It Was Never About Independence

I hate this holiday. The 4th of July. Independence Day. Whatever.

It's my least favorite. I'm not very patriotic. Fireworks make me feel sad, nostalgic, and lonely. It's been that way since I was 5, or earlier, but I can't remember too many emotions before I was 5 so that's a good estimation I guess. (I just thought "guess-timation" and how I fucking hate when people say that.)

The 4th of July is...

Sitting in the drive way of my grandparent's house that doubled as my aunt and uncle's house for a while. Watching the fireworks show across the desert at Palmdale High. I sat down right on the cement. My sister wasn't born yet and the other kids were little. The adults "Oh'ed" and "Awed" which made everything seem dramatic. The fireworks ended. I was sad. There were sparklers. There were always sparklers.

Another aunt's house. Different cousins. No firework show. Sparklers. Fireworks in the middle of the street my dad wouldn't let me get too close to. I got burned. I was wearing uncomfortable shoes. I wanted to look pretty. Those people always made me feel pressure to look pretty, and thin. More alcohol. Too much alcohol and strangers. My aunt was stumbling and it didn't seem like they used to get mad then, but they must have. I noticed that my mom and dad never hold hands.

Katie and I sat in my front yard. We had ditched the lamest party ever (because it was an adult party and they served tri-tip, not even hamburgers or hot dogs). We sat for hours. No sparklers. Alone. We laid in the grass with the cordless phone next to us hoping the guys we liked (I think I was dating one) would call like they said they would. They didn't. We waited, forever. We never got any hot dogs.

It's an ex-boyfriend's birthday. I don't hate it because of that, but it is and I feel like it should be counted. Because I think of him, yes, and it's all so much different now, but there were surprise parties, and a time when I thought the fireworks weren't so bad. But they're never that bad when you're in some one's arms. He'll be in Florida this year. With his new girl. And I don't belong there. And it's ok.

I met someone who hates this holiday as much as I do. But I think, I felt like it was a similar sort of uncomfortable memory thing that bound us. The sentiment felt familiar. But it breaks my heart to think about him and he does not think about me. And that should be ok, but I'm sentimental and fireworks still make me sad.

Someone went to jail. Someone set the desert on fire and went to jail. And it was weird that it never seemed like that big of a deal, until he brought it up tonight and we laughed about it.

So fuck it. No sparklers. No flags. No party.
I drove around the desert listening to get this, Explosions in the Sky, and accidentally caught a private fireworks show. The window was down, it was too hot, and it was sad, but it's familiar. I shouldn't complain. All I ever wanted was consistency.