Sparks

I love fireworks.

They're always magical and beautiful and there's something about watching them with a crowd and knowing you're all looking up and oohing and ahhing at the same magical lights that I really enjoy.

I grew up fairly near Vancouver and one summer in high school a couple of girlfriends and I made our way out to the Celebration of Light; a fireworks competition between different countries, and an amazing display and social event.

We felt very grown up, being allowed to head into Vancouver on our own, a combination of driving and public transit, and being part of a crowd of people without parent supervision or having to report in to anyone.

Not only were there amazing fireworks, there were cute guys. Tons and tons of them. And for three high school girls, it was almost more about the boys than it was about the fireworks.

The fireworks are usually spread out over a couple of weeks with a mid-week show and a weekend show with a grand finale and winner announcement thrown in there as well.

I don't remember if it was the first night or the second night we'd gone, but we met a group of cute guys. And when we went back for the next night, we met up with them again. (One of those "we'll meet you here at this time" since no one had cell phones then. You didn't need them. I kind of miss those days.)

I liked one of the guys, but he was shy. My best friend, luckily enough, liked this guy's best friend and at some point I decided to invite them all back to my girlfriend's house as her parents were away and her older sister was probably out too. (I heard it from my friend about this later, I guess I should have run it by her first instead of inviting them back, eh?)

I've never quite figured out why, but somehow I ended up in the backseat making out with this other guy, a friend of one of the guys who'd come along for the ride and the whole time I could smell beer on his breath and what a turnoff it was. (I was a sweet, innocent thing for the longest time, I really was.)

We got back to my friend's house and the drunk make-out guy passed out and I was finally able to sit and talk with my crush, James.

In a lot of ways James was my first real boyfriend. He gave me his jacket the next time we went out to the fireworks and told me I could keep it until I saw him again. (Man oh man my parents did *not* approve of that.) I don't remember if there was kissing with him or if we were both so shy we kept it to holding hands and hugging. I remember him telling me "Te amo" over the phone and asking me if I knew what it meant.

I did.

It was sweet.

I don't remember how or if or when things ended, most likely things fizzled out once school started back up again and my girlfriend and I were no longer able to make the trip out to see them. I'm sure there was a time when I was sad over him, or us. I'd bet there was nights of listening to melancholy music and wishing it had all worked out, basking in the sadness of simple heartbreak, but I don't remember it now. All I know is he was a sweet, sweet boy and terribly cute.

I think my friend stayed together with her guy for a bit longer than I stayed with James, but even to this day we look back fondly on our fireworks romances.

There was something so innocent about seeing someone cute, hanging out with them, seeing them again and from that, becoming a couple. Talking on the phone, looking forward to seeing them again, having something to talk to your best friend about while you slept over, debating if you should call one of them on the red phone she kept by her bed.

Whenever I hear about the Celebration of Lights, I think about James and the sweetness and I smile.

I like fireworks.