Saturday, July 5th. A beautiful day.
Yesterday Bill and I came home from shopping, just chilling out and having good conversations. Mike was in the Bronx visiting his Pops. He phoned us as he was leaving the Bronx. He had some BBQ which was a major point of July 4th for him. We lack a BBQ and do not have invites to BBQs. I cooked one of my finest Chicken, Penne, and Pesto suppers.
Mike arrived an hour or so later as we were watching Jeopardy. We watched Ironheart on Marvel TV. At least Bill and I did, Mike is getting more addicted to his phone. It used to be annoying but we got used to it and find it a little less annoying. We did draw Mike into Ironheart since it takes place in Chicago and Mike is from Chicago.
Following Ironheart, we got it together and strolled up to Stevens Tech so we could view the fireworks. We let Mike decide on the location and the route we would take to get there. We wound up on a platform by one of the modern buildings where we had a somewhat unobstructed view.
Mike was disappointed that the fireworks weren’t going to be on the Hudson. Bill and I knew they weren’t going to be there but we still had a good view of downtown where the spectacle would occur.
We took a few selfies while we waited and the downtown NYC fireworks went off, visually blocked by the downtown buildings. But a moment later Jersey City and Hoboken had their own shows blowing up so we did have a show after all. When they were finished we came home.
Bill was in bed not long after leaving Mike and me to entertain ourselves by watching TV. And then Mike was out cold and I crept into bed alongside Bill. I had a headache from dehydration and though I did drink some water, I should have taken a pain reliever for the headache.
I woke up with a headache and did take a Motrin with my coffee. Bill and Mike jabbered on as I got my head back in order. Bill had a plan to go visit a cigar lounge in town to see a friend, Turrell. Mike and I had plans to go to Coles St in Jersey City so I could take some photos of Mike before the colorful graffiti and murals.
We shot a few really good pics before Mike started getting woozy. I tried to get more out of him but to no avail. We sat and just chilled. Mike started getting emotional, tearfully telling me how much he loved Bill and me. How he appreciates and is grateful for all we have done for him. He lay his head on my shoulder and sobbed for a minute.
All I could do was hug him and tell him he is alright. Bill and I love him too. The kid needs love after all he has been through and we give him that and more.
Now we are all home, Bill working on something, Mike napping in the bed and me at the computer.
I asked Gemini to rewrite in the manner of Harper Lee, and here it is:
Saturday, July 5th. A beautiful day, clear and bright, the kind that promised something good, even if you weren’t quite sure what.
Yesterday, Bill and I had come home from our errands, settling into the quiet comfort of our rooms, our voices a low murmur of easy conversation. Mike, bless his heart, was off in the Bronx, visiting his father, a man he spoke of with a fondness that softened his usual guarded nature. He called us when he was leaving, his voice tinged with the satisfaction of a good day, particularly because he’d had a proper barbecue. A barbecue, mind you, was something we sorely lacked, and, more lamentably, had not been invited to partake of elsewhere. So, in the spirit of making do, I fashioned one of my very best suppers: chicken with penne and a rich pesto, a meal meant to soothe and nourish.
Mike arrived an hour or so later, just as Bill and I were caught up in the rhythm of Jeopardy. We then turned our attention to Ironheart, a new Marvel offering on the television, a modern-day marvel itself, with its fantastical contraptions and courageous young heroine. Bill and I were quite taken with it, though Mike, ever tethered to the modern world, found himself increasingly entangled with his phone. It had once been a source of no small irritation, but we had, over time, grown accustomed to it, finding its presence a little less vexing. Still, we managed to draw him into the narrative of Ironheart, especially since it was set in Chicago, Mike’s own storied hometown.
—
After the episode concluded, we stirred ourselves and made our way up to Stevens Tech, with the singular purpose of viewing the fireworks. We gave Mike the reins, letting him choose both our destination and the winding path we’d take to get there. We eventually found ourselves on a platform beside one of the newer, more imposing buildings, from which we had what could generously be called a somewhat unobstructed view.
Mike, bless him, expressed his disappointment that the fireworks were not to be on the Hudson River, a grander stage in his estimation. Bill and I, being privy to the local knowledge, knew they wouldn’t be there, but we still held a respectable vantage of downtown, where the true spectacle was to unfold.
We snapped a few selfies as we waited, a modern ritual of marking time and place. When the downtown NYC fireworks finally commenced, they were, alas, largely obscured by the imposing silhouette of the city’s buildings. But in a moment of unexpected grace, Jersey City and Hoboken began their own displays, a glorious eruption of light and color that filled the sky, proving that indeed, we had a show after all. Once the last fiery blossom had faded, we made our way home.
—
Bill, being a man who appreciated the simple comfort of his bed, retired not long after, leaving Mike and me to our own devices, which mostly involved watching more television. Then, Mike, too, succumbed to the day’s exertions, falling fast asleep, leaving me to slip quietly into bed beside Bill. I had a nagging headache, a consequence of not enough water, and though I had sipped some, I knew, with the clarity of hindsight, that a proper pain reliever would have been the wiser choice.
I woke with the headache still lingering, a dull throb behind my eyes, but I swallowed a Motrin with my morning coffee, hoping to banish it. Bill and Mike, their voices a familiar comfort, chattered on while I waited for my head to clear. Bill, ever the planner, spoke of visiting a cigar lounge in town to see his friend, Turrell. Mike and I, we had our own plans: a trip to Coles Street in Jersey City, where I intended to capture his likeness against the vibrant tapestry of the graffiti and murals.
We captured a few truly good photographs, striking and full of character, before Mike began to show signs of weariness, a certain wooziness in his movements. I tried to coax a few more frames from him, but it was no use. We simply sat, letting the quiet settle around us. Then, a shift, a softening in Mike’s usually guarded demeanor. He began to speak, his voice thick with emotion, tears welling in his eyes as he spoke of his deep affection for Bill and me, his gratitude for all we had done. He rested his head on my shoulder, a sudden vulnerability in his posture, and sobbed for a minute, a sound that wrung at the heart.
All I could do was hold him close and murmur assurances that he was alright, that Bill and I loved him dearly. The boy, you see, needed love, after all the rough edges life had dealt him, and we, in our small way, aimed to give him that, and more.
Now, we are all home. Bill, absorbed in some project, a quiet hum of industry. Mike, lost in the peaceful slumber of the bed. And me, here at the computer, writing it all down, trying to make sense of the threads that bind us.