The firework was about the size of a cinderblock. Seeing other details in the darkness was impossible, but I imagine it was called something like “Flaming Balls of Doom.” The street around it was littered with the carcasses of other spent munitions, and this one added to it like a miniature skyline. Families from up and down the street were gathered for the display. It was about thirty minutes in, and the children started wandering in and out of the houses, waving glow sticks like magic wands and chattering like mad monkeys. When the first ariel from the box in the street went off, all attention turned upward. The fireworks thus far had been of varying height, loudness, and brightness. This one dwarfed them all. The explosion filled the sky, sparks raining as the boom reverberated in our chests. As the second one went off, and I felt the ground shake again, the thought racing through my head was something like, “That is very powerful. I hope it stays in the sky.”
Right about then, an ariel exploded at the rooftop level, causing alarm. Immediately afterward, the street erupted in a blinding flash and deafening roar. Fingers of flame reached both sides of the street, filling the air with gunpowder and sparks. Children screamed, and everyone ran for the houses. A teenage girl started crying. The noise faded, and miraculously, no one was injured. There was some nervous laughter from the peanut gallery of dads, assessing the aftermath with relief. One side of the firework was missing and buckled out at the edges. Seeing no harm done, the second one was placed in the street next to its twin and promptly lit. There was no mishap this time, just the thundering boom, shower of light, and sparks, all in celebration of “Pioneer Day.”
We were fortunate, but others this weekend were not. On Saturday morning, a friend told me that hot ashes from their neighbor’s poorly disposed BBQ ignited in the heat and wind, blowing into their house and lighting it on fire. Of course, the neighbors don’t have insurance, so they are left temporarily homeless as the long fight with insurance companies begins.
As much as I like the smell of gunpowder and gasoline, they are forces not to be messed with.
No Comments