The new year started better than expected. Our fireworks were more beautiful than ever. It wasn’t much, three boxes, but the arrows shot high and exploded big and wide in red and green.
“I can’t believe those were really ours,” said youngest son, head thrown back.
When I tried to wake him up just before midnight, he immediately opened his eyes with a big grin – ‘it’s time!’ – and immediately fell asleep again. Wake-up attempt three was successful.
He had put on his tiger onesie over his pajamas, a pair of noise-dampening headphones hung around his neck to prevent excessive noise and the adrenaline kept him going. We were able to hit the road.
Along the way, an overwhelming golden shower of fireworks suddenly ignited above the houses. Our arrows were of no use – and neither were all the others. We watched in amazement from the bridge. We didn’t know our humble village like that.
(The spectacle came from the new love in the street, we discovered later that night. The couple themselves were also overwhelmed by its power: he took shelter behind a car, she ran to the electric charging station in fright because she was afraid it would catch fire. grasp.)
Other than that, things went as they should. We drank bubbles, hugged complete strangers, hoped the children wouldn’t lose fingers, ate cold oliebollen, shed alcohol tears, played mikado, looked back and thought we should see each other more in 2024. Until the year behind us disappeared into the mist, the tiger onesie finally surrendered to sleep and we found ourselves with the singing duo in the village café that Guardian Angel sang.
“What a terrible song actually,” said a sympathetic older fellow villager who calmly viewed the festivities. We had been talking about Beno’s sudden death, and all that knowledge and kindness that he took with him to the grave – something for that damned 2023.
The café refused to care about any sadness or gloom and that was the way it should be. The indestructible singing duo persevered until no one could stand on their feet anymore. Then we staggered home, happy that the year we didn’t dare expect anything had started so well.
At home, the tiger onesie hung limply from a hook in the shape of a turtle. The child was asleep and would soon wake up, we were sure, with a grin. No matter what year, he was always looking forward to it.