Fireflies On My Palm

A Child's heart-warming discovery.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Fireflies On My Palm

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A short story by R. Tulang

 

I was thankful for it. If it hadn’t turned the lights out and plunged the city and its suburbs into darkness, I wouldn’t be thinking and remembering my grandpa and our monthly nightly sojourn to that blissful place of wonder and awe; a place where I came to appreciate the virtues of love and remembrance, to learn the discipline to hold a steel-of-a- nerve, and get the education that only darkness could tutor, gift and bestow.

 

Since the death of my grandpa couple of months past, I still had not had the courage to push myself to set foot on that very same place where he is now lying in rest beside his adored wife.

 

 Grandpa used to visit the tomb of my grandma who went to heaven when I was three or perhaps four. If I could remember it right, he never failed, not even once, to present grandma with flowers, and to pray and light her tomb with candles for the duration of the night in that once-a-year occasion of remembering the departed.

One night, when I was nine, he came to share his best kept secret to me. He told me later that it was just a spur-of-the-moment when he decided to invite me to share his secret adventures. If that impulsive act of his never came to be, I would not have experienced my first dance of a lifetime.

 

 Our house was next to grandpa’s and I was always on call if he wanted to have me as a company at night when he felt some melancholic spell, or if my parents wanted to have some privacy without their only child unintentionally eavesdropping on them on their love night, and so I’d be sent to the other house to stay with my grandfather. On that momentous night, while I was at the parlor of my grandfather’s house browsing my comic books, grandpa came down from the stairs fully attired like he was attending some kind of a party and asked me if I wanted to tag along with him. “Want to come with me?” he asked.

 

The first thing that came to mind was perhaps there was indeed a party, and I imagined it as a dance party. It was the best incentive to say yes right away when I came to imagine the night could bring me great thrill and enjoyment. An Idea quickly invaded my head that some girls my age were there too, so at last I could finally experience my first dance that I had been yearning for. Besides, I didn't want to be left alone in my grandpa’s big house to be visited by the characters from the nether world of my comic books. And the worse part if I'd say no I'd be forced to go back to stay with my parents, and spent my weekend night inside my room after they got tired of my presence.

 

“Yes!” I answered, with my whole body flushed with excitement. That lively excitement never gave my brain to work properly, and that it thoughtlessly neglected to ask where the venue of the party is.

 

“Go then change yourself,” grandpa commanded. It solidified my belief that it was indeed a dance party after hearing the old man ordered me to dress up. I took a glance at the old grandfather clock leaning proudly on one corner and its hands say nine in the short and twelve in the long. It should have chimed when the nine o’clock time was reached, but its mechanism was comparable to my grandfather’s eccentricities and oddities that at times it would ding-dong endlessly sending the old man to tinker some of the clock’s internal parts to stop its loud tantrums, but tonight it just kept its silence (another facet of its tantrum.)

 

I dashed to the single-floor house next door, and found my parents in the living room watching that silly weekly TV soap opera show that my mother had become addicted to, and which my father came to moderately tolerate because he had nothing else to do in that middle evening hour except to watch the happenings on that small screen with my mother and torture his butt in that one hour duration. In my frenzy, I accidentally closed the door with a bang after getting inside that made the two theater goers turned their faces in unison toward me.

 “You startled me!” my mother yelled. I don’t know whether my mother was denied the best scene of the show that was why she yelled at me, or because I broke her concentration watching the show and with it her fancy imagination. That did not deter my nearly flying feet from slowing down in going to my room. I paused momentarily to decide whether to give a short visit to the bathroom and take a shower, but decided against it, after entertaining a thought on how to solve that particular problem. And also I didn’t want the old man to wait long, lest he might leave without me if I make him wait for an unreasonable long period; so my last act before going out of the house was to drop a visit to my parent’s bedroom without being noticed, and went to bathe my neck, my hair and shoulders with my father’s expensive cologne to camouflage my uninviting and repulsive sweaty odor.

 

When I went out of the room, the fan seemed to siphon off the cologne scent, and blew it towards the two seated figures in the living room, that quickly got the attention of my mother who instantly went berserk the moment she saw me. Her eyes went wide and wild, and her hands went to grope her hair, but were undecided whether to comb with it, or to just stay stationary on top of her head waiting for something to make it move again. From the other part of the couch, I saw my father stared at me with a frown and an agape mouth, and with an amused look never knowing whether to smile, or to laugh, or to say something, but like my mother’s hands they too just stayed stationary.

