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That night by the fireworks will always be remembered as a giddy tidal-wave, where a decade of my past came rushing back, throwing itself at me after years of seclusion.
But I came for nostalgia. To at least be reassured that the memories were genuine, and that I could replay them like the grizzled jazz enthusiast who brushes off the dust from his turntable and listens to old Nat King Cole vinyl from the golden days.
The night was climaxing in its own annual way. After an avalanche of people where faces can be equated to passing snow flakes, the night sky was exploding with light, fire blooming above our heads. The large contingent of friends trickled down, and when we settled down to wonder what would happen if fireworks spewed forth food from the heavens, it was just the few of us.
I turned and told you that if you covered your ears like a child ignoring an annoying sibling, you could feel the violent bangs reverberate in your chest.
You tried it, but gave a disapproving frown.
Upset, you told me you were afraid that the vibrations might cause your heart to explode and that the sparks would shoot from your lips like a Roman candle.
I looked at you. The vibrant flak went silent. You smiled.
Very suddenly, you were twelve again. And you took my hand for the first time.
It was then that I realized that time had never changed you.
That is how I want to remember you. As the innocent child you symbolize and the ideal that you embody: That growing up is overrated.
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I’m afraid I don’t understand what you’re getting at in this piece.
You open with the phrase “four years of my life’s past came rushing back”—is your narrator the same chronological age as you? Can’t tell by this, but assumed the narrator was an adult. If narrator and object of his affection are both 16, and four years ago he/she was twelve, well, I guess that would be at least a connection to the opening line. But still, the fireworks scene proceeds without addressing/resolving the two issues you bring up in the first line: the four years, the year of seclusion.
Your last line is a nice one, you should definitely keep that.
It’s lovely, both reminscent and forward thinking.
The rhythms in your prose are fluid, very nice, moving with an ebb and flow that keeps time with meanings.
Has a nice edge, too. Look but don’t tough.
PS> growing up IS overrated.
I liked this a lot. Very well written, in my opinion. The story is short, simple, but gets right to the point. I definately agree with you when you say growing up is overrated. Everyone should be able to choose if they would like to stay a kid forever… but of course that’s impossible. Anyway, well done. Keep writing =]
I hate to say this, but it’s really hard for me to believe that a 15 year old wrote this. So much for that.
The first paragraph is a little difficult to understand and needs a little clarification. The rest at times almost reads like a prose poem. At times excellent. Your sentence about the “grizzled jazz enthusiast who brushes off the dust from his tape deck” is exceptional.
If you are truly 15, you have an extraordinary future in store. And, of course, if you are 15, your sentence “I realized that time had never changed you” is absurd. Naturally we grow by leaps and bounds during puberty. But between 12 and 15? Come on now. Or the line “large contingent of friends bonded by time trickled down” Time? between 12 and 15? I don’t know. Over my years I might have lost my ability to understand some of the anguish of youth, but I don’t think so. Perhaps, for the sake of review, we need to forget that the age you’ve listed. But that’s difficult. If we can, and if we can assume that it’s not four years that have past, but a lifetime, the piece becomes much more meaningful. I wish I hadn’t seen that “age of the creator” part. Because, in truth, the piece is very very good.
Overall, a nice piece of writing. The narration, though sparse, flows pretty well. One problem I had with the piece is that there is little detail as to who the object of the story is. He/she is only addressed as “you.” The reader is given no description of the person’s age, relationship to the narrator, character, etc. Also, “The friends bonded through our souls.” is an incomplete sentence.
You have a unique raw talent for descriptive writing. Your use of words shows true flair and imagination. A delight to read.
I loved ‘after an avalance of people…..
You have something outside of the mundane, the simplicity to of returning to a child-like mental state is a dream we all long for. I think you will delight the readers here.
I love the nostalgia. Some sentence structure needs to be fixed. The feeling and the ending are very good. It touches the heart. Thank you.
“The large contingent of friends bonded by time trickled, and when we settled down to wonder what would happen if fireworks spewed for food from the heavens, it was just us.”—Missing a word, perhaps? “The large contingent…trickled,” where? They trickled away over the sand, into the sidewalk? Where did the people go?
The use of specific details work well to support the abstract ideas in this piece: “But I came for nostalgia. To at least be reassured that the memories were genuine, and that I could replay them like the grizzled jazz enthusiast who brushes off the dust from his tape deck and listens to old Nat King Cole cassettes from the golden days.”
However in places, like the sentence quoted at the beginning of this review, it seems like the poetics of the piece over-reaches itself.
i really enjoyed the almost happy requiem that this shows, and agreed wholeheartedly with your conclusion. the sentimentality of realising that they had not been negatively affected by time can sometimes be patronising and trite, but here it felt natural; apt to the situation and the voice of the author.
i loved the line ‘fire blooming above our heads’ in relation to the fireworks; fantastic imagery, that keeps the childlike innocence of viewing the world.
A lovely and heartfelt piece, which did, indeed, touch me.
Just a few small quibbles, though:
This may profess my own ignorance more than anything, but – is Nat King Cole considered a Jazz singer? I tend to think of him more along “Pop” lines.
This line: ”...few of us. The friends bonded through our souls.” Might be better served if written ”...few of us: friends bonded through our souls.”
Other than that, not much to change, that I can see. So, do with this advice as you will.
One last thing: I agree, Growing up is overrated.
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