The bouquets of color burst brightly above them; everyone on the deck of the cabin cruiser was looking up to see the show. It was the Nation's birthday, and like many residents of the Lake, Keith Watson took his family and their friends out to see the show from the boat: he knew just where to navigate to get a stunning view impossible to see from the shore. He sat in the Captain's chair, and watched his dozen guests as they took in the show. All were younger than he was, and he was an old 57. His hair was still dark, pulled back into a ponytail under a baseball cap, and his frame lean, but his legs weren't what they used to be, the result of an old war wound. A walker rested in the cabin below that usually propelled him around his little world.
The fireworks continued their show; the faint music of the 1812 Overture sounded from the amphitheater next to downtown. Many boats dotted the water, with many colored running lights, and dark figures lounged on their decks, serenading each other with a succession of beer tabs. It was hot and humid on this Missouri evening, a night where one's clothes stuck and the air was almost too heavy to breathe. On the water was better; breezes moderated the heat.
His daughter Sandy turned and looked at him: "You all right, Pop?"
"Fine, Sandy. You need another beer?"
"Yeah, Dad."
He pulled a Bud from the cooler beside him and tossed it over. "There ya go, kiddo."
"Thanks, Dad. You sure you're feeling, OK?"
"Nothing wrong that ain't usually wrong."
"All right. You tell me if you're feeling bad."
"Thanks, honey. Enjoy the show." Keith turned to look around the deck: most of the passengers were his grandchildren and their friends. All were wearing as little as reasonable, usually t-shirts and shorts, almost all had a cigarette in one hand and a can in the other.
His son-in-law Mike was at the stern next to the anchor. "How's it goin', Dad?"
"Fine, Mike. Thanks for askin' You need another beer?"
"Not yet. Still nursing this'un."
"Okay."
One girl was sitting away from the rest in the corner, her head down, her long bottle blond hair illuminated in flashes from the bursts, barely watching the show. She was so close he could reach out and touch her, but she was lost in her own little world. He turned toward her and said quietly. "You all right, kiddo?"
She glanced up unsure that he was speaking to her. "Yes," came the feeble reply.
"What's your name?"
"Kammie. Kammie Smith."
"Who're ya here with?"
"Stacey and Erin." Stacy and Erin were his twin granddaughters, freshly graduated from High School. They were taking turns flirting with a tall boy wearing only long shorts; as much as they could without attracting their parents' notice.
"How come you're over there?' Keith continuted. "The show's better out by the rail."
There was a sob, and a deep breath. "My boyfriend ran away last week."
"Oh?"
"Yeah. Stacy said he took up with a Mexican girl who's gonna take 'im home to Mexico. Took all his savings with 'im; said he's gonna live like a king down there."
"I'm sorry, Kammie. Maybe he'll come t' his senses."
"No, he won't," she wailed as another burst went off overhead. "He said I rode his ass too hard 'bout gettin' a job and making money so's we could have kids and stuff. I told 'im he could join the Army and have it made, and he said I wanted his ass dead in Iraq. Called me a stupid platinum blonde bitch. Slapped my face a few times and walked away two weeks ago."
Keith took a swig from his beer. "He's not good enough fer ya."
A fresh set of sobs accompanied the next display above. "I'm never gonna get 'nother boyfriend, I know it."
"Why d'ya say that, Kammie?"
She looked at him with full eyes. "Cause my tits're too small and my ass's too skinny. I'm justa frickin' washboard with bee stings, that's what Daddy said. Jeff's new girl's got huge tits and a big butt, and long black hair."
"Stand up, Kammie, let me look at ya." She stood up wearing a blue jean skirt and a red tube top. A short girl, just over five feet tall, with short blonde hair and perfectly proportioned breasts and hips for her size. "Ya look fine to me."
"Really? You're just bein' nice."
"No, Kammie, you look. . .lovely. I seen a lotta girls, and you're in the ballpark. You'll get a boy."
"Haven't had 'nother boy since I was in junior high. Jeff's the only one who ever wanted me."
He patted her shoulder. "Ya got lots o' time, 'n no problem takin' it. Don't worry, kiddo."
"Thanks," she sniffled. "You're a nice man."
He buzzed his lips and another burst went overhead. The other guests were chatting, drinking and smoking as the show when on; the Stars and Stripes Forever began in the distance while the Grand Finale went skyward. There was a buzz from across the water as people in other boats oohed and aahed at the display. It was one salvo after another, building to a grand climax as Sousa's famous piccolo part cut through the brass and the percussion to tease their ears.
It was a cavalcade of reds, blues, yellows and greens, bursting in every direction and every pattern one after the other in close succession. The boats on the lake were almost close enough to touch each other; it seemed the crowd went from one bank across the water in an unbroken chain to the other shore. Keith was sure if his legs were better, he could walk from one side to the other.
The finale was greeted with applause and boat horns that rang up and down the lake. On the bluffs, a procession of headlights prepared to move outward, while the flotilla throttled up to sail home. "Do you want to haul anchor, Dad?" Mike called from below.