 

I was astonished to see my parents go insane seeing me donning the aqua-blue shirt, and the cool black cotton pants, and the shiny black shoes all of which were purchased by my mother purposely for the last Christmas party hosted by my father’s employer held in a high-end hotel in the big city. I had worn them many times during that December month to many parties that my parents attended where I came to win praises for being so cute and so handsome a boy. There was no hesitation in wearing the pairs again this time to make my future dance partner gawk in admiration. My attire and my overpowering scent and top it with my hair that was waxed with so much jell that made them stood rigid, looked sticky and shiny was a complete lunacy in my parent’s eyes. This was what made my parents go insane, and it made me go crazy too, watching them go mad.

“What are you d--” my mother said, alarmed and perplexed. “What are you up to, son!”

 

“I’m going with grandpa to a dance party,” I said in a matter-of-fact tone. Inside me, there was a fear that the two, especially my mother, would veto grandpa’s invitation and my first dance would go to naught.

 

“A dance party!” my mother said unbelieving. She looked at my father but the man of the house only made a downward nod preemptively signifying that he didn’t know anything about any party. “Is there a party that we don’t know about, hon?”

 

“I should have known if there is, my father would sure like to be in it too but never mentioned it when I dropped by him this afternoon,” my father mentioning my grandfather on his side, reasoned out. Knowing that my mother would never have the courage to ask grandpa about the party--it was a comfort I silently appreciated--because there was a very good reason why she could not do it. The first and the last time she did it--inquiring on something about my grandpa’s flirtation with some lady his age--she was accused by her old man of invading his private life.

 

My grandfather was a retired public servant. He was the former town treasurer, served for more than 30 years and respected by many, went on retirement at the age of 60 after the demise of his wife a year earlier. As for my grandpa on my father side--he too was a municipal employee, a town judge, with a living wife on his side, still working and plan to work till he’s 65. My male grandparents on both sides were nearly of the same age and judging from the many instances when I had a chance to compare them from each other, I could categorically state that the two were of the same temperament and idiosyncrasies, and that my other grandpa would absolutely attend the dance party if he knew about it. But it seemed my mother’s father did not invite his contemporary. That gave me another worry. If my other grandpa did not know it, then it must be an invitation-only private party of old people and no kids were allowed, so ‘twas another possibility that I wouldn’t have a partner for my first dance.

 

My mother turned her attention to me and asked, “Did your grandfather tell you where the party is?”

 

“I forgot to ask.”

 

“Go ask him,”  mother ordered, “then come back and tell me.” I didn’t have the time to give my objection for my father saved me.

 

“Jesus, hon . . . you’re making a big fuss out of this again. Just let your old man enjoys his remaining life.”

 

“I’m not restraining him to enjoy his life. What I’m most concern is his safety. What if--God forbids, something happened in that party and . . .”

 

“I’m with him mother, just don’t give much worry to it,” I said with great bravado as if I could save grandpa from the dangers of the real world like the heroes of my comic books saving humanity against the villains and monsters of the imagined world. I came to regret saying it when my mother’s angry side-glance told me to shut up. But with grandpa in my immediate worry I just couldn’t keep my mouth shut. “Mother, I have to go, grandpa would be pissed by the long wait.”

 

“Keep an eye on your grandpa,” my mother said, as she reluctantly let me go.

 

“Yeah sure, I’ll babysit him,” I said, muttering.

 

The first sign that something was not right was when grandpa went south instead of going north. South means plowing through the edge of the town proper with its farms and farmlands, and then hills that abutted it, while north goes directly to the center of town where commercial establishments and big houses of prominent town elites reside. North should be the venue of a party that I was accustomed to attending with my parents, but south? I remembered once when there was a party in the south, but it was not a party, it was a feast prepared by the farm folks to thank the heavens for the good harvest, but that was long ago, which I could barely remember now. As we passed the first block, lights all around us suddenly went black. There was a blackout and dark engulfed the whole neighborhood and its vicinity. Of course, I would have panicked if I was alone, but with the presence of grandpa there was no fear in me for now.

 

Concentrating on my steps and looking at the ground intensely to keep my feet on the level to keep my balance when a sudden ray of light illuminated the path in front of us. Grandpa was holding a small flashlight and its beam were steadily pointed to the road we’re treading. “Grandpa where’d you get that?” I asked quite surprise.

 

“What?” he asked. He was not sure what I was talking about.

 

“The flashlight,” I said, “did you bring it with you?”

 

“Ah, um, yes.’

 

“You came prepared.”

