Fireworks

     Corey found himself to be both bored and annoyed that he had to partake in these family “get-togethers.” Every time they would consist of a dozen or so loud children and a bunch of aunts and uncles who alternated between being overtly condescending and overly affectionate.  Each year, for reasons unbeknownst to Corey, his grandparents insisted that all of their children and grandchildren assemble at their home in York Harbor Maine on the 4th of July.  This year was no different.

     As always, Corey’s uncle Roy carried on a monologue on how if only given the chance; he could coach the Red Sox to another World Series.   Only the dogs were interested in his monologues, and that was because his podium was the barbecue grill; every once in a while he would knock food from the grill when he got worked up in one of his diatribes.  At the same time, aunt Cathy who was all too accustomed to her husband’s rants took this opportunity to sneak off for a walk on the beach.  Corey decided that he had had enough and it was time for him to take a little walk himself. 

     As he meandered down the path adjacent to his grandparents’ house, dressed in his black skinny jeans and a Metallica t-shirt, he put in headphones and began to listen to Blink 182. In his life, music was all that understood him.  For that reason, he really didn’t see the point in trying to be understood by others.  After all, life was not easy for him. He was different than the other kids at school, and that made him a target of the popular kid’s abuse.  His parents only compounded the problem, always pushing him to make friends, always trying to give him girl advice.

     These thoughts and a million other annoyances and frustrations passed through his mind as he made his way down the path that led to his grandparents barn nestled in the back corner of their lot.  As Corey opened the doors to the barn, the interior was bathed in light and small dust particles danced before his eyes like stardust.  There, facing him was his oldest and dearest friend. Through the years, Corey’s grandfather had often taken Corey to the barn to show him all of the collectibles that he had accumulated through the years. Among his favorite was a vintage 1938 Chevy Coupe, a two toned black and silver beauty that was so well maintained that Corey could see himself on the door panels. The car spurred memories of the times he enjoyed the reminiscing of his grandparents and found comfort in their embrace.  But it seemed he was past that now, at least at this age; always eager to watch the football game, or help himself to the food on the table, rather than hear the stories his grandparents had to tell.

      Corey closed the barn doors behind him and made his way to the Chevy, cracked open the door and slid behind the driver’s wheel. He adjusted the rear view mirror and for a moment thought he saw an older version of himself with an expression on his face that was unfamiliar to him… happiness. But in that same instant the image was gone, and he wondered if maybe he’d been smoking too much weed instead.  Reaching into his front pant leg pocket, Corey proceeded to pull out a small joint, only to realize he had no means of lighting it.

     Eyeing the cigarette lighter in the dash of the car, Corey pushed upon it and activated it. As he proudly rolled his firm dooby between his thumb and index finger, awaiting the inevitable pop that would commence his session, a flash of light in Corey’s peripherals caught his attention; it was a small golden disk.

 

POP!

 

* * * * *

 

     The sky illuminated into a starburst of flame as small amber clusters showered down from the summer sky. As he walked through the crowd of spectators, Cor Aqua saw Caput Ignis, and fell for her right then. Intimidated by her gorgeous silhouette amidst a reigning dissonance of flashing lights and sounds from the display above, Cor took a breath, and approached Caput.

     They were too distracted by the frenzy of fireworks to realize that they were holding hands halfway through the show; the cacophony of colors stimulated them so much that they didn’t even care.

     They didn’t even know one another, having just barely met, but they had felt one another. And, so, Cor asked Caput to dance.

     “I don’t have the faintest idea how to dance!” Caput exclaimed.

Cor gave a shrewd gaze, a sly smile, and with a silver tongue, he said “Dance; don’t think.”

     Entwined in embrace, they flew across the floor. Above them the stars shown, the fireworks burst, and a banner swayed in the gentle summer breeze, it was the 1943 July Dance Festival in York, Maine.

     To Caput, her feet were foreign, but to Cor, they were familiar, and so, they went; Caput lost herself, unable to recall the moments, but completely able to recall the feelings… Cor watched the sparks of her eyes ignite like fireworks as he felt her feel it all, and then brought her back to reality, with a tender kiss upon her lips. Applause sounded from all around, and so they both opened their eyes. Not to look into one another’s eyes, but to look into a crowd of bystanders that were clapping their hands at them.

      “I HAVE LIVED!” Cried a fat man with a monocle and a bowtie. Everyone began to cheer, except for the fat man. His cigar burnt his finger, and he was sucking on it; he had forgotten about it as he watched the dancers dance.

      Pulling out a gold medal, he threw up his fist and pointed his sore finger to the sky,  “Ladies and Gentleman, the winners of the 1943 Dance Festival!”

     Caput and Cor bowed, and took to the patio. Upon their backs they felt a burning sensation. Realizing that they were still being watched, they lifted their chins, and kept their stride.

