
Where do you stand on fireworks? My neighbor and I are comparing gardens and talk turns to the dogs and fireworks. We're lucky Wilson the ABC isn't bothered by them but his blue-eyed dog Luna isn't quite as serene when the booms start-a-boomin'.
I told the neighbor my lovely bride agrees with Luna, leaning toward no flying-fire shenanigans. At my previous employer one of my co-workers was the opposite. Months before the holiday they began describing trips to bordering states to acquire "the good ones" our fair city doesn't allow. They described their day-long festivities and year-after-year invited my crew out to celebrate Independence Day. One year I talked my bride into taking them up on it.
They live in a beautiful house with a big pool and cabana-tiki-bar setup. The adults at the party are handsome, the children all beautiful, and everyone is having a great time. As dusk settles the party moves from the back to the front of the house where the "boys" are setting up a fireworks show. A big fireworks show. Big barrels filled with sand and full sized aerial bombs make their way into the cul-de-sac. The fireworks look like canon balls and I ask about them, learning these are the ones the pros use, but pros have an electric ignition system. Our fearless crew does it the old school way. Long wick and open flame.
I keep most of what I see to myself because I don't want to alarm my mate, but the crew are a little wobbly and possibly sun poisoned by this point. My secret is revealed when the first bomb erupts. Everyone goes berserk. This was like sitting in the front row of a professional wrestling fireworks show with no ear protection. It's loud, with beautiful explosions of color, and the crowd bellowing for more.
We keep taking steps back from the street as the beautiful people get ugly. We are surrounded by open flames, sparkling sticks, massive overhead fireworks, and the screams of elated children.
Before a big firework is launched skyward, one of the boys heads to the barrel. He fishes out the exploded husk of the previous aerial bomb and holds it aloft for the crowd to see, like the head of a slain foe. A whoop rises from the crowd, and he installs the next explosive. He runs the wick and lights it, the crowd's anitcipation growing, and then BOOM! Off it goes to meet its fiery death.
Except this time it doesn't. The anticipation builds, but the wick seems to die before ignition. One of the boys (who I should mention is an upstanding civic figure and heir to a local fortune) runs out to the barrel to see what is the matter. As he approaches, BOOM! Right in front of his face. Two strides further and he would have taken a bomb in the kisser.
At this moment I feel an icy cold grip tearing into my forearm. I turn and look into the eyes of one angry, upset woman. Although the crowd is raucous I can hear her clearly.
"We're leaving."
And we did.
Enjoy the Fourth!
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