The Side Effects of Endorphins

I stepped in to my front yard and happened into a conversation that lasted all day. I told my neighbor my reservations about fireworks. I suggested to him, quoting Emma Goldman Patriotism is a menace to liberty.”   He told me, those who do not like fireworks are the work of the devil. He is the patriotic simpleton down the street, and it is that time of year that he loves. I am the sardonic technical worker who does not like fireworks. Kim is old school Seattle, and I am the one who took over his native land. It is the season of backyard pyrotechnics and hot dog devouring contests. I pulled out a plastic lounge chair and listened, hoping to understand what made this holiday so appealing. He offered me a beer, and I politely declined. It was still early morning. I may have to rethink that as my back was sticking to the plastic chair already. It was going to be a long day.

Kim told me this and I am hyperbolically paraphrasing. Yes, I wake up early on this holiday and I go to my cooler and read that blue label on the can. If if turns blue, it says I am cold enough to drink. It is so cool how they put that thing on the can because I never knew when it would be cold enough to drink. Warm beer is against the American spirit. Devil worshippers drink warm beer; it has been scientifically proven. We drink our beer cold. Right now, I am four cans of Coors into the day and feeling surprisingly good. I am ready to set off some fireworks

Look, the cool people down, the street got a new puppy. I really like dogs; they are so darn cute. I have Sparky out on the chain in the backyard for some reason he does not love this holiday but fuck him. Today is my day. Excuse me a minute while I get another can of beer.

Looks like the county made fireworks illegal this year. I have two choice words for them. God bless America. I am going to do it anyway.

The neighbor Johnny dropped a cigarette last night and nearly lit his backyard on fire. I wish that idiot would be a little safer around where he puts out a cigarette. He really should not be smoking; he is too fat to be wearing what he wears. Oops, I finished my beer already. I better put some more in the cooler.

Bam -A blast echoes and it startles me.

Holy Christ’s sake I did not realize that would go off like that. Shit that’s gonna hurt. Might be a clever idea to start smoking. I will cool it for a couple of hours. I will get me a few more beers and just wait till it is a little closer to dark.

“Hey there Mr. Peterson” he says to the man wearing his military uniform from back in the day. He tells me Peterson is a little weird. He gets all strange when he hears a loud noise. That must be tough. “Thank you for your service, Sir. You are a true patriot.” I wave knowingly.

But I love this holiday. And now my hand it is bleeding. I should go to the doctor. I forgot I do not have a doctor. Screw it.

The devil on my shoulder wants me to argue. I ignore it.

And then my neighbor comes running and screaming down the street. Initially I thought he was out of beer.

And then he gives me the finger or quite possibly the lack of a finger. Fireworks in the hands of drunk people do not always explode when expected.

There was no question in my mind I had to get him to the emergency room. We beat the crowd by an hour or two. That is what we do for our neighbors. To this day he hates when I call him Stumpy.

Lessons learned

This is a work of fiction with a foot hole in the truth. Even though this person was not an ideal neighbor he was still somebody I interacted with. We talked and we communicate communicated and that’s part of being a neighbor. Since I and I’ve had neighbors, I go running with who I cook with who I drink beer with, and we have a real bond in friendship. In retrospect, their friends that just happen to live close by.

About 10 years ago, we made the move from Portland out to the suburbs I was skeptical, but the suburbs aren’t bad and it came with a great set of neighbors.

That’s not bad.