Stories Hub / Interracial Love / Fire Flies

Fire Flies

by BaalatErotas 09/07/17

Sometimes summer is more than just a season. Sometimes it's an entire world; it's lifetimes; it's emotions. In this world, these lives and these hearts, summer burns from within.

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I knew I had a problem on my hands when the sight of her painted toenails captivated me. There was plenty to catch a man's eye, no lie. But her pink nails were the flashing warning lights for me.


On the first sunset of summer -- weeks before -- the only pink in my life had been the sunflowers Linda Hani brought to my house. Long stems, intense petals, deeply sweet fragrance.

"Can you believe this colour??" She was a woman as neat and precise as the cornrows she favoured; her excitement evident only in the slight lift in her tone. "I planted dozens when we first moved in -- and struggled with them every year until our daughter was finally born. I'd specifically ordered purple because I was curious to see purple sunflowers. The ones I planted for my son were meant to be red. Every single bloom turned out pink. Umhlolo wodwa, I tell you."

"They're beautiful, Lin. Thank you."

She was arranging them in a tall vase I didn't even know had been in one of my cupboards -- but her gaze kept flitting around up high. "You have a tiny guest."

"Yeah, I know." I didn't bother looking up. "I don't know how it got in."

"Bees in the home mean you will have a visitor."

"I've had a month from hell constructing contracts for a huge sponsorship initiative -- the manpower on the original concept has quadrupled and I keep getting called in for duties outside my own." I rubbed my eyes to ease the ache behind them. "So, it's a good thing that's a firefly and not a bee. I'm in no mood for visitors for a while."

"You never are." Subtle admonishment. "It's not natural spending so much time alone in this huge, quiet house."

"I've only been alone for seven years -- so far. And, if I'd known it would be this nice, I would've done it sooner."

My feeble joke was ignored as the enormous bouquet took shape. I decided to distract myself by opening a beer, hoping it would wash down the aftertaste of my words.

Linda went to place the arrangement in the formal lounge then returned. She patted my back sympathetically.

But it was with a smile that she tracked my tiny airborne intruder.

"Fireflies are even better," she stated. "They bring you your soulmate."


The car company wanted a summer promotional campaign to debut along with the sponsorship programme. Numerous site visits and meetings have done little to clarify how many inhouse members versus how many external experts, freelancers and temps would be combined to form their team. They'd pitched the tip of the concept to me and were now incrementally dropping the rest of the iceberg.

It pissed me off when clients expected to wheedle free consultancy advice out of the man strictly contracted for... contracts.

I spent the next few days home revising my agreement with them to include a working fee, analysis and consultancy agreement for what they were now hoping I'd slip in gratis. I spent that Sunday in my study after sending it through.

Zama Hani called just before sunset to check if I was home. At my confirmation, he announced he'd be over in five minutes -- with a surprise.

I barely registered his presence when he finally did step through my door.

My eyes were glued to her. "Olivia..."

She walked straight into my arms.

Her afro was much larger than it had been five years ago. Her face lit up as she responded to my compliment with an explanation about her new natural hair treatments; teeth brightly white as she laughed at my blatant confusion. I made a point of not taking in the opulence of her breasts and the tempting lusciousness of the tummy roll that engendered nothing but disdain when I held her on that first day back and said she'd grown.

It occurred to me that I'd never had to make myself not look before.

Her reply was, "If nothing else, I've proven indisputably that I'm better at growing fat than I am at growing up."

The self-deprecating humour still there after all these years as she pursed her lips. I shook my head as her remark could not have been further from the truth -- but scepticism met my opinion.

"Mama tells me all the fireflies had disappeared for a while."

She still had me wrapped in her warmth.

"Every day you were gone," I told her.

"It's a good thing I'm home then." Her lips curled and her light brown eyes did that thing where they filled the whole house with the warmth of her joy. "And... I knew you'd say the perfect thing to make me feel better about being back here, you know."

Her father, my best friend in the world, was laughing. "Isn't this just beautiful, old friend? I would not have wished unemployment on my daughter per se -- but, after years of begging her to visit home instead of making her poor parents chase after her, I am just the happiest man alive to have my sunshine home."

