Dearest Rachel –
To be fair, for me to describe last night thusly is to completely mischaracterize it. After all, while the fireworks displays that are part and parcel of the Fourth of July are meant to represent the clamor and fire of early modern warfare in which this nation was birthed (perhaps not unlike the Christian sacrament of communion, where the grain and grape represent body and blood of Christ), it is not warfare in and of itself, although since it uses the same ingredients, and is therefore still as dangerous. There is a certain irony in the fact that more people have lost their lives celebrating this nation’s birth than did so in the process of birthing it in the first place; however, given the march of time and the sheer number of people celebrating each and every year, it was perhaps an inevitability.
Likewise, to say that I slept through the whole event would be overstating the matter by a considerable length. True, it would’ve been theoretically possible to go to bed and not hear a single thing, and still wake up and know for a fact that a representation of war had taken place the night before; last night was the Fourth, after all, and the idea of the Fourth without fireworks borders on sacrilege, even in a state like ours where they’re all but illegal at any other time (I have to presume that there are licensed pyrotechnic engineers, or something, that are given immunity from such laws for the sake of the day). But that wasn’t the case with me; I may have been in bed before ten, but throughout the evening, I was more than able to hear the pops and cracks and booms, both to the north and south of me, as celebrations – both sanctioned and not – went on around me.
But why, you might ask, was I not out there, appreciating and participating in the festivities in one place or another? I’ve said so much about being a tourist in my hometown not too long ago; why am I so keen to attend festivals in some remote country, while eschewing those merely a couple miles away? Believe me, I understand the line of questioning.
My first guess would be along the lines of familiarity breeding a certain amount of contempt; these places are always, and will always, be there. If I don’t want to go now, there will be other opportunities – that’s something I couldn’t say about the many places we stopped at on the Serenade of the Seas. It could even be applied to the next question, reminding me that Frontier Days only comes around for a few days a year – where, if I don’t drop by there before Monday, I will miss out – by pointing out that there will be another such festival next year, and the year after that, and so on.
Of course, you could shut down that line of reasoning by appearing and pointing out that “there wasn’t for me.”
Which is true, honey, but as much as it’s a reminder to get out and enjoy the things of life because it is so short, it’s also one of the main reasons why something like that isn’t really enjoyable for me anymore. It’s just like almost any activity that takes me out of the house, and puts me in a social situation; there are too many things to observe and comment upon, but without someone to comment to, what’s the point? We could lie on a blanket together and watch the explosions going off above us, but without the interaction between us, it isn’t the same as it was.
And with the boys enjoying each other’s company in the family room, it would have been just me heading out there… wherever “there” might be. The beauty of the suburbs is that there are municipalities in literally every direction celebrating the Glorious Fourth in their own ways, but that abundance of choice leads to a certain amount of indecision. One thing that would pull me in a certain direction or another would be the possibility of meeting up with others, but since that was unlikely at this point in time, I didn’t see where any direction would be more worthwhile than not going in any direction at all. And thus, there I was at a quarter to ten, lying on my back, staring up at the bedroom ceiling, listening to what might as well have been a battery of popcorn vendors in either direction going at full capacity.
And I wasn’t even remotely hungry, if you’ll forgive the extended analogy.
I’m sorry, honey. Some things just aren’t as enjoyable as they once were, without you there to enjoy them with me (us?), and so it just doesn’t feel worth my while to go bother with any of them. It probably sounds like I’m punishing myself – you’d still be asking me, after all this explanation, why I wouldn’t bother going out, since you probably couldn’t wrap your head around it – but it’s just me weighing the benefits and hassles. The fairgrounds have two main attractions – three, maybe, if you go to watch or listen to the bands (which we never did) – the food, and the rides. Having had a filling meal at the folks’ (and a relatively early one, too, since I didn’t want to be eating too late in the day; they thought it was so that Daniel and I would be free to hang around at the festival, and we didn’t give them any reason to be disabused of that notion), the food would have held no appeal, and for the same reason, the rides wouldn’t have held much appeal, either. Besides, that latter was more your thin, in any event; you might remember the last few years before Covid, and how I would get you a wristband to try as many rides as you wanted in a certain amount of time. You were the only one of us who would be able to get their money’s worth out of that wristband, to be honest; I would see some of those jerry-rigged devices, and want no part of them.
Maybe someday, Megumi will show up, and she’ll drag me out to one of these things, and I’ll be able to enjoy them in a way that I can’t at this point in time. Maybe we’ll be able to enjoy the festivities in a way you and I never thought of, even. But for now, it just doesn’t feel worth the effort to get out of the bedroom, drive near the place, park and walk to the grounds, and wander around, hoping to get a glimpse of that joy and wonder these things once held. I probably can’t make you understand, but I hope you can try.
Still, if you could keep an eye on me, and wish me luck, that’d be appreciated. After all, I’m still going to need it, regardless.
Letters to Rachel 