There was something about it that stuck to me as I stood in a Pavilions’ parking lot in the Valley…as I watched hack fireworks blow through cracks in the trees. Something about it hurt. I knew better…
Navy Pier in Chicago…
Finch Field in Thomasville…
Concert on the Green in Lake Forest…
Lower Manhattan from the Jersey Shore…
Washington Harbor from the Georgetown side of D.C.
Like remembering Jerry Springer when societal pillars brawled without a cut away. Back when it was the best show on TV.
Fuck, things change.
…
Hurt clings. It grows and sharpens nails to stab and hold hearts from breaking free. Try to shake, ignore, deny or burn it off and you’ll be the first. In this life, we were built to have no such luck.
Never.
Ever.
…
But it’s not just the fireworks. It’s something else, something bigger…obviously always. In that parking lot, looking up at disappointment in the sky, I realized I had no choice but to leave a part of myself behind.
In my mind and memories, that part of me was comforting and pure. It was innocent and happy. It was youth and grass and mosquitoes. Unforgettable air and a sweat on my body. It was trading glares with a summer crush as our faces lit green, red, white. The finale and a mess of old friends. The easy summer and black, silent nights that cities are forever helpless to understand.
