Fire Flies

by Marie Marini

  I’m in therapy now. Everything I write here is confidential. My therapist promised me that. She can’t betray my trust but I still don’t trust her. She said writing it all down might help, so that’s what I’m doing. I live in Roanoke, Virginia. I live in a nice 3 bedroom, 2 bathroom house in a suburban neighborhood. I have a new name, a new past written and prepared for me by the FBI. I work as a nurse in the local hospital. I requested pediatrics. I recognize now that my childhood was stolen from me. Children in this screwed up world need someone to protect them. I can’t be a hero firefighter anymore, but I can and I will protect these kids. They like me and they trust me. I tell them the truth no matter how hard, they respect that. Sometimes I stay after my shift just to play with them. We play with dolls and action figures and it’s fun. I could never hurt one of my kids. I would do anything to protect those little guys. You wouldn’t believe how many shitty parents are out there.

  I miss the ocean, but I try to take a vacation to the beach once a year. I need to feel that once in a while. It helps to center me. Scuba diving slows my thoughts, makes me focus on my breathing and quietens everything else. It shuts out the noise of the world for just a little while. All the expectations, all the demands to fit in, all the noise that is life shrinks away when you’re under water. I don’t know what I could have done differently. Every decision was a reaction to something else. Newton’s law says an object in motion will stay in motion unless acted upon by another force. There were so many forces my whole life constantly pushing me this way and that. Affecting forward momentum, changing my course. I wanted to be a good person. I tried to be a good person.

  All I had my whole life was me. I couldn’t rely on anyone else. When Sam was five I took his mother away and he never forgave me for that.

  Writing all this down has helped me, I think. I know now that I didn’t kill my mom. It wasn’t my fault. But it’s taking me a while to accept that I wasn’t to blame. Problem is, if I accept that then I have to admit that my dad lied to me and manipulated me. I have to admit that our relationship was fundamentally wrong and that leaves me thinking…did anyone ever love me?

  I found an article on fireflies recently. I read that females deposit their eggs in the ground, which is where larvae develop to adulthood. I guess that is how I feel. I wasn’t nurtured or loved by anyone. When I told Tricia I was a firefly I didn’t realize how close to the truth that really was.

  I’m just so tired now. I’ve filled five journals with this story. When I’m done I’ll take them out back and burn them in the fire pit. Whether we admit it or not we’re constantly in judgement of each other. We all think we’re better than everyone else. What would you have done that night when Darren dropped to the ground with a fractured C5? Did I go wrong before that? Does it go back to burying Daddy? What else was a 13-year-old supposed to do?

  I have a chance now to start over. Maybe even have a normal life. I have mandatory psychological counselling sessions every week. I talk about my childhood because that’s what my therapist wants to hear. I try to make friends, but it all seems fake. I’m still pretending. If I could do it over, I would have let my guard down earlier with Jesus. Maybe that would have saved both of us. I can’t reach out to him, and maybe that’s for the best, but I miss him. I miss how safe he made me feel. I managed to smuggle my old cell phone through security. I can’t use it for anything except looking at old photos. The view from Darren’s apartment, the photo of him at the funeral service, Jesus playing football, photos from the trailer. I can’t delete them, they’re all I have left.

  Acknowledgments

  There are so many people I have to thank. First Alan. You have put up with all my hair brain schemes. Whether it was Reflexology school or Paramedic school or writing a book. You are my constant, my rock. Not once have you ever said you can’t. You tell me I can do anything and with you by my side I believe it. You have nursed me to health, fed me carrots and celery when all I wanted was pancakes, made me laugh until I can’t breathe and loved me when I’m not easy to love. I thank God every day for all that you are. You are the kindest, strongest, bravest and funniest.

  My family. One of my favorite memories of childhood was when my Dad took my brother Gerry, my sister Jen and myself to the library. Only much later did I realize that it was one of the rare times Mum got some ‘me’ time. It was a fabulous cavernous old building. The cast iron winding staircase up to the children’s section on the second floor terrified me but I climbed it anyway. Drafty in places and in others a safe cozy respite from the cold. I learned to love old libraries and the smell of books. Dad would take donkeys ages to find his books. Thank you Mum and Dad for those donkeys ages spent in that beautiful old building learning to love words and stories.

  I have amazing friends in my life who have encouraged all my crazy ideas up to and including this book. They read it and gave me feedback. Good and bad but mostly good. I thank you for that. I like to pretend my ego could take it. Special thanks to my “Beer night” girls who were the first to foster this story. I won’t name all those friends here it would become a long boring list of names. I am blessed to have so many true friends in my life and I thank God for you. I am not forgetting my work friends at The City of Boca Raton and Boca Raton Fire Department. Thank you for your support and friendship.

  Thank you to my editor Steve Parolini who took this project on, guided me and helped me make this as good as it could be. Thank you for having faith in the project and patience with me.

  Finally thank you to Book Baby for giving new authors a platform to see our Baby in print.