Near midnight, the sky filled with brilliant colors, blooming among the stars, exploding into mushroom-shaped lights, bursting and filling the sky. Halfway through the display I watched Tacoma across from me. He had one leg propped over the other, neck arched, eyes glued to the colorful night. I couldn’t think of anyone more handsome, charming, and monumental in my life; a sex symbol of sorts. Mine for the summer. Found and mine. A prize.
Tacoma sipped his daiquiri, immersed in the fireworks. Fiery reds, canary yellows, butterfly blues, and sunny yellows filled the heavens. Explosions of fireworks went boom!…boom!…boom!…for twenty minutes or more.
Before the finale he turned to me and said, “It’s beautiful. One of the most amazing displays I have seen.”
“Yes,” I responded, speaking of him rather than the fireworks display. “Beautiful indeed. I wish they were here all year round. Something to have and enjoy every day.”
* * * *
We became drunk and silly that night on the balcony.