Fireworks

Strings of lights arched over the picnic tables, thirteen rental tables, two hundred chairs, and the three hundred members of the Country Club and their guests, who had all gathered to celebrate Independence Day. The tiki bar was wreathed in lights, illuminating the laughing faces, the bartenders’ hands moving in an intricate dance of alcohol and surety, and the various colorful bottles scattering the bar. Behind the white-linened tables stood two or three of the wait staff, pristine in white polo shirts, khakis, and black aprons. The general manager moved around the crowd in a button-down and dress pants, picking up garbage, chatting with members, and keeping an eye on things. The lake gave the beach love taps every few seconds, the dock stretching long and snake-like into the water. One could see the boats beginning to gather on the darkening lake for the fireworks, as their lights began to flicker on, one by one.  It made a nice celebratory picture.

I was celebrating Independence Day in a much different way. I was in the middle of my second double shift, hauling garbage bags across the beach area, bitterly resentful of every girl my age who could wear a fancy dress and drink and lounge about for the evening. I was planning on going home and scrubbing every inch of my skin off, having subjected it to various kinds of barbecued food, garbage stains, and plenty of sweat. Even worse, I’d just found out I couldn’t go home once we’d packed all the food away. No, the wait staff was staying until the bitter end, so we could pack up 200 chairs and the thirteen tables. I wanted to scream.

“Can you get a trashbag for us?” asked one of the bartenders, casting a quick glance at the debris behind her.

I eyed the hill and two sets of steep stairs with a feeling of resignation. “Of course.”

The dishwasher looked at me with some sympathy as I dragged myself in the kitchen doors. “How ya doing?”

“Hrmphfmfh.” I stomped off towards the back room to find can liners.

Coming out of the kitchen, my boss caught my arm. “The fireworks are starting!”

I stared at him for a moment, without much enthusiasm. I’m carrying a trash bag, I’ve been throwing out plates of garbage all night, fetching people drinks, taking out the trash, explaining that stupid vegetarian dish to eighty people, and you want me to stay here until at least midnight. Fireworks. Whoopie. 

“Okay,” I said, sighing. “I’ll be right down.”

The fireworks were indeed starting and I sat on the darkened steps for a moment, watching the first explosions of white and blue and red. The scene beneath me was beautiful, the strings of lights softening everything into their mellow gold.

“Come on, come on, fireworks!” A gaggle of kids streamed down the stairs, eager to find their parents or friends or a good spot to watch from.

I wandered down to the beach, finding all the waitstaff and bartenders gathered around the bar. Right in front of most of the members. I didn’t care. We all stopped for a few minutes then, bartenders, wait staff, country club members alike, to turn our faces towards the lake, as the fireworks exploded over the lake. I wedged in between two of the wait staff, to lean against a table and tilt my face up towards the sky, illuminated in flashes of red and white and green and yellow. A boy who had been trying to buy me a drink for the last two months, but was foiled by my not-of-age-to-go-to-bars status finally succeeded, handing me a gin and tonic, and trying to pay for it without me noticing. I pretended I hadn’t. The employees toasted each other with our free drinks and sipped them, eyes fixed on the sky, but minds maybe elsewhere. I watched the fireworks try and reach for the stars, and wondered what the stars thought of our brightly colored sparks, if they sat up in their celestial perches and laughed at what they must surely consider human folly. Or if they maybe liked the company. It must get lonely up there. The light of the fireworks was reflected in the still waters of the lake. I imagined my friends on their boat, watching the same fireworks. Looking behind me, everyone looked quiet and entranced. Peaceful, bathed in the contented glow of being surrounded by family, friends, good food, plenty of drinks, and the holiday-feeling. I put my trash bag down on the table behind me, and watched my boss put his arm around his wife. I wondered if he was thinking about his son, gone these six months.

“The fireworks in Oneonta can’t even compare with these,” said one of my co-workers.

“You can’t beat fireworks over a lake,” I said, feeling a little smug to be from Cooperstown, where we had fireworks over our lake.

“It’s beautiful,” he agreed, and we lapsed into silence again.

The finale fired off in a five-minute explosion, one right after the other, and everyone whooped and clapped and cheered.

“Happy fourth of July,” someone said, patting me on the shoulder.

“Happy fourth,” I said, smiling for the first time all night. It was the small moments that mattered, those fifteen minutes of standing shoulder-to-shoulder with my co-workers, drinks in hand, enjoying a moment together. Where everyone was equal: members and workers alike, enjoying the spectacular show.