Stumbling around the pitch dark roads of Monhegan is a time-honored tradition. Especially when drunk. As Kisa & my mother made their way across the Court bridge with me lagging behind, I couldn’t help but remember one wine induced crawl home. I was literally on my hands and knees until the soft beam of light from the lighthouse swept across my path. I remember taking that opportunity to stand up and break into a sprint, using the guiding light until I was again plunged in darkness and back on my hands and knees. To see me in that predicament in the harsh light of day would have been hysterical, I’m sure. Would anyone recognize me? The drunk aren’t supposed to remember their less than finest moments, and yet this one stays with me.
But. Back to present day. The husband, the mother and I were making our way to what promised to be an interesting fireworks display. In the thick of fog. Little did we know there would be two different shows and we had unwittingly positioned ourselves between them. C to the left and C to the right. At times the fog cleared enough for spectacular bursts of red, green and gold. Other times the explosions looked like bombs over Baghdad consisting of a strange green glow followed by the crackle of something fizzling out. Small conversations broke out. Kisa met a tee shirt designer from New York City who specialized in quirky, Dead-like creations. Jerry’s face in the moon. The Kids of Monhegan. We were enthralled. Where was I? mom wanted to know. I was thankful for the dark so as not to reveal my embarrassment. I don’t need to be on a shirt I assured no one in particular. It was doubtful we would recognize one another in the daylight. But, I said it anyway.
The next day I woke to being right. We never would run into the conversations we had in the dark.