Fireworks
Pepper Scott
When Terry and I got married, we moved to this cute little high desert town. Our first home together was cozy, tucked onto a tiny street where everyone seemed to know everyone else, except the two newcomers.
It was our first summer there. Warm, yes, but nothing compared to the relentless oven we had left behind in Tucson. The only downside was the drought. Everything was dry. The vacant field across the street was filled with brittle brush that looked like it could burst into flames if someone sneezed too enthusiastically.
Naturally, the Fourth of July was approaching.
Around here, fireworks were not limited to the organized displays. Bottle rockets zipped through the evening sky, and mysterious homemade or imported fireworks seemed to appear from nowhere. It was exciting to some folks, but not exactly comforting when your front-row view included an open field of tinder.
One afternoon, a dear friend stopped by. He happened to be the co-founder of our local volunteer fire district. As bottle rockets continued launching from across the street, he became increasingly uneasy. We kept hoping the kids would either get bored or run out of ammunition.
No such luck.
Curious, we called the local police, mostly to ask if fireworks like that were even legal inside town limits. The officer took our information and assured us they absolutely were not legal.
That evening, a patrol car rolled slowly down our little street and stopped next door to the empty field. Terry and I quietly watched from our window as the officer spoke with the woman who answered the door.
Then he pointed.
Directly at our house.
Terry looked at me.
I looked at Terry.
"Oh no," we both said.
"We're officially the neighbors from hell."
The next morning, there was a knock at the door.
Terry answered it and immediately recognized the woman standing there. Years earlier, she had worked at the real estate office that helped him buy his very first home in town.
She apologized over and over for her boys shooting bottle rockets while she was at work. Then she started crying, which completely unraveled our plan to be awkwardly polite. We felt terrible.
By the time the conversation ended, she left carrying fruit and homemade sweets that we insisted she take home. They became our unofficial peace offerings.
Life has a delightful sense of humor.
Not long afterward, I accepted a position at a local tech company.
Guess who the Human Resources director turned out to be.
Yep.
Our neighbor.
We didn't stay in that neighborhood for very long because Terry needed a larger home where he could move around comfortably in his scooter and wheelchair. But we never left the friendship behind.
More than twenty years have passed. Her boys are grown now. One of them even became a police officer, which still makes me smile.
Today is the Fourth of July again.
These days, people are much more cautious. We've had fires nearby, and thankfully there is far less casual fireworks activity than there used to be.
As I sit here this afternoon, I find myself smiling at that memory.
It is funny how life works sometimes.
A phone call made out of concern became a lasting friendship. An awkward introduction became decades of laughter, shared meals, and kindness.
Not every spark starts a fire.
Some quietly light the beginning of something beautiful.
