The dark of the night takes over as busy feet run around.  Calm slow steps carry across the field as parents look for open spots amidst the itchy grass. Little hands wave around glow sticks until one or two explode, designing bursts of neon light. Children complain because their cautious parents took them away. Red, white and blue span the field and the lake, crowded with full boats carrying young adults with their coolers full of alcohol. Their laughs and cheery conversations carry across the water and onto the shore where the teenagers hang around in their tight revealing outfits. The children wait for the first crackle of lights to ignite in the sky, the exhausted mothers wait for the show to be over so that they can drag their children home, the young adults wait for the drinks to be taken out of coolers, and the teenagers wait for their crushes to approach them.

     In the midst of the crowd of cheerful people a widow sits, her mind flooding with memories of herself and her late husband. The husband that fought for the freedom of these people. The people that run around on this meaningful night without considering the importance of it. The people there for the show and the social occasion. Those who rarely spend a moment thinking about people like her husband who have risked their lives for them to have nights like these. Her heart sinks as she watches the fireworks soar overhead.