July 6th, 2012
Among the crowds of people I stand to try and get a glimpse of the fireworks. I do not understand why everyone is on top of me. The fireworks go up, so all you have to do is simply lift your head. But then I understand, as I stand among the hoards of people, just like me, they’re just trying to see the lights, that will brighten the sky, our moment to be a kid again.
I stand elbow to elbow with these folks, listening to their conversations and antidotes. In a time of great despair, people seem to be optimistic. Just like me, they are just trying to find their place in a time that seems harder then years gone by. I hear their fears of hardships and talk of plenty of good times, vacations and dreams. Their voices getting caught up in what little air stream that gives us relief from the body heat, that we are producing in our closeness.
Their voices are carried off as their thoughts fade away, being absorbed by the trees that are near by. It’s nice to know there are people out there just trying to find their way in a world that doesn’t like to share her secrets. My boys are in their stroller mesmerized by the sparklers in front of us. They are oblivious to the things being said by the people around them, just as the people around my boys are oblivious to the people listening to them.
The heat begins to weigh on me, it’s getting harder to breath. The sweat begins to seep from my pores. I can feel it glide down my neck, joining my spine and sliding down to an area that’s just below the waist where it looks to escape.
I can not move. We are locked in, trying to get a good spot I sealed our fate and there is nothing I can do, there‘s no escape, I’ll have to wait and continue to listen to the voices around me until the first firework goes off. Captain Imperfecto did it again. In trying to get my boys a good look of the fireworks we got jammed in.
The sweat is getting heavier and spreads from my neck over the shoulder and down my arm until the salty water reaches my elbows where it drips to the street below. I just want to go, but I know, we can’t go anywhere. The frustration kicks in, as the crowd inches closer, like a trash compactor squeezing the trash. The voices around me are getting louder. I can’t make anything out. It’s just loud screams and shouts, and there is no way out. The tension is building as my kids get restless and begin to rock back and forth in the stroller, trying to leave their carriage. Their cries joining the other voices that have no identity. The voices are like horns that get louder and louder pushing back harder against the breeze. The trees are overdosed with sound of the chatter, being over run by the sheer number of decibels the lingering air is bringing their way, they stop absorbing them, forcing the sound back, where it bounces around us, I feel trapped and under attack.
I close my eyes and remove my hat. I use my sleeve to wipe away the sweat that beads on my crown before it can drip down onto my face. My shirt is drenched with sweat. The noises are louder the people are closer, the mood feels distressing.
My heart pounds. I look around for another route an alternate direction to make my escape, but there is no way I’m getting out, I am here and going nowhere. I look at my watch anticipating the first launch of a rocket of any kind with the eagerness of a New Years Eve ball drop. The time is getting close I just want to go.
“I pledge allegiance to the flag…” goes on my head. Like a prayer I said it to be patriotic, I did my part now let me out, I’ll see the fireworks next year.
It’s past nine o’clock and not one fired shot, I find myself ready to ring out, “Lets go, so I can go and get the hell out."
And then with a "bang" a shooting star rises into the air, where it explodes in to a glorious sight. My adrenaline subsides, as my kids and I, are fond of the glowing light. I revert my thoughts and think about how thankful I am to be standing here as an American. I thank God I stayed and joined in with the crowd as we all shout :
“Owwee awwww!” as the fieworks red glare, give color to the air, and we cheer for the red, white, and blue.
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Christopher Fusaro. The author of Captain Imperfecto.
© copyright 2012. All rights reserved.
Also see us at www.captainimperfecto.com
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