The Firefly Dance

by Sarah Addison Allen

  “They sure do.” She didn’t tell her how Momma would shake her head and toss that cake mix in the garbage, pronto presto chango.

  “Well now, would you like to see the rest of the house?”

  Petey almost shouted, “Would I!” but instead said very politely, “Yes, thank you kindly.”

  “Let me wash my hands of all the grocery grime.”

  While Petey waited patient on the outside and impatient on the inside, she heard a bump from above and had the sudden wonder if Anna had to listen to them stomping around all the time, especially Hill. She promised herself to be quieter and to talk to Hill about it, too.

  Anna led her past the Buddha and into the living room. The living room was painted a sandy color, and there were red pillows and throws on chairs, and a footstool that looked like some kind of animal but wasn’t real animal when Petey touched it. The dark brown couch slung low and seemed to float above the floor, and on it were more pillows, while over the back was thrown a soft furry throw in the same dark brown as the couch. There was a woven, thick-roped cotton chair that hung from the ceiling and Petey was dying to sit in it. There were more pictures that seemed foreign to her, and another statue, except the living room statue was of three naked women huddled together.

  Anna said, “That’s the Graces.” She stood next to Petey and pointed to each woman. “Aglaia is splendor, Euphrosyne is festivity, and Thalia is rejoicing. Do you know your mythology?”

  Petey shook her head, then said, “Well, maybe a little from school.”

  “Do you know who Zeus is?”

  “Yeah! He’s a big scary god with lightning bolts.”

  Anna laughed.

  Petey wanted to find more ways to make her laugh, just to hear it.

  “Zeus and Eurynome are the Graces’ parents, although some say Zeus and Hera are. And there’s some quibble over what the Graces represent.” She touched the statue. “They are lovely, whatever the mythology.” Anna turned and smiled at Petey (and Petey thought, No, you are lovely), then Anna said, “Now, on with the tour, although as you know it will be a rather short tour.” She glanced back at Petey following behind her. “And remind me to give you a book on mythology. You can return it when you’re done.”

  On the hallway wall hung what looked sort of like a blanket, except it was smaller and had a stick through it so it could hang from the hooks. On it were two beautiful birds and lots of flowers. Petey touched it with the very tip of her pointing finger. It was soft.

  “Those birds are bird of paradise, aren’t they pretty?” Anna touched it with her finger as Petey had, except she ran her finger across the bird as if petting it. “This tapestry came from Sicily, where my old boyfriend lived for a time. It’s patterned after the ancient mosaics. He gave it to me, right before he married someone else because I wouldn’t marry him.” She turned from the tapestry and said to Petey, “They met in a yoga class, my boyfriend and his wife to be, that is—she was my best friend.” She smiled, as if glad for how it had turned out, after all, then said, “She wanted the tapestry, but I kept it. He told me I could, that it was a gift to me.” Her brows came together. “Some people are just greedy!” She stepped away from the tapestry. “Well, such is life; let’s finish the tour.”

  Petey’s eyes were wide and her brain ran round trying to imagine all the things Anna knew about or had happen to her. She’d never heard or seen such ever in her life. Grown woman things. Boy and girl things. Far away things. It was all wondrous.

  Of course Anna’s was no ugly pickle bathroom and instead was painted the same sandy color and there were thick towels in a dark brown. The rug was woven of something like wheat or straw, but was soft under Petey’s flip-flopped feet. Down the hall were the other rooms, just as with Petey’s half-house. In Anna’s, one bedroom wasn’t a bedroom at all. Instead it held a sewing machine, material, thread, and paint, canvas, along with some pictures leaned on the wall.

  Anna said, “Too bad the Ancients aren’t my muses. I took a painting class. That’s where I met Stephen.” The pinked cheeks again. “That’s the guy I told you about. He’s a gifted painter and a wonderful teacher, but one of his students . . .” she pointed to herself and then to the paintings, “isn’t so good.”

  “I like those over there.” Petey pointed to the ones with all the color. “I like them ’cause they’re so bright and beautiful.” And that was a truth. They were full of reds and browns and yellows and oranges and purples, and here and there sparkling silver or gold would surprise Petey, and the paintings all glowed in the light coming in through the windows.

