fireworks

and the inevitable feeling of guilt

I went to a festival with my boyfriend and his family. It’s something that our little town throws every year. They have vendors selling crafts, food trucks, bouncy houses, and fireworks at the end of it all. I had a nice time with them and with him. At the end of the day, we walked to where the fireworks were being shot off, put our chairs and blankets down, and waited with the other hundreds of townspeople.

My boyfriend and I held hands the entire time. They had music playing while the fireworks were going off, which I did not like. It was loud, ‘proud to be an American’ music. I’d rather look at the fireworks in silence, or to softer, Phoebe Bridgers type of music, but maybe that’s just me.

I looked at the fireworks, ignored the loud music as best I could, and was not hyperaware of my boyfriend’s hand in mine. I think when you first start dating someone, at least for me, every touch between us is like fire to my skin, in a good way. Over time, the fire softens, and it’s warm.

Anyway, there I was, sitting in my lawn chair, holding hands, staring at the fireworks, feeling happy and content with my life.

And then I remembered my mother.

The first time (or one of the first times, I don’t exactly recall) I went to the town festival with my boyfriend, we watched the fireworks with my mom. My sister and brother were around somewhere, but they were with friends. We had a blanket, and when the fireworks started, by boyfriend laid down, but I stayed sitting up. After a while, my neck hurt from looking up, so I laid down too, and it was more comfortable.

We didn’t hold hands. We barely acknowledged each other. We just enjoyed the fireworks together. I was hyperaware of his proximity to me though. I wanted to hold his hand. I didn’t know how it would make my mom feel though, so I didn’t.

I had a nice time. The fireworks were nice, and I could be as close to myself around my boyfriend and my mother as I ever could. And then we had to walk home. I should’ve known that something was wrong. I was too happy, too sure that everything was okay. My mother was quiet though. She is not a quiet person. I am a quiet person. She is a talker. She’ll talk for hours about everything and nothing. But that night, she was quiet.

I chalk it up to me being distracted. My boyfriend was around, and I had a good night. My boyfriend’s house was before mine, so he left first. My mom and I had another ten-ish minutes of a walk before we got to our house. It was enough time. She scolded me, telling me that I embarrassed her.

She said “What will people think of me as a mother? Letting her daughter lay down next to her boyfriend while I am right there?”

I didn’t understand. I still don’t. We weren’t doing anything. We were in a public setting, with her, watching fireworks. And it was dark, so no one could really see us. I got home and felt bad about myself. I felt bad for embarrassing her. I felt bad for feeling bad. I cried. I wanted to hide away for days.

At the festival, in my lawn chair with my boyfriend’s hand in mine, I was in that memory for a minute or two. That bad, guilty feeling crept into my chest, and for that minute or two, I was a kid again, wanting to hide away for days just to recover from the mess I supposedly made.

And then the minute or two passed. I don’t want to let my mother hurt my feelings anymore. So, I put her out of my mind and have been processing that event for the last few days.

Every day, it gets easier. And, every day, I feel better about myself and my decision to go no contact with her. It gets easier, but sometimes, it is really really hard.

My favorite fireworks are the ones that explode into gold and streak across the sky like falling stars.