Wondering at the Heavens by Deborah Breuer Fireworks are a reminder to us that, in the midst of all that is and defines the rat race of life; sometimes even a small explosion can change us forever. And as the multi-colored remains of that explosion trickle down the evening skies, we have that moment of child-like joy, the kind that makes your heart beat fast, your feet stand still, and your eyes gaze at the heavens with wonder.
Her name was Becky. We were identical twins with birth complications such as my hearing deficiency and her total lack of auditory abilities. She’s gone now, since we were nine when a car accident claimed her all but too youthful life. And with all the years that have passed from then to now, I still watch the rocket blaze into the dark night awaiting the bang, fizz, and polychromatic exhibit, and remember one of our fondest memories.
In our sixth year watching the magnificent fireworks display for New Year’s Eve, we hiked up the grassy hill and found the spot. Dad took us that year. I remember Mom was ill. Becky and I were practically jumping out of our skin in anticipation; although, I have to admit, I faced a bit of apprehension knowing how loud the evening would become.
Soon it started. Blues and greens, pinks and lightning whites, it was all so spectacular. Fifteen minutes into the exhibition, several children clung to their parents with translucent tears rolling down salty cheeks. BANG! POP! CRASH!
As the grand finale accelerated and amplified the sounds of those celebratory explosions, Becky’s eyes grew round with awe until she noticed the effervescent flow of tears streaming from an uncanny amount of children.
She wasn’t sure if she had missed something, so with shaky and timid hands she signed to me, “Why are they all crying?” I didn’t have the heart to tell my beloved twin that they, again, had experienced something she could not, so I simply took her hand in mine (I can still feel it sometimes) and told her that the fireworks had overwhelmed the others because they were not as brave as she was. Her hand never shook again, and I remember her and that night with every bang, boom, and pop, looking up to the illuminated sky and wonder if she is watching too.
08/23/2016 Posted on 08/23/2016 Copyright © 2024 Deborah Breuer
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