The fourth of July approached like a creepy man in his mid-forties following me down an alleyway. I had no plans, and yearned to gain them. All of my high school friends were at their vacation homes in New Jersey, while I was confined to a bedroom in Philadelphia. I needed to do something, had to do something. I refused to stay inside and watch the Beyonce documentary for the third time. If I learned anything from Beyonce it’s that she would go out and do something exhilarating for the Fourth of July. As I scrolled through my list of contacts, I rediscovered the friends from my neighborhood. As a result of being a flamboyantly gay teen and going to a performing arts high school, I didn’t mix well with the kids in my neighborhood.
         However, out of boredom, I texted my old friend, Jess. I asked her if she had plans and she told me that she was going to the Schuylkill river trail with some friends. The trail was the highlight of Fourth of July. Swarms of teens and young adults wandered down the paths, beside the tar-colored river shouting patriotic jargon like “Go USA!” or “Turn up for America!” Fireworks were the focal point of the night at the trail. Everyone watched them bloom and fade through alcohol-glazed eyes, muttering about how much they loved their country.
         I decided to go.
         I threw together a red, white, and blue outfit, checked myself out in the mirror, then left the house. I met Jess around six o’clock at the local corner store, brilliantly named ‘The Store’. The boys there were all my age and wore the same outfits: basketball shorts, white t-shirts, and Jordan slides. The boys are all copies of each other, a reminder of this neighborhood’s dulling effect.
I strutted over to Jess and her friends, Hannah and Maddie.
         “I like your outfit, it’s very gay,” Jess said.
         “Oh, thanks, I guess.” She stared at me briefly, then continued her conversation with Hannah and Maddie. Tonight will be just so fun-fun-fun, I thought. We began to walk in a crowd, like a flock of pigeons. The boys chanted USA, and the girls updated their Snapchats every other second, as I wondered why the h*ll I subjected myself to this.
         As we arrived to the trail, Jess stopped me.
         “Hey, do you think you could hold my bag for a few minutes? It’s killing me,” she said, her bag tugging down her shoulders.
         “Yeah, sure. Give me it.” I put the backpack on and was nearly yanked to the ground. It weighed more than three newborn babies. “What is in this bag?” I shouted.
         “Oh, you know, makeup and stuff.” There’s no way you need all of this makeup. You’re not even that ugly, I thought. As we sauntered past cops, we decided to settle down on a patch of grass beside the water. It was serene. The river’s waves reflected light, like the golden scales of a trout. I thought that maybe tonight was worth leaving my jail cell--I mean, bedroom.
The sun began to dwindle away, leaving the night behind, like a black umbrella above us. The cacophony of people’s shouts and laughter filled my ears. Life was more than a bedroom.
         “Hey, can you give me that bag?” Jess asked. I handed it to her, and I felt relieved and free, like a mother after childbirth. She pulled out nine beer cans and a bottle of vodka like they were school books. I knew that makeup couldn’t be that heavy.
         “Um, Jess? That’s a lot of makeup you have there.”
         “Yeah, I know right. Turn up for liberty!” she giggled. Hannah and Maddie cheered as they guzzled the drinks down. I felt betrayed. I couldn’t believe that I just walked by cops with a bag full of alcohol. The amount of trouble I would’ve gotten in would be nothing compared to the shank wound my mother would’ve given me.
        Within the next hour, they were stumbling and telling me how much they loved and accepted me. I didn’t know how to react, so I smiled and patted their heads, like they were farm animals. Eventually, I realized that they were too drunk to walk any further. I needed a plan. Scanning my surroundings, I noticed a metal dock floating on the water. It was about a three foot drop from the path. There was a chance that they could accidentally fall into the water, but I was too exhausted to care anymore. One by one, I helped them down onto it, listening to their screeches as they plopped down. I descended onto it, watching the trail disappear behind me.
       "You’re totally li--like my gay guardian angel, y’know that?” Maddie slurred.
      “Mhmm, I’ll always be in your heart,” I said, poking her upper boob.
        I peered out into the water. Black wasn’t a good enough word to describe the water’s color. It was more like a void, swallowing every light blinking from the trail. Not even our faces were reflected in the water. I started feeling alone and wanted to go home, but I had to watch out for them.
        I had to make sure that they were safe.
        They started calling their ex-boyfriends, crying over their failed relationships, and projectile vomiting into the river. Watching people get more and more drunk is like being stuck in space. Everything is filled with stars and planets, but you’re left in the dark. Suspended in a state of emptiness while everything glimmers around you. I wanted to be a star, too, but not a wild, drunken star. I wanted to be a star, like Beyonce.
       Finally, the fireworks went off, exploding like dandelion wishes on fire. Everything was illuminated, even the water was tinted red, yellow, and blue. I could hear the girls whimpering, but I blocked it out. The air around me felt electric. It was buzzing with every American flag waving, every tourist cheering, and every patriot screaming ‘I’ll always love my country!’
        I don’t know whether it was the fireworks or the sound of the girls whining, but something struck me. It was the closest to an epiphany I’ve ever had. I realized that I never wanted to be as drunk as the girls beside me. I refused to be another depressed, drunken teen wandering through my neighborhood. The sky seemed to be swirling into a collage of neon light. And I felt more alive within those seconds than I had all night.
         The fireworks ended. Darkness encapsulated us.
         I climbed back onto the trail, helped them up, then began the journey home. Since they were too dazed and tired to walk quickly, it took us over an hour to get home. In hugs and mumbles, we said our goodbyes. I walked into my house and appreciated it more than I ever had before. Everything was calm and sober. Life was still again. I collapsed onto my sofa from exhaustion. Rummaging through the channels, I found my life’s purpose playing on the TV again, the Beyonce documentary.
         As Beyonce danced along to her own music, I realized something. Beyonce would’ve stood up for herself and left the trail, but I’m not Beyonce, I’m just a gay guardian angel.