Firefly Ocean

My attention drifts out to the ocean for a bit.  The Cliff House sits on a cliff - surprise! - overlooking the Pacific Ocean.  Large rocks, seagulls, and surfers hold steady in a tumble of blue.  I am still on the barstool, next to Paulette who is deep in conversation with Sloan, "...and so finally we received our paperwork to get back into the United States, but that was 1933, the very worst year of the Depression...."

I hear the waiter clear the plates from a table behind me; I take a sip of beer, while still watching the twinkling of the water.  Like the twinkling fireflies Paulette and I chased with Mason jars back home in Minnesota.  Daddy called out to us, "Dottrar, dottrar!  Now let the fireflies free - out of the jar with them."  He reached out to tug on our braids.  We protested, "Dad!"  But we unscrewed our jars.  What if our father had stayed in Sweden? He wouldn't have met our mom.  Would we have still been twins if we'd been born in Stockholm?  I can't imagine not having Paulette - my mirror, my guide, my firefly.