Born in the U.S.A.: The Sequel

This is the sequel to the Independence Day Special “Born In the U.S.A.. You can find that by clicking right here!

It was later in the day now and after endless bouts of going inside and outside to back inside I had officially had enough of the mosquitoes. I could already pass as someone with chicken pox and I was beginning to worry if I would have any blood left after this incessant holiday. I rejoined my allies at the kitchen windows.

We were like spectators at a zoo watching the children swim in the water.

Earlier before our journey into the outdoors, our scantily clad guests had wandered upstairs to change and we each gave each-other a look that, in-turn, assured us that our thoughts were in the same place. After noticing how the girl seems to walk on her tip toes, someone suggested that if she had relaxed on her feet, the shear force of how high her shorts were pulled would either A.) rupture her clitoris and create an elevator-from-the-Shining-esque mess of blood or B.) split her in half altogether. Either way, I would be stuck cleaning it up and it would be icing on the patriot cake on my least favorite day of the year.

We heard them escape out the side door and shook our heads. Yep, Chris Hansen’s spidey-sense was definitely going off right now. What little bathing suit she had on seemed to want to strangle her at every possible point.

“You think her butt is hurting right now?”

Just as someone said it she reached back and pulled it up higher.

“OH NO! I told you she had no feeling anymore!”

What was she flossing there? The other girl was escorted by her older brother, a junior in high school. He was painfully flexing as he walked. He seemed constipated and in dire need of fiber and a strong box of laxatives.

“And look at that, what is he doing?”

“Probably trying to hide a boner.”

“’My pectorals are just too heavy for my spine to support. I live at full throttle.’”

They dove in the bay and after our dance with nature there we were, at the kitchen window. A window for each person. I think the erection comment had been true because for as long as that girl was in there, none of the preteen boys got above waist deep and seemed like they weren’t going to move for anything. Jaws could attack right now and still there was no way they were leaving the security of the opaque water.

I wandered outside to get a drink from the cooler.

“Look at you! You’re soooo J. Crew!”

I turned around to find the source of the comment. My eyes met the glazed over stare of a Botox’d nightmare. Her eyes looked like they had been run over with laminate. What was she looking at?

Oh God, It’s me.

“Thanks.”

She continued to stare at me with a Cheshire grin until a wet dog brushed up against her leg.

“Yucko!” She slapped at the droplets of salt water as if they could feel pain, leaving red marks on her skin. Her sleeveless tennis-dress was a pristine white. Almost too white. It was an odd thing to see on someone who came to a barbeque. It matched her bleached hair and wild whites of her eyes. Her stare felt cold underneath and chilled me even though I stood in the light of the summer sun.

Yucko?

Was she a villain in a Molly Ringwald movie? Was blood going to fall on my prom dress from above? She still smiled a smile too wide and too white. Her whole picture was too clean. Uncomfortably clean with white skin pulled too tight on her face. Everything about her could be described with “too” and there she was staring right into my very soul as if it was polishing time at Madame Tassaud’s House of Wax.

I slowly walked away but she retained eye contact.

What in the hell? Is anyone else seeing this? Is… is she in my head? Hello?

Those around her were too into their own conversation to notice Beelzebub trying to steal my life force with her eyes. I shut the screen door and then went into the kitchen, finally putting a barrier between us. I felt my body begin to thaw and took a sip of my drink.

A few short hours later, my allies had gone to other parties with promises of my own attendance later in the night. I stood on the front porch watching a makeshift game of football as the roll of thunder echoed in the background. Black clouds gathered at the edge of the sky but were quickly consuming it despite my father assuring that it would just miss us.

We decided to begin the fireworks early to avoid the rain. The older boys held council to decide which of the many boxes they would light ablaze first and soon they were lighting things up left and right along the pier and fireworks exploded into the sky. The biggest box we had contained multiple rockets that as they exploded, fell into glittering sparks. We all watched along the hill as the last of the rockets disintegrated into smoke. That’s when we heard it.

“FIRE! HEY, YA’LL HAVE A FIRE ON THE SIDE OF THE HOUSE!”

The Neighbors from across the street were screaming and pointing at a rapidly expanding cloud of smoke coming from the other side of the house. I have never seen my father move so fast in my life when a shortage of fishing tackle or a last little smoky wasn’t involved. He was like a Sasquatch who had just been stung by a bee.

Every person at our party ran towards the source and neighbors were jumping off their porch with fire extinguishers, beers and plastic cups still in everyone’s hands. The trashcans were on fire.

As the trashcans let flare, the bags bursting with hot air, men fought the flames with garden hoses and extinguishers. The smell of refuse and burning plastic filled the air. I looked around in the smoke. There was that woman again, looking right into my soul. I snapped my head around. She had looked amused but I was almost positive that it was from the plastic surgery and the staples in her skull

America is a weird place.

Happy Fourth of July

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