It helps to have friends in high places. Especially on the fourth of July. And a river view doesn’t hurt.

My father and stepmother live in a high-rise apartment in Brooklyn Heights with a sumptuous view of New York harbor, the Statue of Liberty, and the lower Manhattan skyline. On 9-11, they watched in horror as  a plane crashed into one of the Twin Towers. Then, they were  evacuated frm their building in those first uncertain hours when it was feared that there might be more attacks to come.

Like the rest of the city, they have, for the most part, moved forward from that day. But their view will never be the same. Something that once brought them such pleasure is now tinged with death and destruction.

But it is still one of the most beautiful urban views in the world with its sparkling lights, elegant bridges, tall buildings, and boats in the harbor: it is an endlessly interesting vista to soak one’s sight in. And on the 4th of July there is no better place to revel in the booming brilliance of Macy’s fireworks.

This year was advertised as the best ever : right up there with the Brooklyn Bridge celebration,  the bicentennial, and the millenium. A group of eight adults and one seven-year old, we borrowed my father and stepmother’s apartment and used it as our viewing stand (they were upstate at their house in the country). We drank their champagne, we used their crystal glasses. We cleaned up after ourselves.

And we oohed and ahhed, privileged to have such a view. The Macy’s barges, which  were literally framed by the apartment’s windows, sent bouquets of shimmering colors and shapes so close to the window we could practically smell it.

We never found the radio station that had the music the fireworks were choregraphed to so we listened to some Aaron Copeland-esque  music on a random classical station. 

As always, I found  myself getting a little bored mid-way through. Oversaturated from the relentless glory, I kept wondering:  "Is this the finale?  No this is the finale. Now this must be the finale." Such an embarassment of riches, I sort of wanted it to stop.

But when the finale came it was really obvious. The color bursts just went on and on and on.  Can it get better?  It just did. Omigod, it’s even better now. Oh, that was gorgeous Then…

it was over. Quiet. Still. Energy spent. Exhaustion. Hazy, smokey black sky. Cheers emanated from the crowd 27 stories below. Then, people began to disperse. Quickly the streets were clear.

The silence is about absence, about the loss of what came before, about what was just here and is now gone.

So incredibly overwhelming and so fleeting at the same time.