By: Lora Wimsatt
You can’t see the Owensboro Symphony Orchestra from here, but you can hear them, and that’s the important thing. You find yourself humming along and wondering if they are going to do “Stars and Stripes Forever” with that trilling little flute part way up high over everything else, or maybe that “1812 Overture” thing with the big cannon sounds. The kids always like that one.
Either way, it’s the best concert of the year, with familiar songs that everyone knows, and it’s cool to look around and see how many people have brought a little American flag and are waving them around in time to the music.
When the orchestra plays “The Star-Spangled Banner,” people start to scramble awkwardly to their feet, rising in waves as the crowd realizes what’s going on, and sometimes people will sing along, and it doesn’t matter at all that you have to change keys when you get to the rocket’s red glare.
In the meantime, there are picnics and blankets and lawn chairs everywhere, and you don’t know whether to be envious or annoyed at the people who brought the big tent and have staked out 10 square feet of prime real estate … more, really, if you count the fact that nobody is sitting behind them because the canopy would block the view of the fireworks.
A few people have real picnic baskets, those nice wicker things with red-and-white plaid fabric linings, but most people just have a box of fried chicken or a bag of burgers. There are coolers everywhere, and you pretend not to notice the violations of city ordinance that are covered up by those foam coozies, but you’re happy with your Pepsi and that’s all that matters.
There are kids running everywhere, some of them dripping wet with slicked-down hair after a romp through the sprinklers. The kids in bathing suits are already shivering as the sun sets, and you hope their parents brought a change of clothes or a blanket or at least a big warm towel, but there are plenty of other kids who got wet in their shorts and T-shirts, and you feel sorry for them because they are in for a long, miserable night. Not to mention their parents and everyone else in the vicinity, who will listen to the whining for the next two-plus hours.
You sense a stirring somewhere behind you, and you turn around to see Mayor Payne weaving his way through the crowd, and you wonder how he ever enjoys any event for all the hands being thrust at him to shake. But maybe that’s the part he enjoys the most – that, and the fact that there is a crowd downtown in the first place.
It’s dark enough now, and suddenly you hear that “thd-phoosh” sound that means the first fireworks have been launched, and you tilt your head back as you follow the glowing streak across the sky until it bursts into an enormous, sparkling blossom of light, brilliant against the night sky.
There is a spontaneous chorus of “Ooh!” and “Aahh!” all around you – plus a few scattered shrieks of terror from some of the younger children, whose parents try frantically to soothe them. You smile with compassionate commiseration, remembering the years of long ago when you watched fireworks with a trembling child in your lap, his head covered with a blanket.
The fireworks display goes on, and you are sure this is the best and prettiest and brightest and most spectacular display you’ve ever seen.
About halfway through the program, the guy next to you insists that his family must gather up their things now so they can leave early to beat the traffic, and you feel sorry for his kids, wondering if they ever get to see the last inning of a baseball game.
You were smart enough to park blocks and blocks away – it’s a nice night, who minds walking? – and you made sure to point your car in the right direction so that once you get it nudged into the flow of traffic, you pretty much have a straight shot toward home without having to navigate too many intersections congested with pedestrians.
But that’s later. This is now, and you clap with delight at the pretty fireworks, trying to decide if your favorite is the one that looks like a waterfall or the one that sparkles as it vanishes.
Nah. Your favorite is the grand finale – when they shoot off everything at once. Everyone is yelling and clapping and cheering, but the noise from the crowd is still drowned out by the big “Boom! Boom! Boom!” explosions.
And then you gather up your stuff and make your way toward your car – walking slowly, so you don’t trip – and you hum “My Country, ’Tis of Thee” all the way home.