Since the new thirty-six story condos no longer afforded me a view of the river I had to walk downstairs to see the fireworks over the 3rd Avenue Bridge. In some perverse sense of nostalgia I wore the Old Navy Fourth of July shirt a gave gave me five years ago while we were dating; normally it's relegated to the gym but I was feeling all reflective.
Stood against the street light with no one to hold my hand, no one to lean against me, nor anyone to make all those cooing “Ooooh!” and “Ahhhh!” sounds with. That was okay because there were plenty of people around me doing it. A small boy climbed on to the street light and apologized when his grasping hands hit my head. I smiled at his mother. When a police car lit up to head out somewhere a few feet behind us, the boy said, “I bet they don't like the fireworks much.” I laughed to myself as I heard his father agree.
Took a few weak-ass pictures with my cell phone. It was pretty nice having a perfect view after walking less than two blocks. I wasn't worried about getting home or making sure I found anyone, so my thoughts drifted to the reason why I was standing there. The optical effects weren't awesome enough to keep me rapt… I was actually thinking about patriotism and being American. The things I never think about. It's good being here. Where I am. Should not be taking it for granted.
But I do.
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