Fireflies and Christmas Tree Lights

A gust of wind rushes past me, throwing my hair off and away from my face. I stare, entranced, as the sun sets behind me, leaving the forest ahead to smile with a fresh, blue glow. Minute gold lights begin to flash. Sparingly at first: one here, another there. First there are only two… then ten… twenty… a hundred… too many to count. I swing my legs up, back and forth, feeling the breeze brush my face as the chains around which my hands are clasped squeal with the tension of this small movement of my body. Ann and Mark have been talking, conversing amongst themselves since we arrived, but I haven’t been listening. “You know what they remind me of?”
Ann turns, her head tilted toward once side, eyebrows slightly raised. “What? Wait, what are you talking about?”
“The fireflies: you know what they remind me of?”
Mark is staring at me now, too, an expression similar to Ann’s shaping his pale, freckled face. “What?”
The corners of my mouth curve upward with the delight of sharing. “Christmas tree lights. Look, see?” I tear my eyes away from the blinking lights to watch them: they both just stare for a fraction of a second, before glancing sideways at each other. They start to laugh.
“What? You don’t see it? The way they all blink everywhere, and never in the same place! It’s like those blinky lights on a Christmas tree!”
Mark tilts his head back with his eyes closed, then leans forward and looks at the ground, his mouth still set in an obvious crescent moon shape. “Not really.” He turns into me, cheeks big, showing off all of his teeth: “You’re so ADD. Way to be weird.”
I feel it first in my chest. Suddenly I don’t really want to be at Minebrook any longer. My cheeks feel warm, and the corners of my mouth begin to drop, but I feel them change and catch them before they give me away. I force a smile, “I know.” Take a breath. “Well, I’m sleepy! I think I’ll head out. See you two later.” I hop off of the swing and walk to my car.
I open up the door, climb inside, and slide onto the seat—beige leather—cheating, blocking all the lies, roughly attempting to fill in all the newly formed cracks, to re-attach the broken pieces with anything available.
I push the key into the ignition and turn it, sensing the vibrations, hearing the car growl as the engine sparks to life. I sit for a minute, one hand on the wheel. What do I do now?
I guess I’ll just go home… but somehow I know I can’t stay there.

A few hours later I am still in my car, but by now I am no longer alone: a boy, a young man, for whom I care very much sits next to me. We do not talk; just stare through the windows into the darkness and the surrounding trees. The moon casts its sad, blue glow over the myriad small, gold glimmers which have out-shown it, capturing our attention. I think out loud: “There are so many fireflies.” He responds without hesitation.
“I love them,” he says. “They remind me of Christmas tree lights.”