Fireworks at Oakland Beach

By Lisa A. Eramo

Rainbows waves of beach chairs dot the shore and grass. The air is warm and damp, and you can smell a mixture of sun tan lotion and the clam cakes from Iggy's nearby.

We're all waiting for the show to begin. Once the sun moves out of sight, the night sky will turn into a kaleidoscope.

I sip on a bottle of water that's sweating slowly on my leg and stretch out in my bright orange chair. A man selling glowsticks pushes a cart while donning a flashing Mohawk headband. A father chases after him, waving a $5 bill like a flag. Kids run and throw a bouncy ball. A woman lays down on a blanket under a tree. Strollers and beach buggies roll by like slow dancers on a stage. A baby screams and is comforted by a handful of sweet-smelling popcorn. Someone cracks open a can of soda.  

I gaze over at Melany. Goosebumps start to form on her arms and legs as a cool breeze tickles our skin. Honey, put your sweatshirt on, I say. She does, flashing me a playful smile. I continue to look around, nibbling on a granola bar while longing for fish and chips instead. Two children next to us spray bug spray on their arms and legs. It smells fruity, and I regret that we hadn't brought any with us.

The sky turns rose then charcoal then tarry. A few stars try their best to sparkle: the opening act.

Boom. Sparkle. Crackle. Fade. Nothing but a vague smoky trail is left behind.

The first one catches me by surprise. I'm both scared and excited simultaneously. It's beautiful -- the way it lights up the sky like a flower blooming. We scream and applaud its grand entrance. I want more.

Boom. Sparkle. Crackle. Fade. This one shoots up high and explodes in a circle. I want another. My heart is pounding.

Boom. Sparkle. Crackle. Fade. This one sizzles and spirals in every direction. I want another.

Boom. Sparkle. Crackle. Fade. This one is red, white, and blue. How? Would there be more?

The grand finale is a Jackson Pollock painting. Splatters of color and light. Even after it's over, the stars seem larger than life -- as if they could fall to the earth at any moment.

I start to think about how each work of fire makes its way into the sky just for us. For a second -- or maybe two -- these bursts beat in time with our hearts and come alive to entertain, shock, and inspire us. What a gift.

In a sense, aren't we all a bit like fireworks? In a flash, we are here. If we're lucky, we make an impression on someone or something. Then, in a flash, we are gone, fading into the clouds until someone blinks twice at a star to see whether they can get a fleeting glimpse of us.