  “Thank you, Petey. You’re kind for saying so.”

  The last room was Anna’s bedroom and Petey’s knees knocked in, for it was that pretty. Anna’s bed was a dark mahogany, and draped over the bed was pretty netting that floated around and over the bed. The bedspread was a deep purple, and there were colorful pillows and throws, some with sparkles. The rug was white and furry and soft as a baby’s behind when Petey slipped her right foot out of her flip flop and ran her bare foot over the rug. On the wall on either side of the bed were candles inside glass and metal holders. The whole room smelled spicy: cinnamon, cloves, and other spices she couldn’t say what they were but made her want to flop on the bed and daydream about far away places.

  Anna asked, “So, what do you think?”

  “It’s beautiful.” Petey right then wished Anna were her sister.

  “Well, time to make some tea, right from Japan. First though . . .” She crossed the room, went to a low bookshelf, said, “Let’s see. Here it is,” and pulled out a book that looked old as Grandma. “This is the book I was telling you about.” She handed it to Petey. “It was my dad’s so take good care of it.”

  Petey felt the most special person on earth. She followed Anna back to the kitchen, ran her hands over the book, and couldn’t wait to see what was inside. She’d take the best ever care of it.

  In the kitchen, Anna took the vase with the sparkled balls and feathers from the table and set it on the counter. “Isn’t this a sight? Sometimes I have ideas that don’t quite make it right from my brain to reality.” She put on water to boil. “Do you like hot tea?”

  Petey nodded, even though she’d never had hot tea. She wondered who’d drink hot tea on a hot day, but she was willing to try it. Just as Petey sat at the kitchen table, she heard Hill calling to her. She wanted to tell him to shush it up. He called again, “Peeeeteeey, time to eeeaaat!”

  “Your brother is calling you to lunch.”

  “It’s okay. I’m not hungry.”

  Hill was closer, and hollering louder. “Petey! Momma said now, come now. Time to eat. Now!”

  “I don’t want your mom to be mad at me. Come back and have tea another time.”

  Petey stood. “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  She held up the book. She didn’t know how to say thank you for showing me things I’ve never seen before in my life without sounding stupid.

  “Hold on. One more thing.” She reached into the pantry, moved things around, tipped her head to the right then to the left, and finally pulled out a box. “This tea will help your mom to feel better. Tell her to brew it and then relax where she likes to relax the most as she sips it.”

  Petey didn’t have the heart to say Momma didn’t relax in her bubbles any more. She said, “I’ll tell her. Thank you.” She took the box of tea and headed out the door, out into the hot, and smack into Hill.

  “What were you doing in there? Who is she? What’s she like? Is she a witch? Is she ugly with a wart? She’s not ’cause I saw her and she’s puh-puh-puh-ret-ty. How’d you get in there? What’s that book? And what’s that there?”

  “Can you just shush it, Pus-picker?”

  “I can’t help it I’m curiouser than a cat.” He meowed, then licked his hand like it was a pa
w, and that paw was something dirty.

  “Eeewww. Quit doing that. You’ll get worms.”

  “Come on; let’s eat. Momma made—”

  “Let me guess. Soup and saltines.”

  “How’d you know?”

  “’Cause that’s all she makes hardly ever now, anymore.”

  Hill clanged up the stairs, said, “Beat you again.” Even though Petey wasn’t even in the mood to race and hadn’t even tried one bit so it didn’t count.

  When she walked into the kitchen, the ugliness of it hit her across the face. The whole half-house hit her across the face. She sat at the table and ate her tomato soup with saltines, drank her milk. Daddy wasn’t much of a food shopper and bought weird kinds of soup brands, and crackers that sometimes were stale. Momma knew how to stretch a dollar better, except she hadn’t been out of the house since they’d come back from Rock’s funeral. Petey felt a little nit of a bug enter her brain that burrowed in and told her she hated Rock, maybe a little. Hated him for dying. And that little nit of a bug made her feel like a mean ole fool. She couldn’t help it. She wanted things back like they were.

