Fourth of July

As I'm falling asleep in my apartment off Inman Square, I hear what for all the world sounds like a scream and two gunshots. It's 23:25. A minute later, a third. A minute later, a fourth. Now it's 23:27 and I don't hear any screams, alarms or crying -- so maybe someone just set off a large shell and the acoustics of our block amplify the bass. I lean towards the window, just to be sure.

The whine of the bottle rockets is high-pitched and imploring.

And now there are sirens, fading off towards Boston, and more distant reports. A few black cats rattle off on the street. Some drivers are honking their horns and likely menacing the pedestrians. Who are yelling at one another. Yo! Over here!

Luckily, there aren't many rabbits in the city. Fireworks, explosives, that's all the same sort of thing. Humdrum, everyday. But of all the sounds that scare me and remind me of something else entirely -- the way a rabbit screams when your cat is eating it sounds like a child being murdered. Usually, it's followed by a faint dragging sound and moist, satisfied crunching.