the side of the road and saw a silver trail of light fly up into the sky. Mesmerized, she opened the door, leaving the engine running, got out of the car, and walked toward the climbing sparkling light. It seemed to be very close, just over her head. She could hear it whistling as it climbed above the grassy field into which she was walking.
Then, boom-boom , even louder again, and the trail exploded into thousands of beads of light, each one shooting out on its own dazzling trajectory, filling the entire blue and white canvas over the meadow with shimmering silver tinsel. Lily just stood in the field, looking straight up, slowly, reflexively, turning, as the firework continued expanding, engraving the sky.
Lily had never seen anything like this. It was beautiful and powerful and magical. She was so fascinated, so taken by what she saw, that she didn’t hear the voice that was calling out to her: “ Look out! Get away from there! ”
When she finally heard the voice, registered the alarm it was trying to impart, and looked around to see from where it was coming and what exactly it meant, suddenly a young man in boots, jeans, and a dirty white T-shirt tackled her, pulled her to the ground, and lay on top of her, forcefully covering her with his entire body.
Before Lily could even find a breath to scream, she saw the pieces of smoking debris from the firework landing all around them. Some of the pieces missed them by inches.
Realizing what was happening, she lay still. His cheek pressed to hers, his hands cupped around her face, his chest on her back, his hips on hers, he lay still.
The last of the debris fell. But Lily and the man continued to lie there, frozen, for a long moment. Until, slowly, gingerly, he rolled off her.
“Didn’t anyone ever teach you not to stand under fireworks?”
Lily lifted her face off the ground and took in Jake Russo. Though he was clearly just a few years older than her, he had a quiet, knowing sense about him that was much worldlier than usual in someone his age. His eyes were dark and mature. His tousled hair and three-day beard were ink black. While visibly lean, his body felt muscular, not simply taut, like a young man’s, but hard, presumably from use.
He reached out a hand to her. She took it and he helped her up, never taking his eyes off her. What is a beautiful girl like this doing in the middle of a field in the middle of Georgia? he wondered.
“I feel like an idiot,” she said.
“You’ve got a pebble stuck to your chin.”
Lily swatted at her face.
“I suppose I should say ‘thank you.’”
“I suppose I should say ‘don’t worry about it.’”
Jake reached out to her and removed a tiny stone that was pressed to her face. Lily considered him as he did this. He smelled of sweat and earth and black powder. And now she did, too. It was animal. Visceral. Her father smelled this way when he returned from extended camping trips in the Appalachians when she was a child.
Trying to get her bearings, Lily looked around, tossing some stray strands of hair from her face. As she looked up, light refracted in the tawny trails still lingering, like viscous nectar from a great tupelo comb hewn and oozing over the clouds.
Not too far from where they were standing, Lily saw the freight truck and several rows of buried mortars in the field.
“That your truck over there?”
“That’s mine.”
“So you must be the pyrotechnics man.”
“That would be me.”
There was a moment of silence. Jake just looked at her, and she let him. She felt him studying her, considering her. This sort of thing would usually compel her to make some sweet small talk about the weather or an upcoming party and gracefully move the moment along, but she didn’t. She just let this be, surprised by how natural it felt.
“What are you doing out here?” he finally said.
“I was just driving by and I saw the firework, your firework, and I thought it was amazing, and I wanted to watch
Then, boom-boom , even louder again, and the trail exploded into thousands of beads of light, each one shooting out on its own dazzling trajectory, filling the entire blue and white canvas over the meadow with shimmering silver tinsel. Lily just stood in the field, looking straight up, slowly, reflexively, turning, as the firework continued expanding, engraving the sky.
Lily had never seen anything like this. It was beautiful and powerful and magical. She was so fascinated, so taken by what she saw, that she didn’t hear the voice that was calling out to her: “ Look out! Get away from there! ”
When she finally heard the voice, registered the alarm it was trying to impart, and looked around to see from where it was coming and what exactly it meant, suddenly a young man in boots, jeans, and a dirty white T-shirt tackled her, pulled her to the ground, and lay on top of her, forcefully covering her with his entire body.
Before Lily could even find a breath to scream, she saw the pieces of smoking debris from the firework landing all around them. Some of the pieces missed them by inches.
Realizing what was happening, she lay still. His cheek pressed to hers, his hands cupped around her face, his chest on her back, his hips on hers, he lay still.
The last of the debris fell. But Lily and the man continued to lie there, frozen, for a long moment. Until, slowly, gingerly, he rolled off her.
“Didn’t anyone ever teach you not to stand under fireworks?”
Lily lifted her face off the ground and took in Jake Russo. Though he was clearly just a few years older than her, he had a quiet, knowing sense about him that was much worldlier than usual in someone his age. His eyes were dark and mature. His tousled hair and three-day beard were ink black. While visibly lean, his body felt muscular, not simply taut, like a young man’s, but hard, presumably from use.
He reached out a hand to her. She took it and he helped her up, never taking his eyes off her. What is a beautiful girl like this doing in the middle of a field in the middle of Georgia? he wondered.
“I feel like an idiot,” she said.
“You’ve got a pebble stuck to your chin.”
Lily swatted at her face.
“I suppose I should say ‘thank you.’”
“I suppose I should say ‘don’t worry about it.’”
Jake reached out to her and removed a tiny stone that was pressed to her face. Lily considered him as he did this. He smelled of sweat and earth and black powder. And now she did, too. It was animal. Visceral. Her father smelled this way when he returned from extended camping trips in the Appalachians when she was a child.
Trying to get her bearings, Lily looked around, tossing some stray strands of hair from her face. As she looked up, light refracted in the tawny trails still lingering, like viscous nectar from a great tupelo comb hewn and oozing over the clouds.
Not too far from where they were standing, Lily saw the freight truck and several rows of buried mortars in the field.
“That your truck over there?”
“That’s mine.”
“So you must be the pyrotechnics man.”
“That would be me.”
There was a moment of silence. Jake just looked at her, and she let him. She felt him studying her, considering her. This sort of thing would usually compel her to make some sweet small talk about the weather or an upcoming party and gracefully move the moment along, but she didn’t. She just let this be, surprised by how natural it felt.
“What are you doing out here?” he finally said.
“I was just driving by and I saw the firework, your firework, and I thought it was amazing, and I wanted to watch
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