The Neighbor Stayed Three Hours

July fourth. Someone's neighbor showed up with a six-pack and ended up taking most of the good photos, which I think is the correct way for a holiday party to go.

I don't have a lot of Fourth of July traditions. I like the idea of fireworks more than the experience of them, the crowd, the waiting, the neck cramp from looking up too long. What I actually like is the part before. The folding table. The foil on the dish nobody touches for the first forty minutes. The moment the string lights come on and everybody exhales a little, because now it looks like a party instead of just people standing in a yard. Simone and I got there early enough to help arrange the table and stayed late enough to be the last two sitting on the porch step. That felt right.

the foil reveal, Simone already knew

There was a point in the evening, I don't know exactly when, somewhere between the third round of someone's playlist and the s'mores that were more marshmallow than anything else, where I thought: this is a good enough day. Not a complicated thought. Just that. The week coming up has a question in it I haven't answered yet, my manager mentioned a part-time supervisor slot opening on my shift, the way you mention something in passing that is actually not in passing at all, and I've been letting that sit without poking it too hard. But on the porch step, red cup, Simone mid-sentence about something that made no sense out of context, that question felt a reasonable distance away. Which is maybe the most a holiday can do.

end of the night, porch step, still not done talking

The neighbor's name was, I think, David. He left before I could confirm. He texted the photos from a number I don't have saved. Genuinely one of the better things to happen this summer so far.