Status: One-Shot.
The Stars Aren't Really Fireflies.
1/1.
I could never keep Michael from doing what he wanted.
Ever since we were little kids, playing in the sandbox with scraped knees and dirty faces, he was always the one in charge – the one who called the shots. I had content to sit back and let him. After all, he was a year older, and therefore he knew everything and I knew nothing.
But I didn’t care, because he was Michael and I believed him.
There were times when I wasn’t positive that he was as sure of himself as he said he was. One could never know what went on in that boy’s head. I was sure, though, that whatever he was doing, he knew darn well how to do it, or so help him God. As long as there was life in him, he would get what he wanted.
Like that one day on the ranch.
We laid in the tall grass, the kind that tickle your legs when you run through it like a bunch of ants, and stared up at the stars, each trying to count more than the other but never succeeding, since Michael was only nine and wasn’t that good at counting. Not like I was, anyway.
I just gazed in awe at all the stars, wondering how they got there. One time I asked him, since I thought he’d know, and if he didn’t it wouldn’t matter.
“Well, Rosie,” he said, and I smiled a little at my name, since he was the only one who was allowed to call me that, “I think they’re like fireflies. You put them in a jar, y’know? And when you let ‘em out, they become stars, because they don’t wanna get trapped again and all they wanna do is make light.”
It didn’t make sense. Not a word of it. But I accepted it as the truth, until fifth grade when I learned that they in fact weren’t fireflies but big balls of gas that were so far away that all you saw was the tiny little star. Personally, I kind of liked Michael’s explanation better.
Things were great like that.
But when high school reared its ugly head, they changed. I’m not sure what happened, exactly. Michael suddenly wasn’t around as much, since he had Honors classes and I was barely passing as it was. And he was in the band, while I was tone deaf and couldn’t march in step if my life depended on it. Michael was popular among the band, and everyone knew that they could count on him for guidance and direction, because, well, he was just Michael.
I could’ve told them that.
But we still found time to spend with each other. There were some Saturday nights that we would spend outside in the backyard, staring up at the sky, just like old times, because there was nothing else to do and it was what we felt like doing.
And one day, a day just like that one, with summer just around the corner and the fireflies just starting to emerge from their winter hiding places, Michael said that one thing I’d hear in my head for the rest of my life.
“You see those, Rosie?” he whispered, so low I almost couldn’t hear him. “I’m going to be up there one day. I’m going to touch the stars.”
I wasn’t really thinking about what he’d said. If I had, maybe I would’ve known what came next. But I wasn’t, since I was just a fifteen-year-old with too much else on her mind to pay attention to what he was saying. Maybe I should’ve. Who knows what might have happened if I had.
I didn’t find the list until that day.
It wasn’t my fault I found it, either. If my cat, Custer, hadn’t been sleeping in my underwear drawer for the millionth time, I wouldn’t have missed the little white piece of paper that had been tucked in there, the place where I kept all my secret stuff because of my nosy little brother who knew too much already.
I picked it up and looked at it for a second, wondering how it got there because I hadn’t put it there, and the only other person who knew I kept things in there was Michael, since he had one time caught me sneaking my journal into it.
The writing on the page was too familiar, too messy and slanted to be anyone’s but his, anyway.
Rosie,
I don’t want anyone to know why I did what I did, except you. You deserve to know, and who am I to just leave like this without an explanation?
Here’s a list of things I never got to tell you. I hope it isn’t too late.
I stared at the note in shock. I was almost too afraid to read more, because it could only mean a few things, right? I felt like I owed it to him to finish, because he was Michael and he knew I’d do anything for him.
1. I love you. And I know I don’t say it enough, but you were always there. Even when I thought you wouldn’t care anymore, you were there. And I can’t thank you enough for being there. You were the support I needed when nothing else could, and for that you are the most important thing to me.
2. Rich is an idiot. I know it’s not something you think about anymore, since that was years ago, but I think about it. More than I should. And I know I’ve said this to you so many times that you probably won’t believe me, but it’s the truth and I thought I’d say it one last time, just to get it through your head.
3. Don’t blame yourself. It’s not your fault, not by a long shot. I think I’ve already made it clear that you were the only thing that kept me sane for the longest time, and that if anyone is to get credit for my high school graduation, it’s you.
4. I’ll miss you. Even if I’m not here, I’ll never forget you. And I hope you never forget me. If you did, though, I would understand.
I didn’t understand it, not at first. I continued to the last few sentences.
All that and more, Rosie. If I could give you the world, I would do it in a heartbeat. But I can’t. I’m only human. And sometimes that’s just not enough.
