Free The Year We Left Home by Jean Thompson Page B

them, digging in the knapsack. He wanted to start with something big, wake them up, make them finally pay attention. He’d already carried out a bucket of sand he could use to anchor the loading tube. Now he broke open the cellophane pack, considered his choices. Giant Comet. Mad Dog. Sky Titan Triple Break. Dominator. They all sounded pretty good. The shells were packaged in fancy paper with tiny, gaudy patterns of lightning bolts and planets and whirligigs, funny, somebody going to all that trouble for something destined to be blown to smithereens. He picked the Giant Comet, loaded it so the fuse extended. “OK, watch this . . .”
    It took three tries with his lighter to get it lit, from dampness probably. He had to squat down to get a good look and wouldn’t it be bad form to lose an eye or a hand once he finally got it going but he stepped back in plenty of time. There was a sizzle and then WOOSH it was out of sight, spitting its way up into the sky so high he couldn’t track it, a blue spurt, then a fountain of red above it and higher still a pop, and a green-gold starburst, and Jesus CHRIST it was big, like county fair big. He wasn’t expecting that and his heart flopped inside him. What was left of the shell fell back harmlessly, floating cinders. Deb and Elton yelped and screeched, scared, sure, but then happy at the hugeness, the beautiful spectacle of it.
    He took a little mock bow.
    Elton came over to check it out. “What was that shit?”
    “You liked it?”
    “Let me do the next one.”
    Deb yelled at them to be careful, and they yelled back Sure, sure. It felt good to ignore her, the two of them in silent agreement because this was what women did, they were natural killjoys. Ray showed him how to load the shell. “Now back off, give it room and watch yourself when it comes down. Jeez, your mom’ll scalp me if you get hurt.”
    “Yeah, yeah.” Elton too excited, getting too close when he lit the thing and Ray had to yank him back, WOOSH.
    This one was red and white and blue, a spray of glitter and sparks high overhead. Oh say can you see. Fourth of July just an excuse for some good old sky magic. Doors slammed. Neighbors came out to see what the hell was going on. A mild cheering. Everybody liking the show. The Triple Break, three separate BANGETY-BANG white waterfalls. They shot off some smaller bottle rockets and percussive pieces, a cluster of booming and popping white lights. The air had a gunpowder smell. Smoke drifted along the ground.
    “What’s this one?” Elton demanded, and Ray said he didn’t exactly know, but there was a way to find out. It turned out to be a flare that shot up, whizzbang, and landed in the yard behind theirs, a little too close to the house for comfort. Nobody was home so it didn’t matter. Then the loading tube fell over sideways when they lit the next shell and that might have turned out bad, then the fuse fizzled. Tricky shit but no harm done and that’s what counted.
    “Where’d you get this stuff?” Elton, impressed in spite of himself, forgetting his fat-boy coolness.
    “Ah, downtown.” Same guy he bought his pot from. There was no reason to advertise that. He felt for the joint in his shirt pocket. It was criminal not to be under the influence.
    Dark enough now that Deb couldn’t see him from the back porch. He fired the joint with his back turned to Elton, a feeble attempt at hiding, then he thought that was stupid, and because they were having such a good time being guys together, the way they almost never did, he passed it over to Elton, who sucked it down like a champ.
    Ray dawdled a little, letting the pot do its thing. He was loose, expansive, peaceful, ready to appreciate the full potential and possibilitiesof this here beautiful light show. That magic holy high, the pure mindlessness of it. Him and Elton both with a case of the stoned giggles. Slaphappy, trying to get the launcher positioned exactly right.
    “I got it,” Ray told him, and he