fourth of july 2000

my best friend has invited me to spend the fourth of july with her in santa barbara. i welcome the escape from the dry and dusty heat of bakersfield to spend the holiday in her cool, red-roofed ocean town.

there are no firework stands dotting the landscape in santa barbara. a city ordinance prohibits residents from setting off fireworks in front of their homes. instead they offer a free firework show over the pier.

just after the sun sets, we park in front of a friend's house and walk to the beach, brightly colored towels in tow. it is already dark as we start ploughing through the sand, walking around the hundreds of people who have already staked out their places. big mexican families, new age millionaires, yogis, preppy college students, and us. all in attendance.

we settle into a spot just to the right side of the pier, laying our beach towels down and digging holes in the sand to cradle our backs and bums just right. positioning ourselves to see the sky.

there is nothing else to see. the orange glow of city lights is behind us. though we can hear the loud crash of waves, the ocean is hidden in front of us by the lack of moon and city light.

the show soon begins. we are children mesmerized by explosions of light. they are red and yellow flowers bursting into bloom. they are giant purple planets glittering. sparkling white weeping willows. blue stars falling from the sky. from where we lie in the black of the night the lights are so close and stretch so long, it feels as if they will rain upon us.


over the following year, my best friend will struggle in an emotionally abusive relationship. i will be on the verge of dropping out of graduate school. we will speak and understand each other less. we will angrily stop speaking at all. our lives explosive and divergent paths of light.