"FIREWORKS"

An ABRAHAM Story

Michael A. Pedowitz

The night guards finally finished walking around the corner, so the coast would be clear for the next forty seconds. I took several long strides to the other end of the sidewalk, where a metal fence stood. Barbed wire ran along the top of the fence, which stretched into the darkness to my left and right. The section in front of me, which housed a thin gate locked by a keycard reader, was lit by an overhead light. On most other nights, my presence would trigger the motion alarm, but said alarm hadn’t functioned properly for the last week. Hence the patrolling guards.

I already had my keycard ready. I tapped it right to the reader, and without a sound, the door unlocked. I pulled it open, slipped inside, and gently pulled it closed. I took a couple more steps forward, slipping into the dusk’s darkness. I checked my watch. 9:47pm. I needed to hurry.

I was being far more dramatic about all this than I needed to be. I was breaking into my own property. As of yesterday, the Jon Meron Transport Co. had officially sold this warehouse and its surrounding land to yours truly. Craig, my startup’s PR manager, had put signs up all over the fence to celebrate.

FUTURE SITE OF

THE ABRAHAM PROJECT

Property owned by S. STELLOS

            It was still weird, seeing that last line on signs, memos, and articles. I should have gotten used to it by now; I’d announced the startup almost a year ago, and the Astronomical Endeavor Institute was already building rockets in my name. With this new facility, however, we could finally begin R&D on the Solar Sphere’s supercomputers, which would be needed alongside the mirrors. Even though I’d wanted to launch ABRHAM for years, I could only do it once AEI’s work on the Mars base was complete. That, and only after I’d generated enough goodwill from working at my uncle’s company could I convince them to invest.

            My uncle. That’s it. I was used to seeing his name on all those signs. If he could see what I was doing now, he’d have Janelle – my “private security professional” – not let me out of her sight for weeks. (She was probably looking for me now, actually.) And then Richard would lecture me endlessly about the perils of going out and trespassing and how I needed to “act my role.”

            I still missed him.

            I kept my head low and approached the warehouse. Everything was dark, but I knew the path – I’d walked it twice this morning, both to inspect my purchase and memorize the path. It was a paved walkway that led right to the building’s old front doors, a service entrance for employees. The warehouse itself had been emptied of most of its shelves, but hundreds of shipping containers and a hundred-foot crane still occupied the acres of land that the building sat upon. The previous owner agreed to arrange for the containers’ removal, but I asked if he would sell me the crane. He ended up gifting it to me when he learned what my startup was going to do.

            I took a right when I reached the warehouse doors. I was right up against the building and out in the open, but I wasn’t worried about being spotted anymore. My surroundings were dark, and I was dressed in all black. Even at night, though, it was almost ninety degrees. The long sleeves were uncomfortable, and the heavy backpack I was carrying didn’t help. But I could relax in a minute.

I began circling the perimeter of the warehouse. It wasn’t the largest warehouse I’d ever seen, but with some remodeling inside, could fit everything I needed. In the distance, beyond the wire fence, was another lit-up area with some more promotional signage. In that lot, we’d soon break ground for our Visitor Center – a little premature, given that the Solar Sphere wasn’t close to being in operation yet, but something that the Board wanted to start building anyway.

The Board. People I’d brought on not because I particularly liked them, but because they had connections. I’d spent many nights mapping out all the Board candidates’ expertise and circles to optimize who I brought onto the team. Most of them had money – lots of money – so right now, they were likely at their yachts or estates watching fireworks or getting tipsy with friends. Several had invited me to their July 4^th parties. I declined all of them.

I made it around to the back of the warehouse, where the service ladder was located. Its rungs were metal and rough, but thankfully, I had on gloves. I glanced around again, just to make sure I was alone. Then, I started climbing up the ladder.

About halfway up the climb, I realized I’d underestimated the height of the building. My arms were already tired, and my ankles hurt. I’d gone for a long run this morning, and my body hadn’t fully recovered yet. But I wasn’t about to head back down, because I’d have to do the climb all over again. This was a ritual I first began planning a few weeks after Richard passed, so I wasn’t going to bail.

I paused for a few seconds to rest my limbs, but soon I resumed climbing. There were some lights on this part of the building, and while the guards were unlikely to look this way, I didn’t need to be spotted. Even though I could turn around and they’d know exactly who I was, the whole goal was not to be stopped by the guards. They would explain that this old structure was dangerous and pressure me to turn around. Or worse, they would accompany me. For the last few months, every second of every day was filled with people, save for the roughly eight hours per day I had to go home, exercise, shower, and try to sleep. Moments like this were precious.

Hoisting myself past the top rung, I finally made it to the roof. I climbed over its ledge and planted my feet down. I swung my arms around to alleviate the burning sensation in them.

I brought my watch into view. 9:56pm. Enough wasting time. I would’ve made this climb last night, after I bought the place, but the fact that there were fireworks tonight convinced me to wait a day. It would make the experience much more meaningful.

Meaning. Heh. Don’t I sound sentimental?

The roof itself was unremarkable. A flat expanse of tiles, broken up by a tall box that led to an interior stairwell. There were also chimneys, antennae, and a several glass skylights marked by sections of raised roof.