Olivia smiled up at me.

Yes. Just beautiful.


Her first week home flew by.

Her parents threw a lavish dinner that Saturday and announced to all guests that Olivia was down but most definitely not out. She would rise again and slay her dragons. I felt stupid for being the only one with a gift; more so for having brought something so childish.

"I haven't made or worn these in years." Her words, spoken in a tone low and smooth, jerked me into the realisation that she wasn't a little girl anymore.

"I'm sorry. I haven't seen you in five years... I forgot that you aren't eighteen anymore."

She turned the little wristband loom kit over then met my gaze with a raised eyebrow. "Yeah, but I haven't made these since I was thirteen..."

"Shit." I wondered how rude it would be to leave before dinner was even served. "Sorry."

"Ten years ago."

"My apology can never express how moronic I feel right now."

She laughed. Her makeup had a shimmer to it that made even her musical laugh seem to glow around us.

At the beginning of her second week, I went down to my kitchen to find her sipping coffee and reading a book. Dostoevsky. Of course. She told me she'd come over at four-thirty, right before her parents woke up. I scratched my beard and tried to make sense of the lit candles all around the breakfast nook.

She pulled out a chair for me. "Not everything has to come with practical reasons, you know. Come enjoy my early indoor sunrise with me."

The warm flicker of lights all around me did make it feel like I was standing at the center of the rising sun.

Olivia wore loose layers of clothing that I couldn't identify as individual items. I sat down, and she poured two coffees then served me the biggest plate of breakfast I'd ever seen. We talked about the five years we'd spent apart, gradually stitching our separate experiences together to close the time-apart gap while she stole bites from my plate.

She didn't even notice how often she stopped her food pilfering to tap and trace my bare arm with the tips of her fingers. Like a thousand times before. No one but the two of us knew that she found my freckles somewhat mesmerising, and would often get lost "counting" them or "connnecting the dots".

I realised how much I'd missed her as I was forced to eat with my left hand so she could have her way with my right arm.

When the actual sun finally rose, we barely noticed it.

"You're greying."

I chewed on.

"Your hair," she clarified unnecessarily. "I mean, there were already a few grey hairs before I left -- but now... they're kind of everywhere, aren't they?"

I glared at her. "Thanks."

"I like it."

I shook my head.

"No, really," she insisted. "Who knew red hair --




"That reddish hair would look this nice with grey through it? If it makes you feel any better your beard is still red. Well. Mostly."

I leaned back in my seat, pinning her with the full magnitude of my glare. "Are you punishing me by calling me old?"

"Who said anything about 'old', Ian? And what possible reason on earth could I have for wanting to punish you... you, the man who bought me a child's gift? Hm?" She was giggling softly as she worked her way through the cluster of button mushrooms on my plate. "No, seriously now. I really do like the grey; it goes with your eyes."

My coffee was finished, so I took her mug.

"And I like your hair short like that -- and the obsessively neat beard," she continued, "even if you only tidied up to hide all the grey."

"I tidied up because I've outgrown the unkempt rockstar look."

"The shaggy puppy look, you mean."

"I am a highly esteemed entrepreneur, a master of business law, who has locked down some of the biggest contracts this country will never know about -- and does not need to put up with name-calling."

"You should be getting to your study to get some more work done. I'm sure there are huge corporations dying for more magic from the master rainmaker, not old news about old deals."

She got to her feet and began tidying up.

She insisted on this -- helping, working -- even when a guest in another's home or around people employed to do the work. I finished her coffee while watching her.

I rose to my full height but, where this might have caused another to do a double-take, she barely blinked. I was tall, but not vastly so -- there was just something about the fullness of my presence that gave others pause. My full height, the deepest tones of my voice, the full intensity of my attention. People seemed to prefer me in small measures -- so, I liked that I didn't need to hold back with Olivia. Never have.

She told me a bit about the tiny flat she'd lived in before coming back home; how she was almost certain it could fit in my enormous kitchen -- but mostly she worked in silence. At one point, she propped her fist on her hip to express impatience. I stepped out of her way with a smile, a little baffled by how often my eyes returned to those hips.

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