“You sure about this?”
Even as I ask, I’m thirteen again, in Hunter’s Stepdad’s garden, the motherlode of all fireworks in the shed: a Catherine wheel spinning in the half-light of early evening.
“Drink it in,” Hunter told me as he set off a crackling palm and then a willow that bloomed purple and gold.
He was a master.
When he was done, we sat on the singed grass, breathing smoke trails that hung in the air.
In the present, I wait for my answer.
Hunter pauses. “It’ll be sweet.”
Pulling down our rubber masks, we head into Mann’s Jewelers.
Even as I ask, I’m thirteen again, in Hunter’s Stepdad’s garden, the motherlode of all fireworks in the shed: a Catherine wheel spinning in the half-light of early evening.
“Drink it in,” Hunter told me as he set off a crackling palm and then a willow that bloomed purple and gold.
He was a master.
When he was done, we sat on the singed grass, breathing smoke trails that hung in the air.
In the present, I wait for my answer.
Hunter pauses. “It’ll be sweet.”
Pulling down our rubber masks, we head into Mann’s Jewelers.
