The light was on, that’s always a good sign. Roger was always pretty adamant to turn the lights off when no one was home; he used to say things like ‘the house should get a chance to sleep too,’ before…anyway, he was always a bit funny.
Walking up the stairs Mark knocked on the front door to no answer. Finding it unlocked he gently pushed the old oak door ajar until it became blocked by something on the other side
‘Roger? Are you there Roger?’ sticking his head around the narrow gap, Mark paused for a moment to take in the chaos of cardboard boxes and old newspapers that was littering his friend’s apartment. Squeezing inside, he began to mentally plot some kind of path between the detritus and assorted precious refuse.
‘It’s very dark today,’ replied Roger, his muffled voice seemed lost within the crowded room.
‘Roger? Where are you? Are you ok?’ Mark asked with concern, stopping as he rebalanced a tower of carelessly stacked papers that had almost toppled over as he brushed past.
‘Yes…I suppose I am.’
‘Wait, why did that sound like a lie? Look, I can hear you, you’re in this cupboard’, said Mark, wadding past some scattered magazines to then hesitantly tap on the door of a linen cupboard.
‘Yes. That’s right…Mark, why am I in the cupboard?’ Roger called, fully lost in the situation and beginning to wonder if daytime was always this dark. Hugging a coat that was hung up next to him, Roger closed his eyes and tried to remember if he’d seen the sunset today.
Staring firmly into the middle distance of contemplation, Mark stood outside the cupboard door and wondered if it was best to let his friend be by himself. It was hard to know what to do in any situation.
After a moment’s dwelling and becoming annoyed by how badly he wanted to leave, Mark rubbed at his face in exasperation and relented to helping his friend. ‘Roger, let’s go for a walk mate. We need to talk.’
‘But it’s dark.’
‘Get out of the cupboard Roger.’
…
Strolling through the park two friends walked shoulder to shoulder amid the Autumn chill; scarf and coat warming them as they walked.
‘You been alright mate?’ Mark asked as he kicked a rock from the path off into a pile of leaves. The red and brown wash of the leaf litter remained undisturbed as the rock had failed to dislodge anything of any structural integrity.
‘Well, I have been alright, but at the moment everything seems a bit blurry.’ Roger replied as he tugged at a loose thread on his coat sleeve. Torn between pulling the thread and leaving it be, he stopped and closed his eyes. ‘Do you reckon when a firefly gets old it forgets how to glow? I always worry that they’ll get sad and become just regular flies.’ Walking over to a maple tree, Roger stooped down and watched some of the park’s fireflies flit through the air in merry dance. Letting one land on his finger, he fought against the tremble in his wrist.
‘I don’t know Roger, I think things like that always just are.’ Watching his friend kneel in the dewy leaf litter made Mark recall the mess of his apartment. ‘Anything I can do to help?’
‘Can you tell them how to be bright again?’
‘No Roger, I’m being serious here, I’m worried about ya mate.’ Placing a hand on his shoulder Mark noticed just how frail his friend felt under the wool jacket. Pulling back he looked up to the branches, lain bare by the season, and sighed, his breath coiled away like smoke in the frigid air.
Taking a knee, he leant down next to Roger and helped support his hand; the firefly settled glowing faintly in the dusk, an ember, so precious, so small.
Softly a breeze built from the west and the bug took flight, rejoining the others as they flew erratically in twirling loops.
Making their way back to the path in silence both men enjoyed the sound of the rustling leaves as flecks of rain pattered upon the ground, the dew lain trail softly crunching under their feet.
‘Mark?’
‘Yes mate?’
‘It’s getting dark, we’re not in a cupboard again are we?’
‘No Roger, it’s getting close to night. We’ll be ok, we just have to remember to follow the street lights, pretend like they’re fireflies ok?’
J.McCray
2020
Sunday Short Stories 