Tiffany McDaniel - The Summer That Melted Everything

“Hey, what’s that?”

Dresden was standing under one of the trees, pointing to the yellow orb up in its branches. By that time, we were in the hills closer to town.

“I can’t believe it. A balloon for my birthday. Isn’t that something?”

“I’ll get it for you.” Sal was already halfway up the trunk.

I brushed the firefly’s death from my hand and wiped that once-illuminated glow onto my jeans shorts as I stepped through the trees closer to Dresden and the tree Sal was climbing.

“I climb too,” I whispered to her over the hoot of an owl.

She sighed, almost irritated. “You’re not the one climbing now.”

I stepped farther away from her and watched Sal. He was an all right climber, though he had difficulty with a few of the limbs. Nearer to the balloon, he reached out toward its string but was still too far away. A step here and a stretch there brought him closer until he had the string in his hand.

The thing about branches is there isn’t much warning when one is about to break. It doesn’t groan, it doesn’t say, Look out below. It simply breaks, and sometimes you don’t have time to get out of its way. Sometimes it falls right on your head.

It was an everything bad sound. Think of all the bad sounds. A dropped glass. A 3 A.M. phone call. Hands slipping off the edge of a cliff. That branch and Dresden’s head made all those sounds and more.

I didn’t see the blood at first, not until I fell down by her side. I asked her if she was okay, but she said nothing. I said, “Move, Dresden. Goddamn you, please move.”

I could hear Sal grunting down through the limbs, landing on the ground behind me with a thud. He still held the balloon, so tightly, his nails were digging around the string into the other side of his palm.

I stood and wiped my eyes on my arm. “I’m gonna get help. Are you listenin’? Sal?” I shook his shoulders because all he saw was her. “Don’t be here when I get back.”

He finally brought his eyes up to mine. I couldn’t see his irises or pupils. The water was too deep.

“Go home, Sal. Pretend you were there all along. If they know you were here, climbin’ that tree, they won’t believe it was an accident. Not with what happened earlier with Alvernine. No matter what I say as a witness, they’ll say you hurt Dresden on purpose. So go. I’ll say it was just me walkin’ her home. We were under the tree. A branch fell. Simple as that. Okay?”

His hand ate down the string until the yellow balloon was at his chest. There, he pressed his nails into it until it popped.

I shut my eyes. “Please, Sal, say you’ll go.”

“I’ll go,” he whispered, still holding onto the string, the yellow remains of the balloon dangling at the end of it.

I opened my eyes and looked one last time down at Dresden, at the blood pooling on the ground behind her head. And then I ran. I ran as fast as I could, the fireflies lighting the way.

MADNESS. THE COMPASSING violin when in our head, the directionless chaos when out of it. Isn’t that what madness is, after all? Clarity to the beholder, insanity to the witnessing world. My God, what madness this world has witnessed. What beautiful, chaotic madness.

Did I tell you that the other night me and the boy went out into the saguaros? That’s the closest thing we got to woods around this trailer park. I asked him to bring the jam jar, the one we found on the side of the road. The jam was gone and the glass was clean as we strolled through the cactuses.

“Mr. Bliss? I don’t think there’s any fireflies out here. I’ve never seen any. Are you sure you did?”

“I never said I saw any. I just asked you if you wanted to go catch some.”

I stopped beneath a particularly big saguaro, not all of its large arms growing up but rather twisting and crossing in front of each other. I looked at the boy, who was peering into the empty jar.

“I guess you can’t imagine everything in the dark. Especially not fireflies.” I squinted past the saguaros, into the deep darkness. “Listen, kid. You need to stay away from me.”

“Mr. Bliss, why?”

Because I would be no good for him. I was becoming his Elohim. He was becoming my Fielding. I did say to myself if I went out there with the boy and we saw a firefly, just one, I said to myself I’ll try again. I would go forth in this world, finding instances of niceness and not turn from them. Niceness like the boy. Just one damn firefly, and I’ll be his friend and he will be mine.

Life would be all right to happen.

All its comedy and humor and joy I would let live and live with me in the fresh air and in the yard I would let the light color yellow. If only there was one firefly, if only. What was it Sal said about hope? It’s just a beautiful instance in the myth of another chance. Yes, a myth it is.

I know the boy won’t realize until he’s older, maybe not ever, but I’m doing him a favor. Getting him out of my life is keeping him outside the abyss. Without him, I will stay lonely in this long way, with both ends of forever pinning me to the flames. But he deserves better than to be used as the ladder out of hell.

“You make me sick. You irritate the good goddamn out of me, and I don’t care if your piece-of-shit dad is dead or if you and that bitch you call a mom are sad. I don’t give a fuck about you or your little insignificant life. You hear me?”

I stared at the cactus’ thorns. They gave me inspiration.

“I hate you and I want you out of my life. And if you don’t stay out of it, I’ll burn your trailer down while you and your mom and that damn ugly mutt are sleeping.”

I took out the match I had in my pocket and lit it just for scare. I kept it burning all the while he ran away, the jar having been dropped and broken against the ground. I held the match until the flame ate down and burnt the tips of my fingers. I know that’s the last I’ll see of him. I know that’s the last of the wings.

Did I say I went to a psychiatrist once? I suppose she came to me. I was somewhere in my fifties. I woke and there she was, sitting on the edge of my bed. She asked why I’d want to do a thing like that. Then she laid her hand on the bandages on my chest as I watched the cop pacing outside.

“It was an accident.” I brushed her hand away.

“I see.” She went to look out the window. “And the suicide note?”

I watched the nurse check the IV. “That wasn’t a suicide note.”

The nurse left while the psychiatrist leaned back onto the windowsill to face me as she asked, “No?”

“I just wrote I was leaving, didn’t I?”

“Yes.”

“It was just a note for my girlfriend, letting her know I was leaving for the grocery store.”

“You signed your full name. Do you always sign notes to your girlfriend like that? Fielding Bliss?”

The cop was now standing in the doorway.

“Am I under arrest?”

The badge folded his arms.

“He wants to know where you got the gun?” She tilted her head at me. “It wasn’t registered, Mr. Bliss.”

“I don’t know where it came from. It came from a grandfather clock, but I don’t know where before that.”

She gestured for the cop to leave. Once he did, she closed the door. “I am to evaluate you, Mr. Bliss. Make sure you are no longer a danger to yourself or others.”

“Do we have to now?”

“You’ve been here for several days.”

“Have I?”

“Why would you shoot yourself in the chest, Mr. Bliss?”

She came to my bedside again and gently sat down. Her fingers slowly ran through the graying sides of my hair, softly tucking it behind my ear. I thought she looked as Dresden might’ve looked when she got older. A freckled thirtysomething with eyes like light. Her red hair was tied back, but the shorter strands stuck out around her face, in an almost rounded and even frizz, like the tufts of a dandelion seed head. I thought if I blew those wispy strands, they might blow away just like the seeds. So I tried, blowing lightly toward the ones over her ear. They slightly moved, while she kept her head so very still, as if she didn’t want me to stop.