Hot Dogs and Fireworks

July the Fourth. A perpetually ordinary day, full of work and business and decision making, or relaxation and a bottle of wine if the date happened to fall on a weekend. Nothing about it stood out in Belle Greene’s mind. Nobody she knew was born on that date, there were no known anniversaries worth celebrating. Indeed, July the Fourth, like the majority of days throughout the year, was plain–uneventful, forgetful.

Until now, because Belle knew that July 4th from now on would be a date to remember with a smile.

She stood on the corner of the avenue, feeling the anticipation of the excitement that would ensue dancing inside of her, causing her to display an almost delusional grin that had been plastered to her face all morning.

“Glad someone loves eight am starts,” grumbled an approaching male wearing black jeans, a checked shirt, and a flat cap.

“Very British of you Eddie,” stated Belle, gesturing at the cap with an amused nod.

“’Specially for you that is. To make you feel closer to home on a very American day.”

“Much appreciated, but I can’t wait. Horace has talked non-stop about today for ages. I think his excitement is rubbing off.” She paused. “Not to mention it was us Brits that you gained independence from.”

“Good point,” he grumbled, tearing the cap from his head.

Belle had been surprised when she had hopped of the transit line on Coney Island. She had made her way to Surf Avenue, gazing around in mild shock. She had expected grand buildings with the lines of trees that swayed in the breeze on either side of the avenue, and the cafes that she regarded as cute. Brooklyn was made up of tree lined avenues, historic 19th century houses with steps leading up to the front doors. In contrast, Surf Avenue was a seemingly run-down part of the city. As a result, the street was surprisingly plainer than the central district, where she was carrying out a year-long internship with the Brooklyn Paper.

Across the street, a crowd was gathering outside of one building...a building characterised by a smiling hot dog in a chef’s outfit, lit up in fiery red and orange. The crowd was around fifty strong, an array of notepads, clipboards, microphones and cameras dispersed between them. Belle’s excitement grew. She felt privileged to be among these professional journalists as they stood outside of Nathan’s Famous restaurant, waiting for the doors to swing open for them to begin.

For today, American Independence Day, Belle had been given the honour of accompanying senior journalist, Eddie Sinclair, to cover a story on Nathan’s Hot Dog Eating Contest, and to interview the reigning champion– Joey Chestnut.

*

They were able to enter the restaurant at ten o’clock, to prepare interviews with the contestants and to enable the film crew to set up ready for approaching noon. Belle squashed through the hoards of reporters to join Eddie near the front.

The restaurant was adorned in blues, reds and white; banners, streamers and flags all around the windows, the tables, the counter...there was no doubt what day was being celebrated. And there was Joey Chestnut, stood leaning against the counter, surveying the crowd with an almost imperceptible smile upon his handsome features. Belle had almost expected a fat gentleman with an overflowing belly. Chestnut, in contrast, was slim, muscular. She blushed at having expected different.

*
The cheering was electrifying, and Belle found herself joining in, shouting for Joey Chestnut to stuff down as many hot dogs as he could, to beat the gentleman who sat three down from him, threatening to pull the medal away from America, over to China.

“Will “Jaws” win the ten-thousand-dollar first place for the fifth time? Currently on thirty-seven hot dogs and buns, with just another five minutes to go, can he do it? Come on America!” shouted a television reporter down the microphone.

Tension filled the air as a competitor from Pittsburgh began to catch up, with a vengeance. The ten-minute contest was less than five minutes from completion, as the twenty eager-eyed contestants strained and stretched their trained stomachs to accept more. Belle was amazing to find that she was fascinated by a gluttony-fest such as this. The tearing of bread, dripping juices of hot dogs, oozing ketchup, slopping water and sticky fizzy pop, and belches did nothing to put her off. In fact, she was positively overjoyed. The warm summer’s air surrounded Belle and the fifty-odd thousand spectators, and, as the minutes were ticked off on the huge overhead clock, the cheering grew louder.

One minute.

“Come on Joey!” the crowd screamed.

Thirty seconds.

Belle felt herself stand on tiptoes in anticipation.

Ten seconds.

“JOEY CHESTNUT!” bellowed the judges.

The crowd erupted into a most erratic, joyful cheer. Belle and Eddie rushed forwards with the reporters, all aching to interview the champion of hot dog eating. Belle could not help but laugh at this most American tradition. She loved it – and not a pot of Earl Grey or a Victoria sponge in sight!

*
The clear, inky black sky was lit fantastically by the most amazing display of fireworks Belle had ever seen. She watched as the fire-lights tumbled and cart-wheeled into the atmosphere, to come careering back down and exploding with a roar into a million sparks of reds mixing with blues and silvers, to form a tremendous spectrum of colours and sounds. She bit into her hot dog, and smiled as she watched Tim, Nancy and Horace’s young son wave his sparklers around, the pretty white sparks fizzling on the stick, his small face alight with wonder.

As another explosion erupted in the sky, the coloured stars shooting through the sky like comets, the water of the Hudson River, on which travelled the barges that released the displays, illuminated from the reflections of the fireworks, Belle laughed aloud. On this warm night in July, she was the happiest she had felt since arriving in New York.