On the streets of Buena Park, California, people with a fondness for customary patriotism expressed gratitude with some undisruptive detonations. As a lifelong tradition, the Fourth of July was alive and well in the city. The street lights didn't become the only ones that provided manmade luminosity. Men, women, and children set their fireworks alight, illuminating the night sky with an onslaught of explosive colors. Entire neighborhoods produced thunderous clatter with high-flying rockets. Plumes of smoke, as a result, rose up to the heavens and partially shrouded the crescent moon with its dark gray shades. Add towering explosions and legitimate bonfires to the mix, and the representation of a battlefield emerged in Buena Park.
Eighteen-year-old Isaiah took pleasure in watching fireworks on every Independence Day. In the suburban neighborhood in which he resided in, he watched as children ran around in circles with sparklers in their hands. Grownups lit their rockets and just watched as sparkling missiles ascended towards and the sky and erupted, leaving behind a brilliant trace of neon colors. Youngsters Isaiah's age went on to light up small fireworks which gave off brief flashes of blinding light. Boomboxes and car stereos played various forms of contemporary music, ranging from Mexican hip hop to vintage American dubstep. Entire families gathered around to enjoy the welcome festivities on this special holiday.
Isaiah, however, had something else in mind tonight. As he observed the smoke and flashing lights erupting on the street, the young African-American man did his best to come to a conclusion for what he would do for the rest of the evening. It all happened when he received a text message from a neighbor, Cliff, who lived just two blocks away. The two of them had known each other for at least a month. It was small talk at first, but their skeptical relationship had shown progression once they expressed their love for hot rods through words. They showed off their posters and magazines featuring some of the most fine-looking automobiles meticulously restored for the twentieth century. Even if Cliff turned out to be seventeen years older than him, Isaiah found himself attracted to such a tall good-looking man. He didn't feel the need to rush towards a more intimate relationship, since they've never invited each other to their own place. The text message may have changed all that.
"If you want, you can come to my place for the evening. I'll be waiting."
It seemed simple, but it said so much.
By eight o'clock, Isaiah had made up his mind. He walked two blocks and reached Cliff's residence. Amidst the high spirits taking place on the street, the young man found the thirty-five-year-old white man on the sidewalk, looking up to the sky and watching the multicolored outbursts that offered a more ethereal stratosphere.
Isaiah cleared his throat and said, "Well, I'm here."
Cliff looked down and stared straight at him. He examined his attire, which had been nothing but black shorts and a white sleeveless undershirt.
"You look good."
Isaiah hoped that his long chest-length dreadlocks, his lack of facial hair, and an overall slim physique would be enough to give Cliff even a mild arousal.
Cliff didn't look bad himself. His brown shoulder-length hair, denim jeans and jacket, and a black t-shirt gave him a more sensual appeal than before.
He looked back up at the sky again. "It sure is a hell of a night as always."
"Yeah, it is."
"It's always good to see the night sky lit up like a never-ending firecracker."
Isaiah looked around to see children waving their sparklers on one side of the street, and a young man showing off his dance moves to his friends on the other. In the far corner, an old East Asian man wearing a thick jacket and a white cap sang what sounded like a slow traditional folk song while his wife stood alongside him and listened with her eyes closed. Up above, larger plumes of smoke gathered in the stratosphere while more exploding rockets continued to illuminate the heavens.
Cliff asked, "Where's your family?"
Isaiah sighed. "They're still at home playing with fireworks."
"Why didn't you join them?"
"To tell you the truth, I wanted to spend the rest of the night with you."
Cliff gave a little smile. "That's all I wanted to hear."
Without another word, he looked away and walked back into his one-story house. He left the door side open, giving Isaiah the legitimate impression that he had his permission to enter the building. Isaiah could see nothing but gold-colored lights that reflected off the white walls and wooden floor.
Isaiah slid his fingers across his long dreadlocks. The sound of the old Asian man singing his traditional composition in a rather raspy voice gave him goose bumps. He took a deep breath as the thunderous uproar from above did little to ease his anxiety. Overlooking the prearranged pandemonium on the streets, Isaiah went inside the house.
