The Fourth of July It wasnâ€™t the fireworks that scared her, but the moment right before. Before match met fuse and fuse burned then blazed into a million shrieking lights, blinding whites and cobalt blues. The moment before. Standing barefoot on asphalt so black it was like she was standing on darkness---melting into darkness. Her black-bottomed feet winced as I struck the match. The pop and hiss. Then, for a moment, Silence.