Our Own Kind of Fourth

The night before the Fourth I picked Boyfriend up from the train station. On the way I bought him yellow tulips on a whim from this little corner market chaperoned by a Muslim woman wearing a purple burka. I held them as I finished my walk to the train station, walking through the city alone, knowing that soon I’d be walking the same streets with him. He'd only been gone four nights (visiting his parents in CT), but already I felt a vast missingness when I crawled into our bed. There was simply too much space in the bed and I didn’t enjoy the luxury of being able to sleep diagonally as much as I thought.

I felt like a nineteenth century lover, standing at the train station with my flowers, looking for my guy expectantly. I was nervous for some reason, maybe as if I thought he wouldn’t come or wouldn’t find him, but two minutes after the train stopped, there he was with his patched up duffel bag, wearing a lopsided smile, running his fingers through his hair, and kissing me on the lips.

The flowers went over well. Very well. We almost couldn’t wait on the cab back into the Village.

For the Fourth, to celebrate our independence, we slept in until noon. We went for another round when we woke up, tangled up in the sheets, and then hit the shower. We walked around our hood, hand in hand, with Dog on his leash, and ate at this little sidewalk café near Spring Street and had sandwiches and beer in the afternoon sun.

Zach called Boyfriend’s cell phone and informed us that there was a completely illegal and beautiful blackjack game going on in Harlem that night. Boyfriend smiled gamely, knowing that I do love me some blackjack, and we accepted the invitation.

After we left the café we hit this tiny bookstore in SoHo and fingered the books there for a while. Dog stayed outside in the front, sitting on his haunches, watching us through the windows. He turned six this year and he’s just so chill and good-natured. It’s hard not to love my doggie.

Once we left the bookstore (Boyfriend bought the new Safron Foer book—we’ll see how it is) we took Dog to the doggie park in Washington Square Park. I watched Dog play with an upper crust standard poodle and some sort of punky lab mutt while Boyfriend started his book and I wrapped my arm around him. He put his head on my shoulder.

After a light dinner at home (nobody really felt like cookin), Boyfriend and I changed into some homeboy-style clothing (I say that with affection, kids) and hopped the subway up to 125th Street where Zach would meet us (probably with some boobalicious girl) and take us to the game.

The card game was like something you’d see in a movie. You come to this shittastic old apartment and knock on this little side door. A little slot opens in the door, some guy looks out, and Zach asks for Isabella. The door opens, we each pay twenty a head, and the game is on. There are twelve tables and an elaborate set-up for an illegal card game, including a bartender and some great casino-style lighting. Lots of different people, lots of different styles, lots of money spread out on tables in thick chunks. Texas Hold ‘Em at one table, five card stud at another, but blackjack at the two back tables.

Count me in.

Boyfriend played, too, which isn’t usually his style. Two minutes after getting there he was up fifty bucks. Zach and his girl played Texas Hold ‘Em at a nearby table and she was up, too, squeezing her cleavage together and cleaning up the boys' money. Boyfriend played it tough and hard at the blackjack table and kept winning and pissed off some of the players who kept losing their own money, so he stood up and watched me lose thirty-five bucks.

Two hours later the four of us were back on the street after a few those bootleg drinks at the card game. We got back into the subway and got off at T Square and walked to the river for the fireworks. Actually, Zach and Girl parted (probably to walk back to his Hell’s Kitchen apt for some nookie) and Boyfriend and I continued on to the river.

Fireworks exploded over the river. Something like twenty thousand aerial shells went up. The fire department does this thing with shooting up red, white, and blue water in 300 ft. arcs. The crowd pressed together, the banging and bursting mapped out across the sky, and I put my hands in the kangaroo pocket at the front of my guy’s hoodie and held his hands.

So many explosions.