A story about how, on the most American of holidays, things didn't go as planned, but something irreparable happened.
In the morning, McDonald's was packed; our customers' clothes were dotted with details in the colors of the national flag, and all of them were eclipsed by my boss—a cheerful but very serious-looking 60-year-old man wearing a wide stars-and-stripes tie. I was given a task that, as a journalist, I couldn't have wished for better on such a day: cleaning the dining area. While walking between tables, sweeping, and mopping, I listened to what people were saying: have a great holiday breakfast, have a wonderful day. In general, Americans don't really congratulate each other like we do with "Happy upcoming holiday" two weeks in advance; for many, it's just a day off painted in national colors. But undoubtedly, it is also the main holiday for patriots, and the DJ's words on the radio sounded like an Oscar winner's speech: we congratulate our moms and dads, grandmas and grandpas, brothers and sisters, sons and daughters—and also dogs and canaries—on such a great event. The words "barbecue" and "fireworks" were heard in the hall several times. And while everything is clear with barbecue—no event or even a weekend in the USA is complete without it—fireworks are a special matter. It seems to me like the arrival of the diesel train in the movie "Nameless Star".
Last year, I saw the same thing during Labor Day weekend at the end of September. In principle, all American holidays in small towns are more or less similar, just as the towns themselves are similar in their main features. It is an EVENT. The mundane, narrow-gauge life of an American, concentrated within the framework of work, their neighborhood, and personal incidents, suddenly breaks open to the scale of the city. Something common and big appears; and besides, it's a wonderful and official excuse to see all those who passed by on parallel avenues and roads, whom you greeted on the run, whom you talked about and gossiped about in the evenings with your family, making guesses based on rumors but not knowing for sure. And then the holiday comes. It's time to show off new boyfriends and girlfriends, to tell stories about changes and achievements at work. People come here alone, but more often in families, stopping when they see acquaintances to share the latest news. After this, the town will be buzzing for a while; when meeting, people will retell what they heard from different sources and say: Nick changed jobs and now lives in another city, but they say he doesn't like it there, but he's holding on because the salary is worth it; or - Sam got pregnant, I saw her on Independence Day, alone, without Jacob: they say they are fighting a lot and are unlikely to stay together until the baby is born.
All this is what is called "fireworks".
We were climbing the hill along Portland Street, which was closed to cars for the day. Dozens of people were walking along our street and parallel ones, dragging umbrellas, folding chairs, and children. At first, there were ordinary houses decorated with flags in every way; but the higher we went, the more the view of the ocean opened up, and at the very top, an incredible view of the bay with sleeping sailboats awaited us. Since 1812-14, when the British army landed in Maine, forts have remained. The weather was appropriate, like before a battle: heavy, endless clouds covering the entire sky, the kind they paint on battle canvases.
It was because of these clouds that everything happened. Or rather, the opposite—it didn't happen. People suddenly started moving towards us, carrying the same chairs and children in the opposite direction. To our questions, they replied that the fireworks were canceled due to bad weather and everyone was asked to leave the hill due to an approaching thunderstorm.
It arrived quite soon, catching us in the pedestrian flow on the city streets. The friends who brought us were far away, and while waiting for them, we ran into a cafe.
Portland is the city of my dreams. I haven't seen it properly yet and still can't explain why: because of what monuments and bridges time stands still for me here. But in it, I just feel that there is nowhere else I need to go. I think everyone has such a place that is accepted by you completely, with every little corner and turn of the road. I am happy for those who have found such a place, and even more so for those who don't even need to look: whose inner world enters into absolute harmony with the city or village where they were born. But I am also happy with all my heart for those who are searching, because I know what kind of meeting awaits them one day. I am currently at its very beginning, at the wonderful stage of getting to know each other, and believe me, it's good.
We sat under an awning near a cafe that smelled of pizza and coffee. The girls were eating something that Americans probably consider Italian; that fresh bread with cheese and something else really had a hot, incredible smell. All this time, a heavy, endless rain was pouring. Sometimes it blew under the awning, so I got all wet, but it didn't matter at all. I was in a city I had fallen terribly in love with for some unknown reason, and I watched how the cafe fence grilles got wet and shone in the dark, how car headlights illuminated the slanted streams of water, and how people appeared from the shadows under the streetlights, not hurrying at all to hide from the rain.
...Last year in Texas, fireworks were canceled due to drought and fire danger. This year—due to a downpour. But for the second year in a row, Independence Day leaves unique impressions. The main thing is that an irreparable thing happens—you suddenly start to get imbued with this holiday. Already in the morning, wiping tables for those who came to celebrate their country's birthday, I felt a movement of the soul that people born here call patriotism. Don't ask how this can be, especially considering that the longing for Russia hasn't gone anywhere. But before you ask, try to think—and I with you—what a country must be like to give such a feeling in a short time.
