Please register to participate in our discussions with 2 million other members - it's free and quick! Some forums can only be seen by registered members. After you create your account, you'll be able to customize options and access all our 15,000 new posts/day with fewer ads.
If the weather is dry -- which it usually isn't -- I'll spend most of my time indoors, shades drawn, trying to forget there's a holiday going on beyond the walls of my prison.
Perhaps, if I'm not feeling like I'm being tortured by a partnership between the Inquisition and the Gestapo, I'll stroll out onto my front porch just as the sun sets behind the tall, forested hills of the Allegheny Valley.
I'll try to ignore the boarded up windows of the shops on Elm St., the main drag of this tiny little town, but that's difficult since my house sits a few hundred yards up one of those forested hills -- I have an overwatch position of what's left of the business district.
A huge empty swath of ground runs parallel to Elm St. where once stood thriving stores and a home cookin' type restaurant -- gone now after a massive fire destroyed everything on that side of the street back in 2002. No one has bothered to invest in that land, so it has sat empty for the past 15 years.
I'll most likely sit on the banister that runs the perimeter of the porch, feeling the rapidly cooling air against my skin. It's cold here now, I've noticed. Only three days during the month of June have temperatures risen above 65 degrees. Most days have been even colder -- with blusters of even colder wind hitting 40 mph and making porch sitting nigh on impossible.
When the sun sets, the isolation is palpable, surrounded as this town is on three sides by a sprawling national forest and on the fourth by the wide, slow-moving Allegheny River. The few remaining inhabitants will light off their fireworks, of course, and that's what I'll watch. Most fireworks are illegal in this state -- anything that flies or explodes have been banned. Yet that doesn't stop people from traveling to other states and buying fireworks there.
Yeah, I'll sit there for awhile watching the sparkles explode over the town until the main display, the one put on by the fire department, begins.
But I won't be paying all that much attention. Instead, my eyes will be drawn to another place on the porch bannister where, many years ago, a scared-as-hell teenaged boy had sat casually leaning against one of the roof supports. On a balmy 4th of July evening way back when, that frightened teenaged boy asked a rather lost yet still happy teenaged girl to be his girlfriend -- and right then I was the happiest girl in the world. That had been my very first 4th of July in America.
We stayed together for 1 year, 1 month, and 15 days. Given our respective ages, that was like an eternity in adult years. He's gone now, though. Throat cancer killed him two years ago. Just another good memory eradicated by tragedy.
I can't help but stare at the spot where he once sat as the fireworks explode behind me, the booms and whistles reverberating up and down the valley, lingering there like the echoes of past joys which I know will linger in my mind.
We used to have a lot of fun on July 4th. The town was thriving then, even bustling for such a small place. We even had no less than six gas stations, one on the corner of every block in town, each one alive and doing business. Of course, we're down to one gas station now, and I hear the old Super Duper grocery store will finally be closing at the end of this summer.
I'll watch the main fireworks show, I suppose. It's surprisingly long for such a small, cash-strapped town. Yet I wonder if I'm really watching that display -- or one that happened years ago when I was still powerful in my youth, blessed with friends in a town filled with family. I really can't say anymore since the past brings far more comfort than the future.
One thing is for certain, though -- the loneliness will be difficult to bear on days like the 4th. I'm tempted to just shut my eyes against seeing strangers roaming the same streets and sidewalks that were once "ours," knowing the homes of my long-gone friends and family are occupied by invaders, faceless people who simply have no idea that I used to lounge in their living rooms, as happy as any mortal person has a right to be, living precisely the kind of life I had always dreamed of having.
Oddly, as the big fireworks sail into the still darkening sky, I sometimes feel as if these people are soiling a sacred site, living their lives while paying no respect to the memories we left in those walls. The very essence of me still exists there, the ghost of a still-living person walking their floors within the recollections of my own mind.
July 4th has become a rather melancholic affair for me -- the culimination of those long summers of youth when I could walk with no pain, run along the sidewalks, ride a bike through the trails in the woods with my companions always at my side.
When the display is finally over, no doubt I'll heave a heavy sigh -- the fifth or sixth one I'll have exhaled since the fireworks began, and return indoors. I have no idea what I'll do then. More likely than not, I'll take another oxy and lose myself in (hopefully) dreamless slumber.
Humorous? No ... and certainly not what June was hoping for, I'm sure. Yet I felt compelled to say this -- and you people are the only ones I've told. Not even my own mother understands. So, don't let my wet blanket ruin the thread, but like I said ... I needed to relate this to *someone* and, well, I have no one else to whom I can say it.
A happy 4th of July to y'all. Light a firework or eat a dog for me, will ya?
If the weather is dry -- which it usually isn't -- I'll spend most of my time indoors, shades drawn, trying to forget there's a holiday going on beyond the walls of my prison.
Perhaps, if I'm not feeling like I'm being tortured by a partnership between the Inquisition and the Gestapo, I'll stroll out onto my front porch just as the sun sets behind the tall, forested hills of the Allegheny Valley.
I'll try to ignore the boarded up windows of the shops on Elm St., the main drag of this tiny little town, but that's difficult since my house sits a few hundred yards up one of those forested hills -- I have an overwatch position of what's left of the business district.
A huge empty swath of ground runs parallel to Elm St. where once stood thriving stores and a home cookin' type restaurant -- gone now after a massive fire destroyed everything on that side of the street back in 2002. No one has bothered to invest in that land, so it has sat empty for the past 15 years.
