Proposal by Fire

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Time can stop. Anyone who has experienced the sensation will tell you it was coupled with a threat of injury or a brush with a premature funeral. As the stakes rise, time grows slower.

Last Friday, I set out to help my brother, Jason, propose.

My brother’s kindness is of an almost mythic proportion (he used to ask my mom if he could wash the dishes).

With that kindness, comes a genuine and boundless romanticism.

So, naturally he would never dream of a subtle proposal lit by candlelight, but at bare minimum he would illuminate the night sky with fireworks.

My brother assembled a team of close friends to handle the various jobs required to pull off a display matching his vision for a perfect proposal.

A photographer, a violinist, a group handling fireworks, and a group dedicated to launching floating lanterns came together to assist.

My brother was going to propose on a boat in the middle of a small lake.

So, the lantern group snuck behind a line of trees.

We unpacked the lanterns and got them ready as the wicked, icy wind attempted to carry them away.

Each lantern was a different color: a sea of green, orange, red, pink, and yellow awaiting launch. The material felt like tissue paper.

A metal ring lined the base with small metallic braches looping into a piece of cardboard coated with a waxy, flammable black substance.

Tissue paper. Merciless wind. Open Flame. Dry grass. Dry cedar trees.

I get a text from my brother that reads, “Light ‘em up.” We all scramble with lighters.

The first two float into the night sky seamlessly, as if to assuage our fears. Then, the third launched.

It went straight into a tree and burnt madly. Just when the chaos started to cool, two fireworks were ignited at nearly the same time.

“The first one knocked the second—” was the last thing I heard before a rocket shot right into the lantern crew.

Time stopped.

We were all running up the hill, but then a couple of us saw a small fire in the dry grass. In the millisecond it took us to stop our bolt and approach the fire, a second part of the firework exploded around us.

Blue and yellow balls of flame launched in a slow halo around me.

As fireworks erupted around me, I did not scream. I smiled. As the gears of time broke apart, all I could think was this is a worthy tribute to my brother.

His closest friends stomping out a potential wildfire. No one complained. I think we were all just happy to help Jason for once. It was a rare opportunity.

When time slows in dangerous situations, the amygdala portion of brain begins to take an extra set of memory. This is why traumatic events dwarf the happiest moments in our lives.

Luckily for me, I had the realization that worth in this life should be determined by the company you keep: how much they value you and how far they’ll go.