Fireworks

by Xochitl M. Perales

It is the fourth of July. The heat is dry and scorching. The sun burns crystals of fire into the sidewalk underneath my bare feet. I leap onto the grass in a hurry, yelling, “Ouch! Ouch! Ouch!” along the way.

Pale green with tips of brown – this is what grass usually looks like in Brownwood, Texas during the late summer months. Today is no exception. The blades of grass cut into the pads of my feet, adding more pain to the blisters that might soon form from the prior walk on concrete without shoes.

My mother had warned me not to leave the house without my flip-flops, at the very least. She said that the big, bad red ants would get me if I did, for they liked little girls walking around with no foot protection. I laughed when my mom told me this, proudly reminding her that I was a warrior princess, immune to insect venom, especially of the red ant variety.

There are no ants on the grass, whether black or red. But ladybugs crawl on my toes in silent unconcern. I am tickled, and begin to laugh, only this time without arrogance. My mother is not here to rain warnings down on my celebration with nature. I am having my own private fireworks display with bright sunlight, sharp grass and ladybugs aplenty.

I spin around in a circle. This is when I notice the swing set. My brother is standing there in a cloud of dust, waiting for me to join him. I bend my knees and spring in to the air, flying forward to land in a whoosh. More dust scatters, forming hazy patterns of I-know-not-what in the air around us. My brother and I use our pointy fingers to write nonsensical words through the dust, words like, “Billybumperwuggin” and “Cassandrallipsertofu.” Without warning, there are red ants, and even they think this is funny. I am just glad they don’t bite, for some strange reason. Perhaps they like us.

I tell my brother to get on the swing before night falls and before the dinner bell beckons us home. He chooses the second swing from the left, saving the second swing from the right for me. Instead, I stand behind and push him with all of my might, suddenly feeling like I have huge weights attached to my biceps. As the seconds pass, it is getting harder and harder to keep pushing, but I don’t want to give up. I have already disappointed my brother before, and felt very bad at the sunken look on his face, the droopy lack of sparkle in his eyes. But not this time! This time, big Sis will prove her worthiness!

One final push, and my brother springs into the air like a confetti of orange daisies. I am happy when he decides to join the flock of seagulls that have somehow managed to make it here from the Gulf cities. They fly in two different columns, then separate in a grand flourish in opposite directions, forming the letter “m” in midair, high above the ground I am standing on. I wave at them as they head back south, happy that my brother will get to smell the ocean once again.

I hear a noise directly behind me. I turn around in astonishment, confronted by a tree that was not there moments ago. The swings are now gone, and the sky is not quite as bright as before. Looming shadows are starting to grow longer roots across the ground. They are shaped like the branches of the tree, spindly, awkward and shifting. I feel the ground moving beneath my feet, a rhythm in tune with the dancing shadows.

I want to dance, too, but decide to look up, instead. The branches of my new tree are filled with leaves I did not notice just a minute ago. The leaves are popping in a multitude of colors, an abundance of reds, yellows, greens, oranges, and a fuchsia so loud that it forces sunglasses to form around my eyes and ears. I reach out to grab as many leaves as I can manage, and get shocked by pinpricks of lightning. My hands are buzzing, and when I open them, several cicadas jump out to scare the living daylights out of me. My heart beats a frantic staccato, and I gather my lungs to scream…

* * *

My cell phone is vibrating. Damn! I forgot to put it on silent mode before bed. I was planning on sleeping in today – of all days! It is not the Fourth of July. No, it is my 40th birthday, and I want less time to remember this.

I check my phone’s Caller ID and groan. Even in dreams, my mother always knows when I am thinking about her. I am on the verge of letting the call go to voice mail. At the last possible second, I answer.

“Hi, Mom,” I say.

“Good morning! Happy birthday to my favorite daughter in the world!”

Rolling my eyes, I respond on cue, “I’m your only daughter.”

She laughs, then says, “Yeah, but of all the daughters in the world, you’re my favorite!”

“Thanks, Mom. I love you, too.”

There is a slight hesitation before my mom finally bursts out with, “Have you signed the divorce papers yet?”

“God, Mom!” I exclaim. “I didn’t want to think about that first thing in the morning! And on my birthday, too!”

“I know, I know, and I’m sorry,” assures my mom. “I just thought that it would be a good way to start the next decade off. A way to reclaim your power.” I can hear her take a drag of a cigarette before continuing, “That piece of shit doesn’t deserve to be married to you one more day!”

“I agree.”

“Good!” my mom bursts out.

“However, can I wake up, first? Have a cup of coffee, or something?” I ask.

“Of course! I’m sorry if I started your day off on a bad note.”

“It’s okay, Mom,” I reassure her. “My day is not ruined.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” Another drag of her cigarette, then, “Would you like to have breakfast somewhere? Anywhere you like.”

“Okay. How about that new spot you told me about on 4th Street?”

“Sounds good,” she says. “I’ll pick you up in about half an hour. Oh, and bring the divorce papers with you, so that I can make sure they’re all in order.”

I could argue some more, but decide to let the matter drop. It’s my birthday, and I’m not going to let anything or anybody spoil it but me.