Garden of The Humbled Gods

Things Blow Up

Don pulls his black Lexus LX into the back of a beige strip mall parking lot, where a large red and white striped tent has been set up to sell fireworks. In Tampa, fireworks are a year-round business, but this late on the 4th is when you get the best deals. All over town, people are dropping half a paycheck for a couple hours of blowing shit up. Children frolic in circles with sparklers in their hands, while their older brother's and father's load mortars into tubes and launch them high into the sky, where they burst into flowers that twinkle and dissipate into nothingness. Many of the city's PTSD affected veterans spend the day hiding in the dark, freebasing to get their heads right and escape the explosions. The blond kid from the soccer field lights a quarter stick of dynamite and chucks it down the street. Even though they are illegal— these miniature hand grenades are readily available. "I got them from a kid in my econ class."

Breaking federal law is a light-hearted rite of passage for boys in this country. Opening his wallet, Don hands Braxton three crisp 100 dollar bills, "Get whatever you want, just make sure you get some fountains and roman candles for your sister."

"For sure, thanks, dad."

Conner and Braxton hop out of the SUV and head into the tent. All of the best fireworks have patriotic names like Screaming Eagle, America's Glory, Home of The Brave, and United We Stand. As if the act of celebrating our nation is battle against tyranny. Conner picks up a box of mortars that has a picture of the Statue of Liberty on it— it's called American Sniper, "What about this one?"

Braxton grabs a few fountains for Bailey, "Yeah, grab it."

Tyshawn, D'Andre walk in through the far side of the tent with their SuperCenter work polos slung over their shoulders. They know the kid behind the register, giving him a quick nod and a dap, they get the go-ahead to pocket a few boxes of M-100's and a couple other small items.

Braxton watches it all go down, and it pisses him off, "You see this shit? Fucking assholes think they can take whatever they want."

Conner is busy reading the back of a 40-shot finale cake named American Defender. He looks up in time to see Tyshawn slide a couple grosses of whistlers into his backpack, "Yeah, it's bullshit."

"Fucking D'Andre thinks he can do whatever he wants."

"I mean, he can. The kid is a legend."

"Still a monkey, though."

"Yeah, but he's going to be a rich one."

"Who's the other guy?"

"I don't know him."

D'Andre picks up Desiree's ground flowers and hands them to Tyshawn. "Ghetto motherfuckers, they think they can just come in here and do whatever they want." Fueled by his self-righteous anger, Braxton sets his red plastic basket on the table and approaches them, "Hey— put it back."

D'Andre turns around, "What?"

"I saw what you did."

Tyshawn steps in, "Man, mind your own fucking business."

"Put it back."

Tyshawn drops his backpack and steps nose to nose with Braxton, "Or what?"

Braxton refuses to back down, "Or I'll put it back for you."

D'Andre doesn't need this shit— he has a scholarship on the line, "Hey man, leave it, let's go."

"Fuck this bitch ass motherfucker."

The situation escalates quickly. Both kids refuse to show a flicker of weakness.