Love, always,
Michael.
Below his scrawled signature was another sentence, as if it was added as an after thought.
5. The stars aren’t really fireflies.”
I look up at the crowd in front of me, every one of them dressed in morbid black clothing. It wasn’t what Michael would have wanted.
“Michael always knew what he was doing. Whatever was wrong, there was nothing we could have done to fix it. Anyone who knew him could say that.” I cast a nervous glance at his mother, who’s a teary mess in the front row. I clear my throat and continued talking. “The most I could do was stand back and make sure he did the right thing, because I was the one who would have to save his butt if he got in trouble.” I can’t help but smile. “It was always his dream to be young forever. I guess he got his wish.”
I don’t know what else to say, so I just leave the podium and take my reluctant seat next to Michael’s mom.
There aren’t many more speakers, save for Michael’s old music teacher and a distant relative that I’m almost positive he never actually met, because his description of the boy I grew up with wasn’t even close. Once they’re done, we’re given a few moments and pay our last respects.
“Rose,” my mother says sadly, her face tired and pale, “We need to go. Your father’s waiting in the car.”
I nod and stand there, watching, while she heads out of the church, her black shawl pulled tightly around her as she walks out into the cold December air.
It’s then that I walk over to the casket, for I hadn’t had the courage to do it earlier. It’s surrounded by all sorts of pictures of him, some that I’ve seen before and some that I haven’t. Flowers litter the altar, and the floor, and every conceivable space around it until I can hardly see anything but flowers, and I just stare at all the colors and wonder why people where all black if the flowers make the rainbow themselves.
I can feel tears in the backs of my eyes but I don’t let them fall. In a choked voice, I manage to let loose a tiny laugh.
“Love you, too, Mike,” I say softly, tracing my finger along the delicate carvings of the wood. “Looks like you can finally touch the stars.”
But other people are waiting to see what I’m seeing, so I give another solemn nod and head outside after my mother, where a full moon casts an innocent glow over everything outside, illuminated only by the little square outline of light coming from the door. I look up and see the stars, just beginning to appear in the night sky.
“I’ll be up there someday. I promise,” I whisper, my gaze focusing on the moon. “I just think I’m going to take my time. That’s all. But don’t worry, Mike. I know I couldn’t stop you.” I let out a bitter-sounding laugh, even though I swore I wouldn’t. “When ever would you let me?”
Ever since we were little kids, playing in the sandbox with scraped knees and dirty faces, he was always the one in charge – the one who called the shots. I had content to sit back and let him. After all, he was a year older, and therefore he knew everything and I knew nothing.
But I didn’t care, because he was Michael and I believed him.
There were times when I wasn’t positive that he was as sure of himself as he said he was. One could never know what went on in that boy’s head. I was sure, though, that whatever he was doing, he knew darn well how to do it, or so help him God. As long as there was life in him, he would get what he wanted.
Like that one day on the ranch.
We laid in the tall grass, the kind that tickle your legs when you run through it like a bunch of ants, and stared up at the stars, each trying to count more than the other but never succeeding, since Michael was only nine and wasn’t that good at counting. Not like I was, anyway.
I just gazed in awe at all the stars, wondering how they got there. One time I asked him, since I thought he’d know, and if he didn’t it wouldn’t matter.
“Well, Rosie,” he said, and I smiled a little at my name, since he was the only one who was allowed to call me that, “I think they’re like fireflies. You put them in a jar, y’know? And when you let ‘em out, they become stars, because they don’t wanna get trapped again and all they wanna do is make light.”
It didn’t make sense. Not a word of it. But I accepted it as the truth, until fifth grade when I learned that they in fact weren’t fireflies but big balls of gas that were so far away that all you saw was the tiny little star. Personally, I kind of liked Michael’s explanation better.
Things were great like that.
But when high school reared its ugly head, they changed. I’m not sure what happened, exactly. Michael suddenly wasn’t around as much, since he had Honors classes and I was barely passing as it was. And he was in the band, while I was tone deaf and couldn’t march in step if my life depended on it. Michael was popular among the band, and everyone knew that they could count on him for guidance and direction, because, well, he was just Michael.
I could’ve told them that.
But we still found time to spend with each other. There were some Saturday nights that we would spend outside in the backyard, staring up at the sky, just like old times, because there was nothing else to do and it was what we felt like doing.
And one day, a day just like that one, with summer just around the corner and the fireflies just starting to emerge from their winter hiding places, Michael said that one thing I’d hear in my head for the rest of my life.
“You see those, Rosie?” he whispered, so low I almost couldn’t hear him. “I’m going to be up there one day. I’m going to touch the stars.”
