No More Fireworks

By Jeff Segal

The thing between me and Jackie was like July 4th, only backwards. It started with fireworks and ended with a hangover.

We crashed July 3rd at Jackie’s place on Maple Avenue. It seemed like a good idea at the time, since she’s got a comfy queen bed and my place has a twin mattress on the floor. Plus we were both stupendously drunk, and while it’s only about a half mile drive, it didn’t seem smart to risk running into Officer Unfriendly.

But we forgot one crucial factor. Maple Avenue is where the parade kicks off.

So my first waking sensation on July 4th was a drum major’s whistle piercing my eardrum like a knitting needle. Half a heartbeat later the whole high school band kicked in, our very own Marching Mastodons, blowing so hard their hair must have been standing up inside their domed helmets. Every cymbal crash felt like electroshock therapy. I opened my eyes long enough to meet Jackie’s—bloodshot, crusty and dull—then wrapped myself in the sheet and plodded into the kitchen, where it was dark and ever so slightly quieter. I huddled on the floor in the L of the cabinets, hearing the dishes in the drying rack vibrate with every fire truck that rumbled past.

After the parade, I managed to drive home, shower and change. My condition upgraded from road-kill to miserable, I swung back to pick up Jackie for the company picnic. She answered the door in dark shades and a baseball cap—which I told her looked great, and I meant it—but she stripped and jumped in the shower. I lay back on the bed to wait, and when I woke up, she was already dressed. Damn.

Now, we’d never talked about how to handle this picnic. A few of our coworkers knew we were dating, but so far we’d kept it strictly professional at the office. I figured we’d just see how the day went.

First stop, the beer tent. I ran into Carlos and we got to talking about his new department head, and then Big Mike came by and it was just like the old days. Jackie drifted off with her smoke break posse. The next time I saw her was after the kickball game, and when I asked if I could get her a hot dog she said no, she already ate. We stood together without talking for a couple of minutes, and it hit me that I was more relaxed and had more fun when I was pretending we weren’t dating.

I said, “Come back to my place tonight?”

She said, “No, I’m just gonna head home.”

And that was it. I saw her later, during the fireworks, her upturned face lit by a blue flash that sparkled a few seconds and faded. The rockets soared and exploded, and the speakers played a song about freedom.