Things We Lost in the Fire

by Mariana Enriquez

It’s a question of not being afraid, of making a few necessary friends, saying hi to the neighbors even if they’re criminals—especially if they’re criminals—of walking with your head high, paying attention.

I hate when people call them lightning bugs; firefly is a beautiful word. Once, I caught a bunch of them in an empty mayonnaise jar, and I realized how ugly they really are, like cockroaches with wings. But they’ve been blessed with the purest possible justice. Still and grounded, they look like a pest, but when they fly and light up, they are the closest thing to magic, a portent of beauty and goodness.

Elly wanted water for breakfast, as always, and Paula turned on the tap so she could drink from it; like all cats she loved fresh, running water. Paula almost started crying as she watched her cat, so beautiful, black with her little white feet, sticking out her rough tongue.