It's Still Life

Fireworks

Hotdogs. Mustard. Mum’s potato salad — she always brought it to family dos. It was thick with mayo, heavy on onion, chopped eggs, cubed potatoes, and crushed saltine crackers.

“Saltines are a southern thing,” she explained to my aunt, who, in turn, huffed that Mum wasn’t southern; she was more northern than Alaska. While they glared, my cousin and I ran off to the orchard and climbed a cherry tree (fruitless by day’s end).

The rain started around dusk; the wind kicked up. Nevertheless, we stood with umbrellas, watching fireworks blow apart like tiny planets escaping the solar system.