I'll most likely sit on the banister that runs the perimeter of the porch, feeling the rapidly cooling air against my skin. It's cold here now, I've noticed. Only three days during the month of June have temperatures risen above 65 degrees. Most days have been even colder -- with blusters of even colder wind hitting 40 mph and making porch sitting nigh on impossible.
When the sun sets, the isolation is palpable, surrounded as this town is on three sides by a sprawling national forest and on the fourth by the wide, slow-moving Allegheny River. The few remaining inhabitants will light off their fireworks, of course, and that's what I'll watch. Most fireworks are illegal in this state -- anything that flies or explodes have been banned. Yet that doesn't stop people from traveling to other states and buying fireworks there.
Yeah, I'll sit there for awhile watching the sparkles explode over the town until the main display, the one put on by the fire department, begins.
But I won't be paying all that much attention. Instead, my eyes will be drawn to another place on the porch bannister where, many years ago, a scared-as-hell teenaged boy had sat casually leaning against one of the roof supports. On a balmy 4th of July evening way back when, that frightened teenaged boy asked a rather lost yet still happy teenaged girl to be his girlfriend -- and right then I was the happiest girl in the world. That had been my very first 4th of July in America.
We stayed together for 1 year, 1 month, and 15 days. Given our respective ages, that was like an eternity in adult years. He's gone now, though. Throat cancer killed him two years ago. Just another good memory eradicated by tragedy.
I can't help but stare at the spot where he once sat as the fireworks explode behind me, the booms and whistles reverberating up and down the valley, lingering there like the echoes of past joys which I know will linger in my mind.
We used to have a lot of fun on July 4th. The town was thriving then, even bustling for such a small place. We even had no less than six gas stations, one on the corner of every block in town, each one alive and doing business. Of course, we're down to one gas station now, and I hear the old Super Duper grocery store will finally be closing at the end of this summer.
I'll watch the main fireworks show, I suppose. It's surprisingly long for such a small, cash-strapped town. Yet I wonder if I'm really watching that display -- or one that happened years ago when I was still powerful in my youth, blessed with friends in a town filled with family. I really can't say anymore since the past brings far more comfort than the future.
One thing is for certain, though -- the loneliness will be difficult to bear on days like the 4th. I'm tempted to just shut my eyes against seeing strangers roaming the same streets and sidewalks that were once "ours," knowing the homes of my long-gone friends and family are occupied by invaders, faceless people who simply have no idea that I used to lounge in their living rooms, as happy as any mortal person has a right to be, living precisely the kind of life I had always dreamed of having.
Oddly, as the big fireworks sail into the still darkening sky, I sometimes feel as if these people are soiling a sacred site, living their lives while paying no respect to the memories we left in those walls. The very essence of me still exists there, the ghost of a still-living person walking their floors within the recollections of my own mind.
July 4th has become a rather melancholic affair for me -- the culimination of those long summers of youth when I could walk with no pain, run along the sidewalks, ride a bike through the trails in the woods with my companions always at my side.
When the display is finally over, no doubt I'll heave a heavy sigh -- the fifth or sixth one I'll have exhaled since the fireworks began, and return indoors. I have no idea what I'll do then. More likely than not, I'll take another oxy and lose myself in (hopefully) dreamless slumber.
Humorous? No ... and certainly not what June was hoping for, I'm sure. Yet I felt compelled to say this -- and you people are the only ones I've told. Not even my own mother understands. So, don't let my wet blanket ruin the thread, but like I said ... I needed to relate this to *someone* and, well, I have no one else to whom I can say it.
A happy 4th of July to y'all. Light a firework or eat a dog for me, will ya?
I will Kiddo.
I will not endeavor to tell ya about "what you should do" to be less lonely and happier.
But I do know that if you have anywhere near as intriguing and endearing a personality in real life as you come across with on this board....a lot of those "strangers" that now live in the neighborhoods around you would be enriched by knowing you.
I bet if they got the chance that they would love you like we all do here on this board...and you never know what that could add to your life.
I will Kiddo.
I will not endeavor to tell ya about "what you should do" to be less lonely and happier.
But I do know that if you have anywhere near as intriguing and endearing a personality in real life as you come across with on this board....a lot of those "strangers" that now live in the neighborhoods around you would be enriched by knowing you.
I bet if they got the chance that they would love you like we all do here on this board...and you never know what that could add to your life.
Yep, I'm pretty much the same here as in the real world -- no reason to put on aires.
My problem is that I just can't get out into the world and meet people anymore.
I'd also ask (I should have said this before) if anyone wishes to respond to me, it's probably best to do it via PMs so I don't inadvertantly derail or hijack the thread. Thanks!
Eastern Monmouth County. Bruce/Bon Jovi territory. Before them, Count Basie.
I'm near Red Bank, but I go to the beach at Long Branch, 10-15 minutes away.
For those who like historical trivia, Long Branch is where James Garfield died after carrying around an assassin's bullet for almost three months.
I have family in that area. Small world...
Please register to post and access all features of our very popular forum. It is free and quick. Over $68,000 in prizes has already been given out to active posters on our forum. Additional giveaways are planned.
Detailed information about all U.S. cities, counties, and zip codes on our site: City-data.com.
Please register to participate in our discussions with 2 million other members - it's free and quick! Some forums can only be seen by registered members. After you create your account, you'll be able to customize options and access all our 15,000 new posts/day with fewer ads.
