Every year, I hear the story of my Dad talking to the British in Antarctica while he was staying at the South Pole Station. They'd talk to each other over the radios, and of course on Fourth of July they would explain that it was the all-American holiday, so they would be taking it off. The Brits replied, "Fourth of July…Fourth of July…Oh yes, isn't that the day we set you free?" Of course, that isn't how we see it in America, but it's a pretty funny story either way.

And what better way to show our independence every year by lighting things on fire to see them sparkle colorfully?

Here in California, aerial fireworks are illegal unless you have special permits, taken precautions to have a fire engine there, and all sorts of irritating things. However, the states around, two hours in the north and east, have those fireworks for sale. They aren't illegal in Oregon and Nevada…

Every year for the past several years, our neighborhood has somehow raised enough money to have a huge aerial firework show at the park, in the field. It's huge—people come from all over the area to come. Basically, there's two really good firework displays on the third: ours, done in the grassy field between the park and the middle school, or at Cal Expo, about fifteen minutes away. But, this year, they were mysteriously absent, and this disappointed a lot of people. With gas prices hovering around 4.50 a gallon and rising, who wants to drive to Cal Expo to see the fireworks?

And even our stupid "govenator" trying to convince us to not do fireworks this year didn't deter anyone from doing the silly ground ones on the fourth. And on our court, there's a certain way of doing things. My family will put out some saw horses, toss a board on top of it, and there's our launching ground for fireworks. We'll also run a hose out into the middle of the court and a wheelbarrow to put dead fireworks where they'll get a soaking just to make sure they really are dead. There's a story behind the paranoia surrounding seemingly dead fireworks, but that'll be explained later. And our neighbors on the top of the court always have the biggest fireworks—the ones that you'd think would be barely legal. And since they moved in a few years ago, we've always suspected they had some illegal ones stashed away, to set off at another time, when their cop next-door-neighbor wouldn't mind as much. His argument? Well, they had to be legal, he'd bought them in California—on the Indian reservations.

And apparently this year was the year to set them all off.

It was a lot of fun. They'd run up, light them, then run back off again. And these weren't the ones that went ten feet—these were the ones that got above the rooftops and more, exploding colorfully in the air. The funniest thing was, other people on the other streets were applauding our little aerial show.

But their stash didn't end huge illegal aerial fireworks, though everyone started wondering if there was an end. They seemed to have a ton of them. But the other things we wondered about were Roman candles, ones that sparkled and ones that spit out colorful balls of fire, bottle rockets, fire crackers that seemed to be decorating the court with sound for all four hours everyone was out there, the "real" sparklers as we'd taken to calling them, not the ones that spit fire out of the end but the ones that really sparkled, the ones that my parents had wished for since they were kids. Overall, everyone decided that our court was by far the best court to be on for Fourth of July.

Especially with the prospect of cops coming and putting off our aerials. Thankfully they didn't come, but my neighbor had joked, "Now we'll always be a marked court."

"Marisol," I purred, kissing her lips again. She giggled, and I rested my forehead against hers, staring into her brown eyes. There was a faint smile on my face, I knew, but nothing like the grin that was normally there.

She noticed.

"What's wrong?" she asked uneasily. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No, not at all," I murmured. "Just…where are we going with this?" She frowned at me and pulled away, crossing her arms over her chest.

"What do you mean?" She was starting to sound impatient.

"Well, I mean…" I waved my hands in the air, trying to grab at words. "I mean all of this flirting is fun and all, but…" I looked over at her, then down at my boots scuffling the ground. "I mean I really love you, Mari." I didn't look up, but I frowned slightly when she didn't have a response. Then I looked up, and she was staring at me in shock.

"Ah…uhm, Jake, I just…no, don't want to go that far. Sorry. Bye." Then she turned and walked away.

And I was a fool for letting her walk away from me like that, but there was such a sharp pain I felt everywhere that I didn't want to move. Like someone had slipped a knife into my back. And, hanging around with the people I did, I even checked, but there was nothing there. So I swallowed the lump in my throat and made my way back to the inn where we were staying. Austin was in the center of all of the activity, cheating at some card game again. He looked up at me when I came in with a grin on his face, but it faded and kept falling when he looked to my side, where Marisol normally was.

"Oh Trick," he sighed, putting his cards down on the table and ditching his playing buddies. "What did I tell you about girls? All they do is break your heart."

"Yeah, I guess," I mumbled. It still felt like someone had stabbed me. Austin sighed and led me to the bar, forking over some money to the bartender who set a large, strong looking something in front of me. I just stared at it, thinking that the amber color looked a lot like Marisol's hair in the sun. The knife that stabbed me twitched, bringing on a fresh wave of pain.

"Mate, there's no cure for a broken heart. You just gotta pick up the pieces and keep going," Austin said softly before moving to leave me alone.

'No cure,' I thought dismally, putting my face in my hands and trying not to let the rest of me break, too.

Writing fail this month...First is some strange thoughts, second is Trick being mopey, since I haven't done anything to him really. :