I’m about twelve in this memory. It’s August 5th, the day when the annual firework festival takes place in our town. In the evening, my mother and I drive to the city centre, and after parking the car, we walk over to the view spot where we can sit on the grass and eat picnic dinner while watching the fireworks.
My mother takes out a picnic sheet, and the two of us sit among the crowd as the fireworks start, illuminating the night sky and vibrating the air with their strong sound. The show continues for about an hour and a half with an intermission.
Half way into the second part of the show, my mother says we need to head back home.
“But it’s not over yet,” I protest. “Can’t we stay a little longer?”
“No, sweetie, we must get going,” replies my mother, packing up our picnic stuff. “We cannot wait for the show to end. Otherwise, there’ll be a long queue in the parking lot, and we won’t be able to get out.”
Thus, we leave while everybody else is still absorbed in the magic in the sky. I keep looking back to catch the glimpse of the fireworks behind the trees as I shuffle behind my mother. The show is approaching its climax it seems, with more fireworks shooting up in the sky followed by the spectators’ ohs and ahs.
Once we arrive at the parking lot – we’re the only moving figures there – and get inside the car, I’m half crying.
“We missed the best part!” I whine. “We left too early!”
I want my mother to change her mind so that we can stop and see the fireworks, but her response is the opposite. “Stop whining now!” she snaps. “There’s no going back!”
Our drive back home is very quiet. I’m in the depth of sorrow in the backseat while my mother is fighting her frustration in the driver’s seat. We’ve continued like that for a while when, suddenly, my mother stops the car and tells me to step outside.
“You can see the fireworks from here.”
When I follow her outside, we are on a hilltop. Far away on the horizon, the sky is lit by several fireworks. The sound follows after a few seconds. It’s nothing like the experience I had earlier, but they are still the same fireworks. I focus all my attention on the tiny fireworks lighting up the horizon. This is how I see the final climax of the show.
“At least we got to see the ending,” I tell my mother as we slip back inside the car. This time, the show has truly finished. “But I wish we’d seen it from closer!”
It’s funny that among all the times I have watched the annual firework show, that’s the year I remember most vividly.