Firecracker

I sort of came close to blowing my fingers off with a firecracker once. And I do mean sort of. It was only a "Black Cat," one of those inch-long poppers with the quarter-inch wick. This one wasn't a true Black Cat but a knock-off, its wrapper a polkadot pattern in some bright color -- orange, I think. It was not the Fourth of July, or anywhere near it as far as I can remember; much later in the summer, and this lone firecracker had somehow avoided use.

I was standing in the garage of my parents' house, lighter in one hand, firecracker in the other. I lit the fuse, and it burned faster than it should have and blew up before I could set it down on the pavement.

The tiny explosion, amplified by the hollow garage walls, rang like a freshly turned on TV stuffed behind a layer of cotton that drowned out the rest of the world. I looked down; my fingertips were numb, but still intact, slightly scorched from the black powder. It felt like frostbite, only hot. The sulphurous smell of the blast lingered in my nose.

As I went off to do whatever else I had planned for that late summer day, I realized how easy it would be to make such an accident with a much larger firework -- one of the M80s my neighbors Tony and Mike were so reverent of, say -- and how easy a time one of those quarter-sticks of dynamite would have taking a couple fingers with it when it went off prematurely. I made sure to get away much faster the next time I messed with a firecracker of any size. (Well, I still wasn't afraid of the snake pellets and whip-snappers the kids got. But you know what I mean.)

Have a happy and safe Independence Day. May it not involve unintentional numbness and hearing loss.

Posted by Andrew Huff at July 3, 2003 02:58 PM