walk in the grove when I could. The boy always came out to talk with me. My age or different appearance never phased him. He said my eyes always stayed the same as when I had been younger. He said he'd always know me that way. It made me smile.

The last morning I saw the boy, he looked terrible. He was pale, ashen in color. His hair was matted like he'd been bleeding and it dried in his hair. He said some of the trees had been cut down on the back lot. He gave me a seed and told me to plant it in a place that I found was suitable. I tried to ask him what a suitable place was but he stayed silent and slowly faded away. That's when I heard the chainsaws and my heart broke. I sat in the grove until workers came and told me that I had to leave. I begged them to wait but they said no and escorted me away. I cried the whole night and the next day. I held the seed close to me. I stayed home all week in my own private mourning. The fireflies appeared when my mother came to visit me at the end of the week. She brought dinner from our favorite restaurant. We had a nice time sitting on the back porch and reminiscing. The fireflies stayed the entire time. I smiled for the first time all week.

The pain eased over time. My mother and I saw each other often. She introduced me to the man who'd eventually become my husband. He reminded me a lot of the boy in the grove. My mother was around for both of her grandchildren to be born. She was a kind and doting grandmother. She helped out as much as she could. She'd retired soon after my oldest was born. They shared a special connection. They were as thick as thieves and always up to mischief. I took many photos and videos of their shenanigans. They always make me laugh. My second one was more shy but liked hiking out in the woods with my husband and I. We took many camping trips. Both kids loved being in nature. One camping trip we found a circle of grass in the middle of the forest. My youngest wanted to plant something and my hand closed around the seed. I'd taken to keeping it with me at all times just in case I came across the right spot. Moment such as this. We dug the ground out with our hands easily enough. The ground gave way as if it welcomed the idea of a seed being planted. Once we had a good size hole, we planted the seed, each saying our own little prayer over it. We made mud cakes afterward when we poured some of water on the spot. We laughed for hours. My husband had snuck pictures of us to which I'm grateful. They're beautiful.

My mother passed when my oldest was in middle school. It was tough for all of us. I pulled both kids out of school so that we could go away for a week. It was hard for all of us to concentrate on anything other than our pain. We went back to check on our tree. I was happy to see that it was growing. We poured water on it and talked about happy memories we had with my mother. We sat there for hours just talking. It was needed by all of us. We came back every day to the tree and talked. On the last day we went to say our goodbyes and that we'd be back soon. A single firefly landed on my hand briefly then flew back to the tree. I smiled a knowing smile. I left feeling lighter.

We came back in the summer. The fireflies greeted us. The kids raced off towards the tree. I held back. I could hear them laughing and having a good time. I smiled. It was their turn to spend time with the boy and the fireflies in a grove of his own.