 

“I was a boy scout when I was in grade school. Didn’t I tell you that?”  The old man proudly said.

 

“No,” I said.

 

“Um.”

 

“Grandpa . . .”

 

“Yes?”

 

“Where are we going? Aren’t we attending a party?”

 

“Um.” Again, it was an answer I could barely hear.

 

“We should be going the opposite way not this one.” This time no answer came from him. I wanted to pursue my query but I felt I wouldn’t be receiving a coherent answer to it so I decided to keep mum. The old man seemed to be in his unusual trait again.

 

After passing the last house, it was only then that I came to notice the familiar landscape on both sides of the road. We were unmistakably sauntering a road that passes through the town’s cemetery. I felt the hairs on the back of my head stood up. The damp on my skin cooled by the strong breeze further gave me an eerie feeling. I could no longer keep my mouth shut. “Grandpa, are we going to pass the cemetery going to--”

 

“No.” It was an emphatic answer, but then he added, “We’re going inside.”

 

“Going inside!” I said horrified.

 

“Son, don’t tell me you’re afraid. Last All Saints Day we were here the whole night and I asked if you were afraid of sleeping on the ground near your grandmother’s grave and you gave me your answer.”

 

“Grandpa, that was different. The whole cemetery was teeming with people, and the place was brightly lighted. There were candles all over.”

 

“So you’re scared now?” I did not answer him for I noticed the road had branched out into an upward and narrow slope that would lead us to the cemetery’s entrance. “Try to whistle, son, it will diminish your fear.”

 

“I’m not afraid, grandpa,” I said, as I loosened my grip on his hand. I felt silly and then shame when the reality reached my senses that I was with grandfather and should not be feeling afraid.

 

“That’s good son,” he said, after being reassured of my bravery. “All it needs is a little practice to acquire a nerve of steel and this is the first lesson on that."

 

“Are we visiting grandma?”

 

“Uh huh.”

 

“Do you have candles with you?”

 

“Uh huh.”

 

“We don’t have flowers.”

 

“We’ll pick some,” grandpa said, as he diverted the beam of the flashlight at the outgrowth on the side of the road. I rushed to pick different wildflowers that were in abundance and handed grandfather the bunch I had in my left hand while the other stems in my other hand would be my own share of an offering for grandma. After passing the open gate by some distance, we came upon thousands of flickering lights flying with the cool breeze. I extended my free hand to invite a firefly to land on my palm and when it did, not only did the hairs on the back of my neck come to rise, but every hair that covered my skin was in salute.

 

The soft chuckle of my grandpa while watching me, reverberated and melded with the sounds of chirping crickets and the faint bark of distant dogs. Grandpa watching me enjoying the company of flying night creatures with blinking lights was a beholding scene to be cherished. I watched the fluttering fires lighted my face mesmerizing me further. I put some distance between me and grandpa as I followed him for I was already confident of myself and no longer afraid of the imagined unseen ghosts lurking around, and came to appreciate the bright path the fireflies illuminated for me.

 

Grandpa pulled some wild grasses that were on the far side of grandmother’s tomb and used it to wipe the dust and dirt on its top after removing the withered and dried flowers that he had placed there the previous month. When the candles were lighted, we decked the tomb with our fresh flowers. The old man stood still and silently said a prayer for my grandma. While I watched him, I asked myself if I could replicate what he was doing in the event when he had joined my grandma in the afterlife.

 

“Why didn’t you tell me beforehand that we’re visiting grandma?” I asked the old man after we rested ourselves on the ground fronting the grave and after we had covered it first with wild grasses that I came to pluck from the surrounding grounds.

 

“If I tell you would you come?” the old man asked.

 

“I think so,” I said, “and why do you have to dress up like you’re going to a party when we’re only visiting the cemetery.”

 

“You’re grandma’s grave is a solemn ground so I have to be attired properly to show my love and respect for her. It delighted me when you come looking respectfully as I am.”

 

“I thought we are going to a dance party so . . .”

 

“Dance party eh!” grandpa said and gave out a boisterous laugh. “So you want to dance?”

 

“Yes, I’d love to . . . to dance with a girl my age,” I said. That was enough for my grandpa to have a clue. He stood up and started to hum the sound of El Bimbo, a salsa music, and then to my pleasant surprise grabbed my arm and motioned me to get up too, and we began to dance to the tune. I knew the tune and I was familiar with the dance so I lent my voice and blended it with grandpa’s baritone as we danced while the fireflies flew around us, and danced with us much to our great delight.