Nana described first seeing Papa at the town’s Independence Day celebration as he held a lit Roman candle shooting bursts of color into the night sky.
“He had these dark curls that just shined every time something was set off,” she used to say, “and every different color that went up in the air lit up a different color in those hazel eyes.”
Seventy-two years to the day of that first meeting, we huddled around Nana’s ICU bed with the TV on the Capitol’s Fourth of July celebration. Beeping machines struggled to keep up with the thundering percussion and booming fireworks, but Nana’s eyes glistened with reflections of red, white, and blue. I knew she saw him — standing in the middle of the road, Roman candle in hand, mischievous grin on his face.
When the TV spectacle finished, she closed her eyes and went to meet him once more.
Editing a flash fiction piece to 100 words is hard. I started out with about 230 and cut it down to about 150. Perhaps as more time passes I can do more with it.
Luckily, Friday Fictioneers doesn’t find fault with entries that are shorter or longer than 100 words. 🙂