Come Down From Your Fences

Chapter 29

Faded Photographs

by Ponyboy Curtis

Every summer, I would fill a jar with twigs and grass, a makeshift home for the fireflies I caught every night with my friends. My older brother, Darry would help me poke holes in the lid with a nail so that they wouldn't suffocate. My mom would always make me promise to set them free, telling me that anything captured for too long would soon die. But I'd hide them in my closet and bring them out in the dead of night when the rest of the house was asleep. The soft green glow would light up my bedroom as I watched the fireflies crawl and fly through the jungle I'd given them. Inevitably, though, the glow would fade to darkness and I would realize I should have listened to my mother.

The older I get, it seems like everything is getting darker, the light is becoming harder to hold on to. Summer used to mean something more than no school, longer days, and rising heat. When I was a kid, summer meant a time of innocence and freedom. Of course, you might argue that at fourteen - about to turn fifteen in a few weeks - I am still a kid. One thing this last year has taught me, childhood is as fleeting as a sunset.

When that bell would ring at the end of the last day of school in June - that was a golden moment in every kid's life. We were free. Free to do whatever we wanted; no stuffy rules and regulations to bog us down.

Free to catch minnows in the creek as we waded in the cool water; getting our hand-me-down cutoffs soaking wet and ruining our favorite pair of sneakers in the mud.

Free to walk along the train tracks as we dared one another to dodge a train that was miles away and never any danger to begin with.

Free to lay out on our backs in the tall grass as the warmth of the day faded to a muggy coolness as we counted the stars and talked about our dreams. The sky was huge and it always seemed like there were at least a billion stars - one for every dream I had. Of course, at the time those dreams usually revolved around playing ball for the White Sox or battling the bad guys with Spiderman - but they were dreams, nonetheless.

During the summer, falling asleep was the hardest, like your mind didn't want to let go of the day - sleep was a surrender that brought that last day of summer one step closer. And let me tell you, there's nothing worse than trying to fall asleep in a hot room where the air isn't moving and your mind won't shut off and leave you in peace.

My brother, Sodapop, and I devised a solution to this problem. We'd wait for my father's snoring to rumble through the house; our signal that the coast was clear. Like thieves in the night, we'd sneak outside with blankets and pillows in tow, and we'd sleep on the porch in our improvised beds. We liked to believe we had one-up on our parents, that they never knew - but I bet Mom did. Nothing got past her. Regardless, it was like a grand adventure - maybe we were on a treasure hunt on a deserted island, or a rocket flight to the moon, or maybe we were rafting down the Mississippi, on the run from the law. Anything is possible when you're eight and your ten-year-old brother is by your side.

I always thought there was a weird stillness about summer that is hard to explain. When I was younger, there were those moments were everything seemed to slow down and stop, like a series of photographs chronicling my childhood. I still carry those snapshots in my memory:

My mother - beautifully bathed in sunlight, handing out lunch from a wicker basket as we all sat outside on a threadbare blanket, enjoying an impromptu picnic.

My father and Darry - sitting on a rickety wooden bridge as their fishing lines dangled in the water, practically forgotten as they talked about anything and everything but fishing.