Between Then & Now || Currently Editing for Wattys 2022

21.

The sky is dark again when I finally get back to my campsite. Thelma sniffs around the ground, and, in the distance, I can hear the few campers still awake, laughing, probably chatting around their campfires.

The air is cooler but still sticky as I slide open the door to the cabin, turning on the lights and sitting on the edge as Thelma continues to sniff around. Little flashes of yellow-green light pop up in the grass, disappearing after a moment, and the trees sing with cicadas. Without thinking, I lean back to reach into my front pocket for my phone, taking it out and sliding onto the camera to take a quick shot of the flashing lights and crickets and the sound of the wind. It's only a short video, and I'm not sure what purpose it will serve but

I take a deep breath in. Then, out.

Up above, a few clouds are scattered across the sky, but, for the most part, it's still clear. I swear that I can see the entire universe. Just billions and billions and billions of stars, all over the sky of all different colors and sizes. Endless. Over in the trees, the flashes of green light mirror the sky above, and, if you think about it, the on-off light of the fireflies kind of matches the stars. 

My eyes come back down to earth, and I take a glance at the fireflies again. Then, at Thelma sniffing around near the line of trees. Her charms jingle after I whistle for her, and I slide the door of the van open. My body aches from all the running and jumping and swimming. Exercise was never really my thing. The most physical activity I've ever done in my life was when I was a kid and would run around in my grandparents' backyard. And even that quickly came to an end after I broke my elbow looking for the fae Ma was always going on about. A memory of my mom running around in a panic calling the hospital, because her herbs couldn't fix it, and my Babcia screaming, her oven mitts still on, and my grandpa chuckling, carrying me to the car because that's what normal people did.

There's clicking as Thelma jumps into the van, and I come back to earth. A smile had formed on my face, and I shake my head. Maybe smelling the roses was a good idea. Regrounding, in a way. As I slide the van door closed, switching on the lights, the smile stays on my face.

I head to the bathroom to brush my teeth. As the water runs over my tooth brush, I turn on the data for my phone and let the notifications load. After a few seconds, they do and I see it: a notification for an email from some email address I don't recognize.

My finger hovers over the notification then clicks it, and my eyes begin scanning the message. Then, again. And, again, the bathroom water is still running in the background, no more toothpaste on the toothbrush.

Hey La,

It's your dad. I didn't really know how to start this letter. I know it's been a while, and I have a lot of explaining to do but I thought now is better than n e  v   e    r...