Flashback

Dusk is just starting to settle her skirts as we wheel our bicycles out of the apartment.  It's still fairly warm out, so my tissue-thin, white-is-most-visible t-shirt is feeling quite comfortable- although I've strapped a fleece to the Zuri's carrier, just in case.

I let Nathan take point- it's true that I prefer to lead (in this as in most things) but trial-and-error has taught me that after dark it's wiser to fall back, because checking my six with him behind me invariably leads to me being blinded.  At least it gives me the fun of swinging my own headlight back and forth, back and forth across his form in a private game of Searchlight.  ("Are you having an epileptic fit back there?")

People are out in the streets shooting off firecrackers (as people do on the 4th) and I have to admit- it's more than a little nerve wracking.  The noise, the lights- the general drunkenness that means people don't necessarily recognize a cyclist as someone to look out for.  I'm stressing out a little, and I'm thinking about the men and women in the military who have to deal with said conditions on a daily basis- without the comforting knowledge that it's just firecrackers, and that if anyone gets hit it will more likely than not be an accident.  And not fatal.  How odd that we celebrate our independence by reconstructing the sounds and smells of war- by taming it, making it a pet whose claws we've gilded.

It's three miles down to the waterfront, and we find a grassy patch to park our bikes and our selves.  Our timing is impeccable: not five minutes later the show over the fort gets started.  Since we didn't pay to get in we get to experience the strange disconnect between flash and bang, and I find myself making a game of guessing what noise each display will make.

I ask Nathan what his favorites are, and he tells me that it's the ones that are mostly noise- just a big flash and a big bang.  Me?  I like the glittery ones- specifically the gold, although I never say no to purple.  The ones that seem to swim like minnows intrigue me, too- I've only seen them in recent years, and they always make me think of Gandalf, or maybe Hogwarts... they have a sort of life to them I'd not have though possible with mere gunpowder.

I watch explosion after explosion and I realize I'm a little bored.  It makes me sad: when did fireworks stop being a big deal?  Is this a natural part of growing up?  Or am I just spoiled?  Either way, when the finale comes (the real one- we thought it happened twice before it did) we don't waste much time hopping back on our bikes and cycling home.  There are fewer explosions now that it's nearing midnight, but definitely more drunks- and more belligerent drunks, at that.  Although I'm not afraid, exactly, I am grateful for the nimble speed of my aluminum steed, and for Nathan's imposing bulk beside me.

We cruise through quieter neighborhoods and talk in giddy terms about the house that will soon be ours.  I realize how happy I am in this moment, with this man, and I feel overwhelmed with gratitude for this life that we have found and made together.  And as we put our bikes to bed in our safe little apartment I think of the soldiers out in the darkness, who will never feel jaded about fiery night-time explosions, and I feel grateful for them, too- and I hope they too get to go home soon.