Invitation

Today, I took a rather long walk, as if my mind needed to set off for a long daydream.

Talking about daydreams, the first thing my friend Katie told me about Emma Watson was that she didn't like her new haircut, because it was too short. Then she had me take a look at a recent picture of Emma, and well, all I can say is that she is a stunningly beautiful woman. I hadn't seen her after the last Harry Potter movie came out, and at that time she was still a teen I guess. And I do like her new haircut. Granted that depending on the angle of the photo, she looks a bit different. Whatever is different about her, something must escape me.

Anyway, today I didn't stumble across Emma Watson during one of my daydreams. I invited her. So we met again on the shore. We sat on a discarded log. She was wearing jeans and an extra large, grey woollen jumper, with some sort of high, fluffy turtleneck. So we sat there and started playing draughts with seashells. Upon her request, I told her the story of the battle of Hastings, and how Harold II was shot through the eye with an arrow (so the legend sayeth) and how Queen Matilda and her consorts wove the Bayeux tapestry. She was genuinely interested, and I'm still wondering why on earth she was. Then the conversation drifted on how to cook a good risotto. She explained to me that deglazing the rice was of utmost importance and shouldn't be underestimated. Timing was of the essence. As was the choice of rice. Carnaroli she considered the best, as it has a lot of starch in it, hence the dish is creamier. As was the choice of the white wine. Straw-coloured it had to be. She didn't have time to explain me why, for Katie turned up.

When I write 'turned up', she literally emerged out of nowhere. One second there was nothing, the next she was standing right in front of us with a beaming smile. She explained how she meant to go to the grocer's but thought about me on the way and wondered how I fared. Then she turned to Emma and asked her how she was doing, holding out her hand. An instant passed, where I actually prayed that Emma hadn't heard in my head that Katie has criticised her haircut. She just smiled. Whether she heard it or not, she let none of it transpire on her face. We actually laughed as the both of them proposed to leave the other two alone, at the exact same time. After that we chatted the sunset down. As per usual, Emma produced steaming mugs of hot chocolate from her pockets. They were really appreciated, as we were getting really cold and thirsty.

As it was growing darker and darker as the sun sank way below the horizon, Katie proposed to go watch a fireflies ballet. Only her knew where to find one, so we followed her. Emma was very excited about it. We walked into a crevice in the rocks and emerged, after a while, into a cave with a very high ceiling. There must have been an opening somewhere, for it was not totally dark inside. Then it started. What seemed to be million of fireflies set fire to the night, swirling in a choreography known only to them (similarly to the bees). Katie explained in a low voice that there were specific flight patterns, and that was how you could distinguish the male beetle from the female. They were buzzing everywhere, floating like snowflakes in the relative darkness. Strange thing happened: they sometimes whirred about me, courting me like I was one of them. Emma and Katie wondered about it. Perhaps because it was my daydream, after all.

Then all of a sudden Katie remembered that her grocery was still left undone, so she turned towards Emma and hugged her, did the same with me and in a jiffy she was gone.

We stayed for a while. When the fireflies came near Emma's face, they lit up her eyes in such a way that they gleamed a pale red. That was a beautiful sight. We then left the cave. When we came back on the shore, it was nighttime. She told me she had to leave too. She said that Katie was a very nice girl indeed, and that we should invite her again. That 'we' intrigued me until I understood it. I understood why the lightning bugs came to me and why they made Emma look beautiful. The answer is simple: I am a firefly. So is Emma. And perhaps Katie too.

When I slipped out of my reverie, Emma was gone. Again, none but my footsteps were to be seen on the sand.