Every Fourth of July, our elderly neighbor sat alone in the same lawn chair, wearing the same faded military cap, watching the rest of us celebrate from across the fence. This year, my husband invited him over for pizza, and just as the fireworks began, my father walked into the backyard, saw him, and turned white.
My name is Emily. I am thirty-six, and for the last six years my husband, our two kids, and I have spent every Fourth of July the same way. We spread blankets across the backyard, order pizza, make homemade lemonade, and wait for the fireworks to start.
Just before sunset, my daughter stood on one of the patio chairs and peeked over the fence.
Every year, our elderly neighbor, Walter, sat alone in the yard next door on the same aluminum lawn chair, wearing the same faded military cap. He never had visitors. He never crossed the fence. He just sat with his hands folded over a cane and watched everyone else celebrate.
This year, just before sunset, my six-year-old daughter, Sophie, stood on one of the patio chairs and peeked over the fence.
“Mom, why does he always celebrate by himself?”