     “Cigarette?” Cor inquired to Caput, as the refreshing bite of the cool night air soothed his clammy skin. The dance had been passionate, and now he was sweaty. It felt good to be outside.

     “I don’t smoke,” Caput replied, but she grabbed one anyway, her eyes locked with his. It felt good to take a drag.

And so they stood, without conversation, slowly smoking their cigarettes and feeling their presences mingle in the air around them.

     “I think you’re my soul mate,” Cor said suddenly.

     They looked into one another’s eyes once more.

      “Will you marry me?”

     Cor showed his teeth but did not smile; his expression pleasant and genuine.

     “What?!” Caput stammered, at a loss for words, but full of emotion. She had never felt the way he had made her feel, it was tempting to spend her life with him.

     “But I barely know you!”

     “Dance; don’t think.” Cor frowned, and combed his fingers through his short and ruffled hair revealing a thin jagged scar that ran along his temple. As the ash from his cigarette fell dancing across his face, they revealed in his eyes a longing for her.

     Caput had never experienced a statement so romantic.

      “Can I?” her eyes shown, like the fireworks, once again.  “Don’t think about why you can’t think about what will make you feel alive not just tonight, but for the rest of your life” Cor said imploringly.

      Suddenly, a firework exploded above them, letting out a loud pop. Cor jumped at the sound, a habit from his time spent fighting the war, but recovered when he locked eyes with Caput.  “Dance with me forever?”

 

POP!

 

* * * * *

 

     The cigarette lighter snapped Corey out of his fixation on the golden trinket… he had become mesmerized by the small round disc on the key chain, rolling it in the fingers of his spare hand, watching the reflections of light dance before his eyes. Upon it was embedded “1943 York Dance Festival Gold Medalist.”

     As quickly as his interest perked, it passed, and he moved on to more important matters at hand. Pulling the cigarette lighter from the dash and touching it to the end of his joint, Corey took a deep drag. Filling his lungs, he exhaled a billowing cloud of smoke into the windshield, shrouding himself into a silhouette as the car began to fog up. When he had taken the last hit of the joint, Corey made sure to put out the last of the embers, burying them in the dirt floor of the barn. 

     Heading toward the barn doors, he smiled, feeling stoned. Underneath his high, however, nostalgia gnawed at him. As he walked by more familiar relics of his grandfather’s past, like the WWII helmet placed on top of an old sea chest, childhood memories flooded into his mind. When Corey was young, he loved to run around imagining himself as a soldier while wearing his grandfather’s helmet, and holding an M3 shaped stick gun.  Grandpa Cor never talked about the war. Although, Corey had overheard once, when uncle Roy was at his ‘podium’, that ‘Grandpapa Cor had been wounded at the battle of Guadalcanal, fighting The Japs’, and ‘earned a prestigious medal’. He had learned to take Uncle Roy’s words with a grain of salt, though.

     Leaving the barn, Corey walked back up the pathway towards the house as the sound of music and children’s laughter became audible and then grew louder. Rounding the fence, and gazing across the yard, he found the source of it all and his heart warmed.

     Across the yard, grandpa Cor and grandma Caput were dancing, surrounded by their grandchildren, who were reacting hysterically to the spectacle. 

     Joy shown from both of their eyes… Caput’s cheeks were flush, not with fatigue, but embarrassment. 

The dancing stopped; the children erupted with laughter, the adults with applause. 

     His grandfather shouted out “Once more!”His grandmother, in an admonishing tone, pleaded,  “Cor, we are embarrassing the children!”

     With that, Cor pulled Caput into his arms, twirled her, and sung out, in  a whisper, “Dance; don’t think.”

     The children all groaned and laughed at how cliché grandpa could be.  Caput joined them in their laughter, and continued to dance with Cor, once more, as Corey retired to the living room.  As Corey sat in Cor’s old leather chair in his stoned stupor, he thought about the Chevy and the reflection of himself that he briefly saw in the mirror. For some reason, it haunted him. 

     “Corey, why aren’t you outside with everyone else?” 

     Corey's heart leapt in his chest, startled by his grandfather’s sudden appearance. He found himself disappointed by his presence, and then ashamed for feeling that disappointment; he was in no mood to speak to anyone, for he was too unsettled by his own mental state. “Just not into dancing, I guess.” 

     “Corey, life is a dance and you need to get caught up in it in order to find out how exhilarating it is.  If you’re not careful, one day you’ll realize that you spent too much time thinking too much about what makes you unhappy rather than trying to find happiness.  Life is precious Corey and you need to find joy and when you do, hold on to it for all your life.  If you don’t, you’ll miss the dance.  So Corey, Dance… don’t think.”

     For once, Cor’s words did not fly over Corey’s head, and explode, like fireworks.