Summer Nights

We would run in the grass with our bare feet. At night the only protection we had was our memories and a flashlight. But the flashlights were not very bright and had three double-D batteries and weighed our wrists down. The only light came from the stars and the passing boats and the fireflies.

We did not capture the fireflies in jars. Even then we were fully aware of how fragile they were. If you waited patiently and squatted in the grass, they would land. If you were quick, you could gently grab them between your hands. Its light would flash on and off in between your fingers and you would open them slowly to see better until you could see it very well and it would fly away, out from your fingers and back with the other fireflies, blinking and you could no longer tell which was yours. The fireflies became our light.

But sometimes we did use the flashlights. There was an exposed stone brick foundation that ran across the entire cabin and we would follow it with the light. We got on our knees and lowered our heads so that we could look in. Sometimes we would be able to find toads, also lowered to the ground, staring back at us. You could not get them out with your finger because the crack was too deep and if you used your finger he would be able to slip out and get away. Once the toad was scared you could not find it because it would hop away into the tall grass and it was too dark. So we used sticks to nudge it out and into our cupped hands. They were very ugly and my sister would not touch them but she still came along.

We would also bring the flashlights along the base of the trees and under the cars and by the edges of the driveway and where it met the front step. We would have spent the entire night looking for them if there were not so many mosquitos. They were big too and for every one you killed two more would bite you.

We collected the toads like this and placed them in some sort of container. Usually we would use some patio furniture. But when we could not find any furniture we would bring them into the screened room where we kept the fishing rods and the tackle. We thought the adults would be mad if they found out but we never got caught. That was half the fun. 

I remember fishing at night too, before the toads but after the fireflies. We were at a different cabin. It had two wooden piers that ran out into the water and my cousin was fishing from one and me the other. I heard her scream and I ran down my pier and over to hers and my grandpa was helping her. It was so dark and they needed to use a flashlight, slowly moving it from its head to its tail. You thought it would end but it never did. It was a big fish. Everyone was happy for her but me.

I ran back and down the other wooden pier. Mine was a children's fishing pole, a spinning rod that was button-released and it could only go so far. I threw it still, as far as I could. Only a short while later I caught one. I would not have kept him if it was not right in front of the pier. I pulled up and it landed on the wood and slapped against its boards. My grandpa came to me now and I was so excited. I kept that line. It is still in my tackle box.

But at some point, we stopped catching fireflies and collecting toads and fishing and we cared about the dark. We scared each other with stories of bears that would come down from the hills or some paranormal creature that would seek its revenge on us for no explainable reason. In some way, we looked at the darkness and thought we were going to die. We would talk about it as if it was some certainty. At that time the only certainty we had was the flea market and ice cream.