Fireworks

It had been a long, sweaty Fourth of July already and Thomas hadn’t had a nap, so he fell asleep in his car seat. I navigated traffic, winding up and down residential blocks while people sat in their yards watching cars like TV. We all waited for darkness.

After I had successfully begged a parking spot of our friends who lived near the fireworks park, I eased my red-cheeked boy out of the car. He solemnly, quietly greeted a nearby dog: “Hi, Doggie.” By the time I had pulled our stuff out of the car, he was awake enough to walk. We walked at his observant speed and people passed us, smiling at the cute couple we made.

When we stepped through a gap in the park fence, something yellow and poky got stuck in his Croc, so I carried him until we reached the green grass. My arms (and my soul) were aching with the fact that he was no longer a portable infant.

When I set him down we walked in a crooked line across the big field, dodging blankets, bodies, balls, and coolers. We found a strip of booths selling carnival food: funnel cakes, snow cones, ice cream, hot dogs, cotton candy, deep fried everything.

“Okay, bud, pick a treat. You can have whatever you want.”

“Uh, lemonade."

“You sure? You don’t want funnel cake or ice cream?” (Oh, please pick funnel cake!)

“Lemonade. Or popcorn.”

We got both. At the lemonade stand, he held his two hands high to receive the Styrofoam cup, then immediately attached his mouth to the straw. He swallowed the icy lemonade without stopping until the burly lemonade vendor said, “Whoa there! You’re gonna get a brain freeze!” Thomas kept going, head down, huge blue eyes pointed at the duly impressed lemonade man.

Treats in hand, we made our way back through the maze of recreation to an open patch of grass near our exit. We spread out our little brown blanket and entertained ourselves by throwing popcorn into each others’ mouths and laughing our heads off when it missed.

Soon the multi-colored clouds faded to deep blue. The stars started to appear and we lay on our backs watching airplane lights move across the sky. From our spot in the corner of the park we could see and hear three distant firework shows and I began to worry that ours was never going to start. Thomas would have been satisfied with those small, fiery blooms, but we held out.

Finally the fire was above us, large and falling on our heads. His warm, heavy head lay on my shoulder and his prized blankie was stretched over his body and half of mine. The fireworks were loud and impressive. Our involuntary exclamations joined those of the crowd.

“Ooooh, PWETTY!”

Then it was dark and quiet. Slowly, happy chatter and picking-up noises filled the night. Impressively, Thomas was still awake. I scooped up our stuff, grasped his hand, and became part of the moving stream of people. We passed a group of lounging teenagers just getting comfy and a wailing baby in a Pack ‘n’ Play flanked by exhausted parents.

When we reached the car I looked down at my sleepy boy. “Are you going to sleep in your car seat, buddy?”

“No, I jus’ wanna sleep in my bed.”

“Okay.”

It took a while to get out of the side streets. The cars formed endless queues in every direction. Thomas kept repeating, “We should get out of this neighborhood.” But we were still far from escaping the snake of traffic when I looked back to see him fast asleep, one hand clutching blankie close to his cheek. Soon we left the throngs and then we were cruising through the quiet night back to our little home.