Magia

I've always thought of fireworks as magical.
In spite of the stringent efforts of every physics teacher I have ever had and in defiance of common sense, I refuse to believe that there is a mathematical equation behind their beauty and mysticism. It was 4th of July yesterday, and like everyone else in the city at 9pm I headed out to watch the fireworks. I live right by the East River on the Brooklyn side, so heading to the little park on the end of the street was really no big deal. As I stepped out of my apartment building, I had a sense that this must be what the exodus was like. Throngs of people in high spirits, drawn to the waterside for the magic that was about to take place.
The gentrification of my neighbourhood has been steady and extreme, but every year on this day those who used to call it home always return to the spot where several generations of their family have watched the fireworks to keep the traditions going. I am standing next to a white-haired lady named Juanita who tells me that in the old days, they used to have their own concert in the park during the fireworks. They used to dance to the rhythms of Tito Puente and Celia Cruz under the midnight sky as it burst into searing colour. There was no hassle she told me, only jubilation. Everybody here knew each other by first name, so we all danced the night away and let it take out worries with it.
She tells me of how she and her family have been forced to leave the neighbourhood as prices have skyrocketed far beyond their reach. She explains that they are now forced to live in a new environment with new gangs and different rules.
She used to come back and visit often, but everytime she does another familiar face has disappeared. Now she says, there is no point in coming back here, it only fills her with sorrow as she sees the remains of all her yesterdays in tatters. It belongs to them now, she says. She means the rich kids with the $200 hair gel and $1000 distressed t-shirts. They leave Mummy & Daddy on the Upper East Side and move to Williamsburg to live out the illusion of starving artists, all the while driving the cost of real-estate further and further up. In their wake arrive the yuppies and the real estate sharks, development at any cost.
Tonight however, things are different. The air is filled with the sounds of people from all backgrounds singing, dancing and having a good time. Old friends hug each other, it has been a year since they last met and after tonight another year will follow before they meet again. Always on this same spot, always for the same reason. And on this day, all the distinctions in the neighbourhood disappear. Yuppies and Papis stand side by side watch the sky anxiously. All is quiet to avoid breaking the spell. And when the awe inspiring spectacle begins, Juanita whispers in my ear "Magia". I smile at her because the exact thought is running through my mind.
Fireworks are magical.