  After she ate she went outside, but she didn’t see Anna again. She wandered around the yard and thought about school starting soon. She gave a little shudder. New school, new kids. And what if they found out about Momma never leaving the house and being so skinny? What if they thought Momma was crazy? That was a fate worse than most things. She’d known about a girl where everyone said her momma was crazy, that she’d shoot anyone who tried to come up to her shack in the woods, and how she let her girl run wild all over the mountain. They whispered about her and sneered their lips and other awful things Petey didn’t want to have happen to her.

  That night Petey pressed her ear to the floor and listened for Anna. She heard the soft violin again and imagined Anna listening to her music while drinking her tea in the tub, or while trying out dance steps with her little feet on her soft rug. She remembered then she hadn’t given Momma the tea, and ran to do so before Momma went to bed.

  Momma held the box of tea. “What’s this?”

  “It’s a special tea from Japan. Anna said to drink it while relaxing in the tub and it’ll help you feel better. You drink it hot, Momma.”

  Momma opened the box and a flowery-green smell drifted out. She put her nose to it, took in a soft sniff. “There’s chamomile, lemon balm, lavender, and some I can’t quite figure out.” She closed the box. “So, you’ve met the downstairs neighbor then?”

  “Yes, Ma’am. She’s real nice, and she’s pretty. And her half-house is so beautiful. It has things from all over! She’s been to all kinds of places and has statues and all kinds of pillows . . .” Petey took a deep breath to stop herself from babbling, but more blew out, “. . . and she’s a orphan, and teaches dancing, and she has a boyfriend named Stephen, and he’s a painter but she almost married another boy but her greedy friend stoled him away . . .” Petey had so much to tell Momma, like she used to, only she wasn’t sure if Momma still listened.

  Words were all over the room, on the floor, in hers and Momma’s hair, on the counters. Everywhere. Some floated up and bounced around, some lay heavy, some rose back up so Petey swallowed them again to use later.

  Momma cradled the box and finally said, “I guess a little tea won’t hurt.”

  “You got to do like she says or it won’t work.”

  “That’s foolishness.”

  “No, Momma. She said. Anna said you got to drink it while relaxing so you’ll feel better.”

  Momma stroked the box but didn’t say if she would.

  “Momma. Guess what?” After Momma said, “What?” Petey said, “She uses cake mixes and cornbread and biscuit mixes. And she’s going to cook for her date but doesn’t really know how. Mixes, Momma!” She waited for her to tell her how awful that was.

  Momma turned to set the tea on the counter, and some of Petey’s words were swished away by Momma’s movements. “Time for you to get back to bed. Is Hill in there, or is he running wild? That boy better be in bed.”

  “He’s in there, Momma.” Petey went off to bed, thinking how if telling Momma about the mixes hadn’t worked, then nothing would. Not even special tea from far away Japan.

  Chapter 7

  Petey and Hill rode the hot bus that smelled like bologna. The bus driver had a mustache that was so long it drooped down to his chin and he most days wore a t-shirt that read, “God Bless Texas.” It wasn’t the same t-shirt, but differing ones, in red, black, gray, and white. He sang songs about yellow roses or someone having a cheating heart. When he told jokes, the whole bus laughed. Like, “Why did the chicken cross the road?” and they’d all ask, “Why, Bus-Driver Bill?” and he’d say, “To get away from this bus afore I run over it to tenderize it for my supper!” And even though it wasn’t all that funny, the squinty-eyed look he gave and the way he said it made it funny.

  School wasn’t as much fun. Petey didn’t know what Hill did in class, but on the playground he ran around barking and growling and snuffling the bushes, and that caused a lot of the kids to call him a weirdo. Petey almost had to beat up three boys and a girl. The boys backed off and said they wouldn’t fight a girl, even though Petey said she could fight like a boy just fine. And the girl cried and whined before Petey could even hardly lift up her fist. Petey tried to tell Hill to pretend he was a human being while at school. Her little brother forgot or didn’t care. Then out of the blue-with-chances-of-showers sky Hill made a friend, a skinny little blonde boy with big green eyes and a runny nose.