"Not yet, Mike," Keith replied. "Let's let the drunks git a head start."
"Okay."
"Have another beer." The kids on deck greeted the suggestion with a cheer, and the tanned boy wearing nothing but long shorts who was flirting with the twins stood on the rail to urinate outward.
Sandy snipped: "What th' Hell are you doing, Shane?"
"Takin' a leak, Ms. B."
"Do you have t'do that here, now?"
"Yeah, I gotta do it now and I guess you don't wan' me to piss in the boat."
The girls groaned and the boys laughed, but nobody imitated Shane. He finished and hopped down to crack another beer. "Who's Shane here with?" Kammie whispered. "I think he's with Stacey's boyfriend. Maybe his brother."
"He's a jerk."
"Yeah."
"He's goin' to Iraq next month," Sandy said matter-of-factly from her spot.
"Good for him," Keith said quietly.
"Whaddaya mean 'Good for him'?" Stacey burst in from the deck, glaring at him. "He's gonna risk his life for our country. Sure, he's an idiot, but he deserves some respect, Grandpa."
"I respect him," Keith replied.
Shane came up, shook his finger in the old man's face and said. "Look Mister, I'm gonna be keepin' your ass safe in Baghdad in a coupla months, so I don't give a shit what you think. If you don' like what I'm doin', then FUUUCK YOU."
A quick motion, almost imperceptible, made Shane bend over double, holding his groin. "I did two years in Vietnam before you were born," Keith replied firmly. "I kept your Grandaddy's ass safe so he could go home and make your Daddy, who could get drunk on his ass one Saturday night and make you. And my Daddy landed on Omaha Beach. So don't chew me a new asshole yet, dipstick."
Shane shook his head, trying to clear it. "You were in 'Nam?" he asked tentatively.
Keith nodded. "And Cambodia. Spent a lot of nights in the jungle, wondering if Charlie was gonna come cut my throat while I was asleep, or gun down my buddies in an ambush the next day before we knew what was happening. We kept America safe on short rations, fucking stupid officers, a President without balls, five million mosquitoes, and a constant case of the shits. When I got home, people spit on me when I got off the plane, and cussed me out 'cause I lost my war. When you come back from Baghdad, little boy, tell me how bad you had it and how big your dick is grown and how important you are. IF you manage to survive Basic Training and make it there in the first place. In the meantime, if you don't behave, I'm gonna throw your ass off this boat here and now even though I am a cripple, little boy."
Shane nodded and waddled over to sit down as far away as he could. Sandy walked forward, giving him a stern look and a shake of her head, while the others looked away awkwardly. "Dad, you went too far," she said. "You don't know even who his grandfather is."
"I do. Greg Harrison. Good man, saved my butt a couple times in Saigon in a back alley and I saved his three times in the jungle. Died too soon after he came home. Shane looks just like him, only Greg wus a lot smarter."
Mike hauled the anchor, and Keith awakened the engine. He guided the cruiser deftly through drunken traffic to the landing near downtown, where the party boarded. Sandy went back to her spot in the middle of the deck, and Kammie sat in her corner looking at Keith, while the others gradually melted their silence with scattered observations.
While they made the journey, Kammie stood up to whisper in Keith's ear: "Can I come back and talk with you a while? Later? When everybody else's gone?"
"Aren't you riding with Stacey?"
"No, I met 'em at the landing downtown. Let me get off and tell 'em I'm goin' somewhere else, and I'll come back."
"Okay."
They reached the landing, and the most of the passengers got off without a word to the Captain. Mike came over to shake his hand and look at him quizzically, but disembarked after a simple 'Good night.' Sandy came over and looked deep into her father's eyes: "Do ya wanna come over t' our house tonight, Dad? The girls are at a slumber party, and Frankie will be in by noon."
"No thanks, Sandra Jean. Need to be alone tonight. I'll catch up with Frankie before he goes back over."
"If you say so, Dad. You got your cell phone with you?"
"Shit yes, Sandy. Leave me alone."
"All right. G'night, Dad."
He sat watching the crowd thin as people wandered away from the shoreline. There were a couple of bars downtown that were increasing in patronage exponentially, and their music started leaking to the dock. Keith's buddy Harold Kerns wandered over, giving him a friendly wave before resting on his leg propped on a support. "Hey, Keith. Goin' to the Legion later?"
Keith smiled grimly at his friend, tipping his cap. "Not tonight, Harry. Arthur's givin' me too much trouble. Need to take my pills and lie down a while. Don't even think I'll get off the boat."
"Hey, I'll buy you a coupla rounds of medicine, Keith. C'mon. You need a night out. It's been too long."
"No thanks. Drink one for me."
"Sure, sure. Great show tonight, wasn't it?"
"Best ever. How's your missus?"
"Fran's fine. Been running crazy with all the kids and grandkids down. How's Sandy?"
"Goin' nuts getting her kids off to school and seeing her boy back from Iraq for a couple of weeks."
