Quilts, Tacos & Tattoos

Bring on the Fireworks

Nothing says hot like July 4th in Texas. It was the height of summer, and it was loud. Fireworks begin about two days before the 4th when all the young kids who can't wait a second more go out and try to hit each other with Black Cats, the firecracker of choice, and they can last until a week after the 4th. Fireworks stands fill the roadsides: it seems that everyone and his uncle has a fireworks stand.

I remember the first time Pa took me to buy fireworks. I had been told for years that I was not allowed to play with fireworks until I was twelve. Mom stood in the driveway yelling at us, "Nothing too dangerous, Dad!" Pa just nodded and snuffed out his cigarette in the overflowing car ashtray. I sat in the back with the windows rolled down and hot air blasting me in the face. I was as happy as could be. I remember feeling like such a big kid: just Pa and me going to the fireworks' stand together.

The fireworks stand had a little shelf built along the front with a sign painted in big red and black letters, "Buy one, get six free!" The little shelf neatly sorted the "kid friendly fireworks" from the rest. I studied each kind and was mesmerized by all the colors and shapes and names of all the firecrackers - Black Cats, snapdragons, rainbow sparklers, bottle rockets and penny droppers. We got ten boxes of sparklers, twenty-two bottle rockets, twelve roman candles and a baggie full of penny droppers and set them on the counter.

"Any Black Cats?" the lady behind the booth asked.

"Nah, they're too loud," Pa replied.

I asked, "Are there any firecrackers that are not loud?"

"Nope, but all these are the mild ones. Some don't even light up. They just make a pop."

Going to buy firecrackers was now part of our yearly ritual. Here we were, five years later with the same order as all the other years, and still no Black Cats. We headed back to the lake house and stopped at the gas station on the way home. Pa got out to pump the gas and I stayed in the back seat. I was looking out of my window reminiscing about seeing Tyler at the Dip N' Dance the weekend before, when I saw the truck pull up. I was watching a group of boys jump out of the back of the truck and head inside when my suspicions were confirmed. I saw the boots step out of the passenger side. I knew those blue boots. They belonged to Mitchell Goose.

I ducked down in my seat and watched. He was yelling at the boys as they ran ahead of him and talking to the driver at the same time. "How many?" he yelled.

"Six?"

Mr. Goose went to the ice chest in front of the gas station, picked up bags of ice and walked back to the truck. The boys came out of the store and started piling into the back of the truck, pushing and shoving each other as they went. Mr. Goose threw the ice in back with the boys and got into the passenger side. The driver pulled out of the space as Pa was exiting the store with a fresh pack of cigarettes, beating them against his wrist to pack them down just right.

When the truck passed me, I could not help staring at the driver. His face was defined with sharp features and his eyes were piercing.

Pa slammed his door shut, pulled out of the gas station behind the boys in the truck, then right beside them. I leaned forward and acted like I needed to tie my shoe as Mr. Goose turned left and we headed straight.

We got back to the house as the family was beginning to arrive. The 4th of July was a big event around Nana and Pa's. My Mom's sisters came and stayed in town. My mother's youngest sister, Aunt Julia, and her husband, Bolton, who we called crazy Uncle Red hadn't arrived yet. The rest of the brood was there, though: Mom's oldest sister, Aunt Starla, and her husband, Ben, their three children, Molly, Polly, and John. Starla's twin, and Mom's only brother, Shane, who was divorced, and his son, Bobby, had already arrived, too.