The Fireworks
Swetha Amit
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After I signed the divorce papers last month, I sat on my balcony in my East Bay apartment overlooking Lake Merritt. The cool July air made me pull my blanket tighter around my shoulders. Near the lake, families and couples gathered. Laughter floated in the air, piercing my quiet and lonely world. The sky lit up with bursts of red, white, and gold. I watched the shimmering streaks of brightness, trying to escape the familiar ache and hollowness that deepened as I saw couples kiss and children squeal with joy. Every time a firecracker erupted, a tear rolled down my face.
Last Fourth of July, John and I sat on a picnic blanket by the lake. His arm was around me, and my head rested against the warmth of his 49ers sweatshirt, which carried the scent of his Calvin Klein perfume. We drank wine and watched the dazzling sky. At the finale, he pulled me closer and pressed his lips to mine. As always, I felt a tingling sensation rush through my veins. It started the night I got a promotion at work at the beginning of the year. He brought up the topic of starting a family.
It’s been three years. Isn’t it about time?” he raised his bushy eyebrows as he poured us some wine. I asked him to wait. It was a promotion I had been waiting for. We argued and fought for weeks. He tried to convince me, but I resisted. One day, he exploded and called me a narcissistic bitch. He packed his suitcase and stormed out. The door rang louder than the fireworks.
My phone buzzed. It was from a coworker telling me I was missed at his barbecue. I declined his invitation to avoid the usual questions about how I was doing, the pitying looks, and being introduced to or hit on by random men at the gathering. I wasn’t ready yet. I scrolled through my email. There was one from my boss saying I was selected to attend a one-week conference in Las Vegas and give a presentation this year. The same conference I wanted to participate in last year, but I wasn’t selected for it. A breathtaking finale of resplendence lit the sky. Cheers and hoots followed. I took a deep breath, got up, and poured myself a glass of wine. I returned to the balcony and raised my glass to the flickering sky.
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Swetha Amit is an MFA Graduate from the University of San Francisco. The author of a memoir, A Turbulent Mind, and three chapbooks. Her words appear in Had, Bending Genres, Ghost Parachute, Gone Lawn, Cream City Review, and others. A member of the Writers Grotto, her stories have been nominated for the Pushcart Prize, Best of the Net, and Best Small Fiction.
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Posted in Retro Summer and tagged in #boudin, #fiction, #flashfiction