The Meadow Through the Flames

I could feel the sweet mist flossing between my teeth as I walked out the door. The snow had piled up a few inches on the front porch, my grandmother’s footprints leading the way toward the toolshed. I waddled across the snow to the shed, my body weighed down by my thick jacket, and I rubbed my hands to relieve my itchy fingers from my mittens that were five years old.

I walked into the shed to see my grandmother sitting on the floor, engaged in the fiery flames in the fireplace. The smoke from the fire increased the room’s humidity and made it harder to breathe. “Granny, it’s almost midnight. Maybe you should come back home.”

The old woman stifled her laugh. “Why would I do that when I have all I need right here? Sit with me for a bit, dear.”

Granny had always been sporadic, but this time her tone of voice seemed less energetic than usual. Although confused, I walked over to the fireplace and sat down beside her. The silence wrapped around the shed for a while. The only sporadic noise was the whispering of the burning flames.

I looked over to Granny’s reflection in the fire, a tear falling down her cheek. She was twiddling her thumbs the more intently she looked into the flames, pressing her hands on the cold hardwood floor and leaning her chest closer into the heat source.

“Granny, be careful,” I warned, “you might burn yourself if you lean in too close.”

“Oh, Annie, you're too young to understand. You have to take the risk of leaning in, otherwise you can’t see the flowers.”

The flowers? “Granny, what do you mean? We haven’t seen flowers in years now.”

“Do you not remember when you were seven and we took that flight to the U.S.? It was only four years ago.”

I shook my head. “I remember the flight, but it’s not like we were there for long. We only went there so we could visit Dad before he got stationed.”

“I guess you really don’t remember.” She let out a soft smile. “It was late that night when we picked up your father and past midnight before the car engine broke down. You were asleep, and your father and I had no cell service. But there was a mechanic shop a few miles out, and your father wanted to try and push the car as long as he could to get to the shop. But on our way there, we saw a beautiful meadow, where the sunset hit the tips of the purple flower petals and little bunnies were hopping around.”

Granny paused for a moment, her hands across her heart as she looked back at the fireplace as if it were the meadow she remembered. “Your father wasn’t normally astonished by a delicate thing such as nature, but he stopped for half an hour just to take in the beautiful sight he hadn’t seen in so long. By the time the moon came out, he finally realized he had truly been awestruck.”

For some reason, I felt envious. “I can’t believe I don’t remember that.” I frowned. I wish I could’ve been awake to see the meadow.

Granny patted my head. “Your father wanted you to see it too. He grabbed an empty jar we were meant to fill with food so he could catch some fireflies that were swarming all over the meadow. He grabbed a few flower petals to place on the bottom and then caught a few fireflies for you. He had to wake you up before morning just so you could see the fireflies in the jar.”

I could feel my heart growing bigger the more I heard about my dad. “Do we still have the jar anywhere?”

Granny dropped her head. “No, you gave it to him as a going away gift when he got stationed. He made a promise to return the jar whenever he returned, so maybe you would remember the fireflies.” 

I stopped myself from crying and just looked at the flames in front of me. I just wanted to forget that Dad was gone and didn’t know when he’d come back. I wanted to remain comforted in my ignorance. But still, just that brief memory Granny recalled was so bittersweet that it was hard to imagine, but worth remembering. “I still don’t understand why you stare so hard at this flame, Granny.”

Finally, she explained, “Well, if you notice the light sparks from the flames, these embers remind me of the fireflies surrounding the meadow.” She pointed toward the wood. “And the cinder reminds me of the flowers’ roots.” She pointed at the center of the fire. “And the roaring, powerful flames right in front of us give me the same warmth and sensation your father felt when he saw that vibrant, colorful meadow.”

Finally, I saw it. The cinder from the fire was swarming the colorful bushes and flowers around the meadow, and I could see why she preferred staying in the toolshed.

“You know Granny, maybe I do remember the meadow.” I smiled at her reflection as we sat in awe of the fire together.