  Petey did her work and mostly kept to herself. There was one girl who tried to be Petey’s friend. Petey wasn’t ready. She thought about it, though, for if she made friends with Mary, maybe like Angela, Mary would tell Petey when her buttons were buttoned wrong, or her ponytail was messed up, or if there was a stain on her blouse. She could whisper to her new friend about mirrors and she would understand, like Angela did. But what if Mary didn’t understand? What if she laughed at her and told the whole school and they thought she was a weirdo or even worse crazy?

  At least school gave Petey something different to do, since being at the half-house all summer, and in those scraggly woods, and all that dirt, could be quite boring after a time. She couldn’t always have tea with Anna. And Petey needed something to keep her mind away from their too-quiet half-house. How long did it take for a momma to stop missing a baby who’d only been on earth less than an hour? How long did it take for a momma to see her real live kids needed her more than the dead one? Petey felt like slapping herself when she thought things like that. The thoughts slithered in anyway.

  After school every day, Petey jumped back on the bus, and just as in the mornings, Bus-Driver Bill sang loud songs and told silly jokes and they laughed; and even though the afternoon bus smelled of sour milk and sweaty boys, Petey didn’t mind. At home, Petey would do her homework and then wander around. She didn’t let on to Hill that she kind of sort of almost missed him; since he had a friend to pal around with he wasn’t under her feet so much.

  On a Saturday morning, Petey woke up and stretched. She rose out of bed and saw Hill was already up and gone. When she went to the bathroom, she stopped and sniffed. Was that lilacs? She wasn’t sure. She cleaned herself up, not looking into the mirror. Then she had a sudden thought. If she couldn’t change herself being afraid to look into mirrors, how could she expect Momma to change herself from being sad? The thought bounced around in her skull, making vibrations that went through her whole body until her skin hummed and her teeth wiggled in her gums.

  Petey took a deep breath, let it out slow, then again, deep breath, out slow. She raised her eyes to the mirror, her heart thundering. She first gazed only into her own eyes, and then she took in the reflection of the pickle bathroom behind her. Then just as fast, she tore away her eyes. So far, so good, though her heart was about to
burst out of her chest to fall onto the floor beating out all her blood. She hurried out of the bathroom.

  In the kitchen, Daddy was finishing up his coffee. Momma was still in their bedroom.

  “Hi, little bit. Sleep well?” Daddy asked.

  “I guess so.” She went to him and leaned on his strong body. Put her head on his big wide shoulder.

  “Made friends at school yet?” Daddy smiled at her.

  She shrugged, then asked, “Do you like your work, Daddy?”

  He tipped up his cup, slurped out the rest of the coffee, then said, “It’s not a man’s way to think about whether he likes a job or doesn’t like a job. It’s a job. He does it for his family.”

  Petey figured that meant he still didn’t like it all that much, or it meant what it meant; she wasn’t sure. Daddy didn’t make much of a Texan, she didn’t figure, since he’d been born in Haywood County. Momma was born in Watauga County, but she’d lived in Asheville right out of high school, and when she met Daddy, she moved to Haywood.

  Then Daddy said, “Some of the men are okay.” He shook his head, “Those Texans said I need a belt buckle big as my head, some cowboy boots, and a big Stetson, so I can come ride their bulls they keep out in their back yard. I figure they’re teasing me, like when I had to act all hicked up for the tourists at that tourist shop.” He chuckled, and Petey was hopeful at that chuckle. Daddy said, “There’s a letter from your grandma on the counter. I have to go into work for a while, then I think I’ll do some chores around the house.”

  “What kind of chores?”

  “Oh, this and that. I’ve let it go too long.”

  Petey held her breath for two counts of two. Maybe they would finally make their half-house look better. Maybe if it did, she could ask Mary over. Maybe.

  Daddy stood, stretched up to near the ceiling and then swooped down to grab Petey up. She laughed, and didn’t even tell him she was too old. He said, “You’re going to be too big one day, so best get in all my hugs and kisses now.” He planted a big wet nasty slobber kiss on her cheek.