Sparklers

by Kathleen Guenther

It is the fifth of July, and I'm becoming one of those girls. It was completely unintentional. Kelly Clarkson just came on my iTunes, and I am waiting for a boy to call me. It's not that I meant for it to happen this way.

Sitting in my backyard, I am people-watching. I can see the houses on my street and the street next to it, but most people are inside. The only ones I can see live three houses over. Two boys are lighting leftover sparklers. The six-year-old slashes the air with his: left, right, and left again. The eight year old sticks his sparkler straight out from his body, piercing the air in front of him. He doesn't waver. And I wonder if there is joy found in that single movement toward stillness.

I am pretending to be busy and disinterested. I'm pretending for my expected caller, or for no one. When he calls, if he calls, I will let it ring six times and pick up on the seventh. He will catch me in the middle of something important.

I cannot let him know what I've become.

My sister bakes in the kitchen. Kristine makes two dozen heart cookies for her boyfriend's mom. She only gives me one.

I remember when she first started dating Aaron. I called during summer camp staff training over a year ago. She was in the woods with a boy named Aaron, and I could not retreat from tormenting her and this possible love interest.

"Yeah I like him. And he likes me too." Her absolute answer defeated me.

And after two weeks of living outside of home, I had to accept that my younger sister collected a stranger to be the first significant other either one of us ever had.

I check my cell phone once more. I make sure the volume is loud enough. Maybe I missed the call, I think, but I know I haven't.

Dad waters the caladiums on the other side of the house. It is getting late, and he still hasn't called. I watch as the two children are called inside. The feisty one, stabbing the air, leaps toward the porch and through the doorway. The older, perhaps wiser, brother stands. My thoughts slow as I watch pieces of light break from the dark, invisible sticks into the unmoving night air.