So, did everyone have a nice weekend? Did you go see some fireworks? I did. It was lovely. We walked from DS & DIL's apartment down to the Fox River Trail and found a spot right there where we could see them. It drizzled a bit but we stuck it out and oohed and ahhed along with the rest of the diehards. I love fireworks. Did you eat traditional 4th of July fare? Not us, Durwood fixed chicken gizzards in the crock pot and a kohlrabi and carrot casserole that was...interesting. I suspect it would have been tastier in its full-fat form, but "fit & healthy," remember? Despite a lack of weight loss lately I'm sticking with my goal to get fit and healthy. Hey, at least I haven't gained weight, that's an accomplishment right there.
July 3&4--Manhattan, New York. It was hard waiting until 9:45 but Jane found the strength to be patient when her goal was so near. The last four years had been nearly unbearable but all that would change in the few minutes after that magic time. Please God, she thought, don't let them start late. When dark clouds rolled over the city in the late afternoon she had nearly cried, but she was done crying. Now was the time for action. Her preparations had been careful, seamless, and no drizzle was going to interrupt them. She had been sure to have plenty of Roger's favorite beer on ice and she had made steak on the grill out on the balcony with friend potatoes made in his beloved mother's cast iron skillet. "Good," he had burped as he stuffed the last bite into his mouth and dropped his fork with a clatter. She saw a little shard of the plate chip off and fly into the salad bowl but said nothing. He didn't see it, his head was tipped back, the better to empty his eighth beer. He went back to his recliner, picking another beer out of the fridge on his way, and settled in to watch the fireworks. Jane cleared the table, scraped the scraps into the trash, and loaded the dishwasher. She left the bag of trash by the back door untied and ready. From the television came the sounds of patriotic music and a reporter interviewing families. She peeked at the screen as she went through the room to the bedroom. Everything was going as planned, the TV cameras were right in the park across the street with a view of the barge in the river where the fireworks would launch. The smooth voice of the reporter told her that she had less than three minutes to wait. Perfect. She changed into her loudest print blouse and put on latex gloves. She pulled the shiny chrome pistol out of her underwear drawer and quietly jacked the slide. Jane heard the foomph of the first shell being launched not one-hundred yards from where she stood and squared her shoulders. On legs that were sure and unshaking she walked into the living room behind Roger in his chair. She listened for the sound of the next shell igniting, counted to six, and at the moment the exploding firework shook the pictures on the walls, she gently touched the barrel of the gun to the top of his head and pulled the trigger. She was calm and unblinking as she watched Roger's brains spew out his mouth and land in his lap, then she turned toward the kitchen, peeling off the gloves as she went and making sure they wrapped around the gun. She put it in the trash bag and tied the top. Taking a moment to wipe off her arms with the bleach-soaked rag she had prepared, she picked up her key and the bag. After a stop at the dumpster she made sure to be in the crowd talking to neighbors and the young reporter in her very memorable shirt before the echoes of the blast had faded.
Whoa, guess we don't want to piss Jane off! Sorry, Roger. What a crap day.