Fourthcoming

She came barreling down the path in a pink, ruffled dress, her legs barely keeping up with her whimsical drive. Such a tiny girl, her spirited dash infectious. I found her father with my pointed gaze. She couldn’t have been more than 3 years old and yet she left her papa in the dust.

“Wow, can she run!” I said to her dad as he struggled to catch up.

“She’s really excited” he smiled. And as he passed me, I wondered if my frown would burn on my face forever, the well of disappointment sinking deeper.

See, this was one of those days set aside to break up our oft-mundane existence, otherwise known as a holiday. And on this day, we celebrate our self-gratifying independence with noise and bright lights. We wait all year to do this in such a memorable display. And it’s fun for the whole family. At least, it’s supposed to be. I’ve always enjoyed this holiday because I’m surrounded by family and friends bbqing and celebrating. And honestly, fireworks turn me into a giddy 10 year old.

This year, no such joyful regression occurred. In fact, it was all I could do to hold myself together and not throw a child-like tantrum. I had no one to blame it on. The faceless internet gave a list of locations to view fireworks, the shows all starting at 9:00pm. Picking a park nearby, droves of people show up only to meander around aimlessly, questioning the validity of the ad. Children waited with their parents on blankets. Teens, doing their part to stay out of trouble, kept to themselves. Couples and families awaited the sky to be set ablaze. Yet, the fireworks never came.

“They had them here yesterday”, a kid told me, as he and his friends walked out as shadowy figures with their heads down. I could feel his disappointment in the dark. It was too late to drive to another location. We had missed the show.

I wanted to cry! How could I be robbed of this small pleasure? I wait all year for this day! Why did I pick the wrong venue? As I made my way back to my car, I was too upset to speak. Which was fine, because I didn’t want to be the bearer of bad news for all those still waiting for a light show that would never happen. And then I saw the little girl in the pink, ruffled dress. She had the determination of a marathon runner. And her father, gasping behind her, shattered my heart with his exasperated smile. In that moment, I pulled what little grace I remember possessing, and found my way out. Not just out of the park, but out of this depressed space. It’s okay to be disappointed, I told myself. An innocent mistake certainly doesn’t define you.

On the drive home, I opted for back roads. Something in my gut told me that because I was in no rush, I should take my time and work on shifting my mood. Suddenly, as I was making a left at a traffic light, and enormous “Boom!” went off directly above me. I looked up in time to see a spray of green lights about 40 feet above my head! Then, each green dot of light turned to white and the white light slowly fizzled down like snow across the dark night sky. I have never been this close to a firework this size. I laughed out loud and told my fast beating heart that I am very much alive and well. And that's indeed what matters.