Post #165 – Women’s Memoirs, ScrapMoir – Matilda Butler and Kendra Bonnett
Honorable Mention Story from July 2011 Memoir Contest
Kendra and I are pleased to publish Qraig R. De Groot’s Honorable Mention story in our Fourth of July Category from our July Memoir Writing Contest. Congratulations Qraig for sharing your storytelling abilities with us through your Force of July memoir vignette.
Memoir Contest Honorable Mention
FORCE OF JULY
By Qraig R. de Groot
“The rockets red glare…the bombs bursting in air…” Though not written to signify fireworks, this line from The Star Spangled Banner has definitely been reinterpreted to mean as such. Today, fireworks on the 4th of July are as common as, well the holiday falling on July 4th.
People are always eager to set off bottle rockets, roman candles and an assortment of other Chinese imported exploding concoctions. Yes, they are all beautiful and breathtaking. Sure they are fun. And of course they have come to symbolize the celebration of our nation. But many seem to forget that fireworks can also be extremely dangerous. I forgot that fact one Independence Day many years ago.
It was the 4th of July circa 1987 in the New York City suburb of Clifton, New Jersey. I was hanging out with a few high school friends – Michelle, Brian and another Michelle. The four of us were sitting around Michelle’s pool, laughing, eating and waiting for nightfall. Somehow, Brian got his hands on a garbage bag filled with all kinds of fireworks. We were all excited to light the first bottle rocket and firecrackers, in what we believed would be the neighborhood’s finest fireworks extravaganza. In all actuality, we weren’t far from the truth.
When dusk finally fell and lightning bugs began filling the sky, Brian was already rifling through the bag, looking for the first firework to ignite. Carefully, he placed a bottle rocket on a tire rim we had ‘acquired’ for the occasion and pointed it directly towards the darkened sky. He lit the fuse and within seconds, the hissing rocket was flying up towards the heavens. A bright light and an unimpressive pop quickly followed. The four of us looked at one another. That was it? “We want more,” the Michelles cheered in unison.
We started lighting off two and three fireworks at a time. We held roman candles in our hands while pitching firecrackers at each other’s feet. It was great fun and not once did issues of safety enter our teenaged minds. Brian haphazardly placed four bottle rockets on the tire rim and lit them all. Three careened off into the vast unknown. One sputtered on the rim, shot up about 10 feet, then took a nosedive and plunged into the garbage bag still overflowing with all kinds of explosives.
Within seconds of impact, my friends and I felt like we were under attack. The bag turned into a fireball, spewing bottle rockets in every direction. Firecrackers whizzed past our heads and exploded in midair. An array of colors shot into the sky as the intensifying fire that was once a garbage bag full of fun was scorching the earth around it. The whistling, exploding and unrelenting discord became ear shattering. Shell-shocked, we all stood there, blinded by the glow and deafened by the noise. Fear finally took control and we turned to run. One Michelle, who happened to be lying on a lounge chair, rolled off and crawled across the concrete patio, scrapping her knees in the process. The other Michelle – blinded by the fire, ran into the fence and practically broke her arm. Firecrackers singed Brian’s leg as he ran from the inferno. Though it felt like my heart might blow up like the fireworks around me, I amazingly escaped unscathed and waited for the warfare to cease.
None of us spoke as the turmoil finally began to taper off. We were flabbergasted that, despite our blinded eyes, ringing ears, bleeding knees and singed leg hair, we were otherwise unharmed. No one needed to say it, because it was obvious our Independence Day celebration was officially over.
About two minutes after the pulse racing fireworks catastrophe, Michelle’s elderly neighbor leaned out her second floor window and screamed, “What in the hell was that?”
Well, that dear lady was the force of fireworks, mixed with the stupidity of careless teenagers, making for a 4th of July celebration at its worst.
“The rockets red glare…the bombs bursting in air…” After that one particularly volatile July 4th, I also now hear The Star Spangled Banner in a whole new way. And thankfully after my frightening fireworks fiasco, I “was still there…” just like the flag mentioned in the song.
