Late evening Friday night. The wind blows through the neighborhood, too hard to enjoy S'mores and a campfire. As the sun sets, the family settles in to watch a movie. Down and Derby, a movie that my husband resembles...a little. Hahahaha.
It isn't too long before darkness has covered the earth. The moon sends a glow from behind the clouds. A firework whistles through the air and explodes.
Next to me, Matt sits up straight. He listens [and sniffs the breeze], "It's Barry."
Like a wolf to meet his pack, he strides from the room without a backward glance. Down the stairs and into the garage, turning off the lights as he goes. "Shh," he says to me as another explosion rips through the air, "Rocky."
Quietly, he opens a drawer and pulls out a bottle rocket. With an empty beer can for his launch pad, he takes a cautious look around and waves me back through the man door into the garage. A flick of his lighter sends a spark up the length of fuse. Matt backs up to the doorway, hiding in shadow as the firework shoots into the sky and bursts above the house.
In quick succession, two more sounds of men, talking to each other as only men know how, reverberates through the community.
There's something mysterious about the content and amused look on my husband's face as he sits back down to finish the movie... as if he's been shooting the breeze with his buddies and telling bad jokes.
Enjoy your Sunday.