Page 82 of Our Own Light

Slowly, Floyd’s thoughts traveled back to his childhood, back to when he and Matt had liked to catch lightning bugs, too. Back then, Matt had been in the habit of smushing them. He had liked to see the way they continued to shine on skin or rocks or whatever he had smashed them either with or on. But Floyd hadn’t liked that. He felt pathetic remembering it now, but he really hadn’t liked Matt hurting those poor bugs. Floyd remembered how he had eventually worked up the courage to tell Matt how sad it was making him.

At first, Matt hadn’t seemed to care much, which had been a bit disappointing at the time. Floyd had hoped for some kind of acknowledgment or apology. But then, later that afternoon, Floyd had found Matt by the edge of the shrubbery where they had been watching them lightning bugs before, lining up a whole bunch of pebbles in a row. “What’re those?” Floyd had asked. “Headstones,” Matt had replied, as though Floyd ought to have known that. Matt had always been like that—expecting everyone else to know what he was thinking, like maybe he thought that everyone else was living inside his head, too. “For what?” Floyd had asked. “Lightning bugs. I squished a lot of them.” And then Matt had looked up at Floyd and said, “I’m sorry I killed them, Floyd. I never meant to make you sad.” After that, Floyd had helped Matt with the little lightning bug memorial or whatever it was.

Floyd was still holding on tight to this memory when he turned his attention back to Ollie and Effie, who were swaying together only a few feet away.

When the song was over, Ollie and Effie parted.

“Well, that was fun,” Effie said, coming back over to Floyd. “I’m pretty sure everyone thinks Oliver’s fixing to steal me away from you, though.”

“Impossible,” Ollie said. “I couldn’t steal you even if I tried. Floyd’s the real catch. Anyone with eyeballs can see that.”

Floyd shook his head. “You’re lucky the music’s still playing loud enough to keep people from hearing that.”

“Eh, I’m always making strange comments. I think everyone knows that by now.”

Which was probably true. Ollie was becoming a real miner. Everyone in Rock Creek knew Ollie. Everyone seemed to like him, too.

Effie took Floyd’s hand.

“We better try one dance. I ain’t lying about the way it’ll look if people see that I spent all night with Oliver and not with you.”

“Yeah, I suppose you’re right,” Floyd said before remembering that he was probably supposed to ask her in a nice way. “Effie, will you make me the luckiest man in the whole world by sharing a dance with me? Heck, you’re as pretty as the sun and the moon and the stars all combined.”

Ollie scoffed in a playful manner.

“Of course,” Effie said, smiling up at him.

And so, Floyd and Effie shared a dance. Floyd wasn’t as coordinated as Ollie, but he tried his best, and Effie seemed to have fun even with Floyd knocking knees with her a couple of times.

When the song was over, Effie told them that she had to fetch Josephine to put her to bed. Floyd offered to find her instead, but Effie protested, telling him to spend some time with Ollie.

After Effie and Jo left, another slow song started playing. Floyd wished that he and Ollie could sway together. But of course, that wasn’t in the cards for them. It’d never be.

Ollie kicked a rock and said, “So, should we head back to my house or...?”

“Yeah, let’s.”

On the way, they talked about the types of ice cream Ollie had tried back up in New York. It made Floyd wish he could visit with Ollie someday. He’d have liked to have a window into that part of Ollie’s life.

When they reached Ollie’s house, Floyd started up the steps, but Ollie stopped in front of the porch and knelt down.

“Lightning bugs are my favorite,” Ollie said, coaxing one of them to land on his hand.

“Mine, too,” Floyd said, coming to kneel beside him.

Slowly, Ollie sat back on his butt, keeping his arm steady as he did so that the little bug would stay on his hand. Once Ollie was settled, he held out his other hand and the lightning bug flew over and landed on it like them two were friends already.

Ollie smiled. “What should we name him?”

“Name him?”

“Do you think he looks like a George?”

“He looks like a bug,” Floyd said with a laugh.

“Yeah, maybe not George,” Ollie said, lifting his hand like he really was trying to find the perfect name for a little insect that would probably fly away in thirty seconds. “How about Carl? I think Carl suits him.” Ollie brought his hand closer to Floyd. “Hold out your palm for him.”

“He’ll fly away.”

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