And yet, it was my unremarkable roof. For my building. For my business, which was now making headlines in all the popular technology magazines. Pride wasn’t the feeling I had… was it relief? I shook the notion out of my head.

Nothing to be relieved about yet. I’d barely begun.

The view, however, was spectacular. Ahead of me, on the far side of the warehouse, the Floridian horizon stretched out. Past a set of roadways were the outlines of palm trees, which surrounded a small lake. I’d love a place on a lake someday. Several outlet stores and apartment complexes were also visible, defiantly plotted amidst a swamp of roads and marshland. The faintest glow of sunlight barely illuminated some of the distant clouds.

In the direction of the ladder behind me, however, was almost total darkness. The coast was out that way, but I couldn’t see it now – just the vast lot below me, the clouds ahead of me, and a couple of stars overhead. There was a wide ledge along the edge of the roof, which was elevated a little bit above the sea of tiles. Perfect for sitting.

I was sweating up a storm, so I pulled off my gloves, backpack, and hoodie and I rested them on the ledge. I still had my white tank top on, which was marked in blue A.E.I. letters. I’d had this same branded top since I was fifteen, when I began doing field work with the Institute.

The first time I worked with my uncle, we were installing a Sunspot energy collecting tower on top of an orphanage in Manhattan, as well as delivering its staff state-of-the-art educational resources. A surge of immigration coupled with the economic panics of the late 30s caused a massive shortage in foster homes, so children’s boarding homes became a bit more popular. The thought that I could’ve ended up in a place like that haunted me at the time, but while I was working, Richard helped me calm down. Not by talking to me about my anxiety, though. Instead, it was by making me Installation Lead and by discussing technical details with me like I was one of his associates. Not dumbed down, not patronizing. I was one of his equals. And I was good at my job. It was the first time I ever felt like I belonged. I don’t know if that was Richard’s intent, or if he ever knew the impact that trip had on me.  

Stepping up on the ledge, I looked out. It was a long way down. If I fell, I wondered if the drop would kill me. I wondered how long it would take people to move on.

I shook my head, clearing the troubling thought. I was tired. And overwhelmed. I needed this.

I sat down on the ledge, reached into my backpack, and took out its primary contents: an unopened bottle of Remson’s Semiquincentennial Select Kentucky Whiskey and two shot glasses. I set them both down on the ledge to my left. As the name implies, the bottle was a gift my uncle received at a party celebrating the United States’s 250^th. He kept it above his dresser with his other prized possessions – he told me that he was saving it for a “special occasion.” I never found out what the intended occasion was.

After a couple seconds, I managed to open the bottle and pour the liquid out into the glasses. I wasn’t legally old enough to drink yet – I announced ABRAHAM into existence the day after my 20^th birthday in September, while here we were in July, less than a year later. However, age never proved an obstacle before. I wasn’t quite an alcoholic, but I’d kept strong liquor in my bedroom for at least the past five years. I’d be lying if I said it didn’t help.

A soft pop rang out in the distance, and I looked up in time to catch a bright flash of color illuminating the sky.

Enough digressions.

Streaks and explosions of red, white, and blue dazzled the dark sky. The fireworks were being launched from a club just by the shore, a couple miles away. They were far enough away that their sound was muffled, but I could see the entire show from up here. Not a single obstruction blocked my view.

I grabbed the glass closer to me and tapped it to the one on the ledge.

“Here’s to a new beginning, Uncle Richard,” I said. “Happy Fourth.”

I drank the shot. Wow, it was strong. Better not overdo it, otherwise I wouldn’t make it back down the ladder. Well, just not at the speed I wanted.

My watch buzzed. It was Janelle, wondering where I was. I’d reply to her in a minute; otherwise, she would set up an entire manhunt. I’d tell her I was asleep at work or something.

For now, I poured another glass. I didn’t drink it yet. As the fireworks continued their show, I leaned to my left, as if he were beside me. As if anyone were beside me. A tear welled up in my eye. I wiped it.

“Someday, I’m going to put on a firework show like this. But it’ll be the most spectacular show anyone’s ever seen. Perfect colors, unrivaled scale. And, most importantly, it’ll ring in the freedom of the new world we’re going to build,” I said. “I’ll do anything to make that happen.”

I drank the shot. This one came as less of a shock to my system, but it was still strong enough to convince me to seal the bottle and put it back in my bag. I’d definitely had enough. I left the glasses, one full and one emptied, sitting on the ledge. I decided they would stay there.

I’d need to respond to Janelle soon. But for the next few seconds, I looked up. Several small, bright bursts lit up the entire sky. Following them were several massive golden fireworks that left shimmering dust in the air. I sighed.

“Thank you for everything, Richard. You taught me that I belonged. You taught me to be uncompromising. You taught me that my dreams were worth pursuing,” I said. I glanced down at the glasses sitting beside me.

Just another important milestone that I’d be alone for. Another tear fell from my eye.

As another round of fireworks went up, I remembered why I picked tonight.

“Most of all, you taught me to love the only thing I’ll ever need. Independence.”