I wasn’t really thinking about what he’d said. If I had, maybe I would’ve known what came next. But I wasn’t, since I was just a fifteen-year-old with too much else on her mind to pay attention to what he was saying. Maybe I should’ve. Who knows what might have happened if I had.
I didn’t find the list until that day.
It wasn’t my fault I found it, either. If my cat, Custer, hadn’t been sleeping in my underwear drawer for the millionth time, I wouldn’t have missed the little white piece of paper that had been tucked in there, the place where I kept all my secret stuff because of my nosy little brother who knew too much already.
I picked it up and looked at it for a second, wondering how it got there because I hadn’t put it there, and the only other person who knew I kept things in there was Michael, since he had one time caught me sneaking my journal into it.
The writing on the page was too familiar, too messy and slanted to be anyone’s but his, anyway.
Rosie,
I don’t want anyone to know why I did what I did, except you. You deserve to know, and who am I to just leave like this without an explanation?
Here’s a list of things I never got to tell you. I hope it isn’t too late.
I stared at the note in shock. I was almost too afraid to read more, because it could only mean a few things, right? I felt like I owed it to him to finish, because he was Michael and he knew I’d do anything for him.
1. I love you. And I know I don’t say it enough, but you were always there. Even when I thought you wouldn’t care anymore, you were there. And I can’t thank you enough for being there. You were the support I needed when nothing else could, and for that you are the most important thing to me.
2. Rich is an idiot. I know it’s not something you think about anymore, since that was years ago, but I think about it. More than I should. And I know I’ve said this to you so many times that you probably won’t believe me, but it’s the truth and I thought I’d say it one last time, just to get it through your head.
3. Don’t blame yourself. It’s not your fault, not by a long shot. I think I’ve already made it clear that you were the only thing that kept me sane for the longest time, and that if anyone is to get credit for my high school graduation, it’s you.
4. I’ll miss you. Even if I’m not here, I’ll never forget you. And I hope you never forget me. If you did, though, I would understand.
I didn’t understand it, not at first. I continued to the last few sentences.
All that and more, Rosie. If I could give you the world, I would do it in a heartbeat. But I can’t. I’m only human. And sometimes that’s just not enough.
Love, always,
Michael.
Below his scrawled signature was another sentence, as if it was added as an after thought.
5. The stars aren’t really fireflies.”
I look up at the crowd in front of me, every one of them dressed in morbid black clothing. It wasn’t what Michael would have wanted.
“Michael always knew what he was doing. Whatever was wrong, there was nothing we could have done to fix it. Anyone who knew him could say that.” I cast a nervous glance at his mother, who’s a teary mess in the front row. I clear my throat and continued talking. “The most I could do was stand back and make sure he did the right thing, because I was the one who would have to save his butt if he got in trouble.” I can’t help but smile. “It was always his dream to be young forever. I guess he got his wish.”
I don’t know what else to say, so I just leave the podium and take my reluctant seat next to Michael’s mom.
There aren’t many more speakers, save for Michael’s old music teacher and a distant relative that I’m almost positive he never actually met, because his description of the boy I grew up with wasn’t even close. Once they’re done, we’re given a few moments and pay our last respects.
“Rose,” my mother says sadly, her face tired and pale, “We need to go. Your father’s waiting in the car.”
I nod and stand there, watching, while she heads out of the church, her black shawl pulled tightly around her as she walks out into the cold December air.
It’s then that I walk over to the casket, for I hadn’t had the courage to do it earlier. It’s surrounded by all sorts of pictures of him, some that I’ve seen before and some that I haven’t. Flowers litter the altar, and the floor, and every conceivable space around it until I can hardly see anything but flowers, and I just stare at all the colors and wonder why people where all black if the flowers make the rainbow themselves.
I can feel tears in the backs of my eyes but I don’t let them fall. In a choked voice, I manage to let loose a tiny laugh.
“Love you, too, Mike,” I say softly, tracing my finger along the delicate carvings of the wood. “Looks like you can finally touch the stars.”
But other people are waiting to see what I’m seeing, so I give another solemn nod and head outside after my mother, where a full moon casts an innocent glow over everything outside, illuminated only by the little square outline of light coming from the door. I look up and see the stars, just beginning to appear in the night sky.
“I’ll be up there someday. I promise,” I whisper, my gaze focusing on the moon. “I just think I’m going to take my time. That’s all. But don’t worry, Mike. I know I couldn’t stop you.” I let out a bitter-sounding laugh, even though I swore I wouldn’t. “When ever would you let me?”