The Butterfly Song

I leaned my head back, loving the feel of the cool grass as it tickled the back of my neck. The music was loud and abrasive and the faint smell of cigarette smoke hung in the air, but the summer breeze was warm and a tinge of excitement clung to everyone who passed by. I closed my eyes, knowing that the sky was still blue above me, even though I couldn’t see it. I heard laughter, and yelling. Everything around me screamed Fourth of July. Everything was perfect. It was summer. Life was good.

I opened my eyes, and saw Jason cracking open a root beer, and Mac cracking open a real beer. They smiled and motioned towards the water, where the fire work display was being set up on the barge. Fort Vancouver held the largest firework display on the west coast. Every year hundreds of people covered the grassy hill overlooking the Columbia with picnic blankets and umbrellas. There was basically one huge Fourth of July party that lasted from around eleven in the morning to about eleven at night.

It was about three o’clock now though, and the crowd was really starting to get thick. It was like a tremendous water color painting, smeared with red white and blue all across a canvas of grassy green. I sat up, rubbing my neck. It had been a long day, and I was tired. Mac slapped my shoulder and laughed.

  “Wake up. The fun’s just starting.” He chugged his beer, the foam dripping off his chin. The sight of it sickened me. Ever since last New Years, I’d lost my taste for the stuff. Jason handed me a root beer without a word, and I could feel him sensing my thoughts. I thanked him with my eyes and took a sip of the sweet drink, savoring its bubbling froth. The words of a country song floated towards us from the grandstand.

 “What time are the fireworks supposed to start?” Mac sputtered, flecks of beer flying out to hit my nose like tiny rockets. I wiped my face distastefully.

“Ten, I think.” I replied, turning to glance around. I spotted a redneck smoking a cigar. His belly sagged toward the ground, and he gave into gravity, flopping next to his sunburned wife who was screaming at their wild looking kids.

God bless America. I thought to myself, smiling.

“Ever see so many rednecks in one spot?” Jason said, as if reading my mind.

“Hey now!” Mac scoffed. “Some of us are rednecks. So no insults. The good ole US of A is country founded by rednecks.” He drank deeply, his swarthy face getting red.

“Oh sure.” I laughed. “Nothing says redneck like a powdered wig and a Declaration of Independence. Those founding fathers must’ve been a real bunch of beer-swilling country boys.” I mocked sardonically. Mac glared at me, then threw back his head and inhaled deeply.

  “Now that’s what freedom smells like!” He said, smacking his lips. Jason smiled, saying nothing. “Come on; I’m going down to check out the booths.” Mac said abruptly, staggering to his feet. “You comin’?” Jason stood and brushed off the seat of his pants, but I shook my head.

“Nope, I don’t think the booths will have anything I want. You guys go for it. I’ll watch the stuff.” They nodded and sauntered off towards the bottom of the hill near the grandstand, where there were booths set up fair-style selling all sorts of crap I couldn’t afford. Snazzy sunglasses and stupid looking hats were the major commodities, and I worked too hard for my money to waste it on that. Plus, the real reason Mac wanted to go down the hill was to scout out the girls, not the glasses. We’d somehow managed to set up camp right in the middle of a suburban-style mess. Tuckered out moms and screaming kids, sleeping dads and the occasional grandparent, surrounded us on all sides. Not the perfect set-up for three guys looking for a good time. Or two guys I should say. Or one guy. Jason never really seemed like he was in the mood for having fun these days, and I didn’t have any taste for girls so soon after Amy. Although part of me wanted to go out and find a new one, just to rub it in her face.

 For now, though, I figured I’d leave the romance department up to Mac. All I really wanted was to feel the sun on my face and smell the sweet and musky scent of mesquite. I leaned back again and closed my eyes, with the tangy, thick taste of the root beer still clinging to my tongue.

As long as I live…whatever I do…the taste of your kiss is so bittersweet, I ain’t gonna beat, no way I’m gonna beat this summer with you….

A bad Brad Paisley impersonator crooned from the bandstand, making me cringe. I sighed.

Yep. God bless America.

And that's when the first shot rang out across the July sky.