Once time spilled into midnight,
the echo of the July fireworks closed
the curtains on independence.
The evenly trimmed grass
on Franklin Park spread for miles
and so did the attendees
on lawnchairs and picnic blankets
with coolers of drinks.
Erin, my life’s love, would love this.
I closed my eyes and inhaled
the Jo Malone on her neckline.
I missed her, but she had plans
that included living in Carolina.
I sipped vodka inside my water bottle
and moved my sleeve across my mouth.
I found myself amidst
a stream of people
leaving Franklin Park.
Traffic headlights illuminated
the crosswalk.
People hooted and yelled in cars;
their red eyes told
the story of an evening
sure to leave a splitting headache
come morning.
I waited for the green light to cycle
through and moved toward
the crowded parking lot.
Traffic flowed in both directions
with music screaming lyrics
over dashboard confessionals.
Speakers thumped as they
disseminated a song’s beat,
adding to the tranquil atmosphere.
Sulfur from firecrackers filled
the air like the first time I met
my old flame, Erin.
I smoked a cigarette
to burn anxiety.
I came alone this year because
getting out broke Erin’s absence.
Something about watching pyrotechnics
pulled at something inside me.
I loved watching the fireworks.
And so did Erin.
A breeze moved across an overcast, dark sky.
A gentle wind filtered Jo Malone to my nostrils.
My heart thumped in my chest.
It couldn’t be;
but what if it was?
I felt a woman’s eyes study my presence.
I turned and spotted a face.
I saw Erin, or at least I thought I had.
But it couldn’t be her.
Butterflies bumped around
in my stomach before I put my finger
on what I thought I saw.
Perhaps I saw what I wanted to see.
I shone the light of self-reflection inside of me.
“Seth,” a familiar voice said.
I stopped and twisted around. “Erin?”
“I owe you an apology,” she said.
Erin still had an hourglass frame
and firm legs under tight tan shorts.
Her hair darkened, maybe with time.
Erin’s deep green eyes pulled me in
as they eased into a soft gaze.
“Get your degree?” I said.
“I did,” she said, dipping her gaze. “But I studied more about us tangled in bedsheets.” Erin raked her fingers through her hair. “God. I couldn’t get you out of my head. Every love song reminded me of you. Of us.”
No weatherman called for rain, but the thick clouds released sprinkles to hide our tears, and thunder started as if God were clapping.
“You look…” Erin studied me. “Amazing.”
“What is it they say?” I said. “If you love someone, you’ll let them go.”
“And if it was meant to be, they’ll return.” Erin motioned. “And here I am.”
We kissed through flash floods, and her lips made me sixpence all the wiser to kiss her forever.