the last [two hundred and thirty-] five years

Five years ago on the Fourth of July I had just got back from India/Germany, maybe a week before, and it was the first time I’d seen Alex since being back.  It was a Tuesday.  I still wasn’t used to seeing white people everywhere.  We walked to Fariello’s ice cream shop for sundaes and stopped at Ben Marsh’s house on the way home.  (The last time I'd seen Ben we were dating, and his new girlfriend was over.  Awkward…)  Then we decided we wanted smoothies, so we walked to Hannaford to buy frozen raspberries and by the time we got there we were so wiped we just went to Applebee’s for dinner instead, and called my mom to come pick us up when we were done.

Four years ago I must have spent the Fourth of July in Amsterdam, but I don’t remember exactly what I did.  I kind of think I was with Alex that year too, and we laughed about it.  I think that within a week I was about to take my driver’s test, pack up my car, and move out.  Independence indeed.

Three years ago I spent the Fourth of July somewhere in India with my family and the Rollinses and Alex Steele.  Maybe Manali…  Actually, I think that was the day I went out on a zipline across the river and then we hiked all the way to the temple full of cows before it started pouring and we spent the afternoon in a café with a giant old tree growing out the middle of it.  But I can’t be sure.  We really could have been almost anywhere in the northern end of the country at that time.  Indian Independence Day (August 15) was a much bigger deal that year.

Two years ago I spent the Fourth of July mountain biking down Cotopaxi, one of the world’s highest active volcanoes, and arrived back in La Mariscal to the unexpected street-shaking rhythms of Quito’s Gay Pride Parade.  To celebrate my country’s independence amidst this ruckus, I traded off evening shifts at the hotel with Taylor to pitch in for 2x1 pitchers of Pilsener at Papaya, the closest internet café in the district.  Again, Ecuadorian Independence Day caused a much noisier splash.

Last year I spent the Fourth of July in New York City.  We got up before the crack of dawn and rode the train through sunrise to walk through 3 different Urban Outfitters and a few other stores as well.  (At Forever 21 I bought the pair of shorts I’ve been wearing this whole summer.  Good investment.)  We visited the Brooklyn Bridge (dangerously close to where my V is not deep enough to go – into Hipsterville) too near sundown to make it all the way across town for the fireworks, so Dan and Crystal and I glimpsed the last fading sparks before heading back to ravage Whole Foods for a late dinner, and then caught the train home.

This year, I’m spending the 4^th of July in Wisconsin.  The Erickson family of Hudson took me out on their boat to see the fireworks this evening.  The river full of nearly invisible boats, we commented on each type of firecracker – a totally different viewing experience.  And in my head I went all over the country, all over the world.  To my “home” at 249 Guy Park Avenue in Amsterdam, New York.  To mortifying, but also somehow kind of pleasant (and life-changing?!), moments with a guy named Ryan.  To the possibility of someday drinking with my brother…

Not a linear progression or geographically-organized route for my thoughts to take by any means, but definitely natural, and oddly in rhythm with the river’s rippling and fizzling firework shells.  Definitely part of my Independence.

Tomorrow I will spend the day serving food to what feels like hundreds of people passing through St. Croix Falls and what will more likely turn up as 30 or 40 on my clock-out report at the end of the day.  Maybe when I get home Ann will have mowed the lawn, or will be mowing it, and we might have some beers and/or light off a few firecrackers.  I feel American, and after a considerable amount of time feeling confused/ashamed/frustrated about my identity, I’m proud of that fact.  (Even though, yes, I’ve spent only half of the last 6 American Independence Days in this country, and I’ve spent half of them also with Alex, amusingly, and not ironically I’ve spent more than half of them doing my own thing.  My family has always seemed to struggle a bit with established or institutional traditions.)

It’s been 235 years since 1776.  Maybe one of those tacky “you’re-getting-old” jokes on a greeting card would be ironic enough for a hipster 2011 birthday party in the USA…?