Page 52 of More Than Water
“No.” He chuckles, pulling out a small brightly colored rectangular box from within the larger one. “I had one, but he graduated last year.”
“And you didn’t get a new one?”
“Nope.”
“Why not?”
“’Cause I didn’t want a new one.”
“The rent must be very reasonable if you can afford not to have a roommate.”
He furrows his brow. “Yeah, it’s not too bad.”
Opening the end of the thin cardboard container, Foster withdraws a thin metal stick that is half-covered in a thick, dark powdery-looking substance.
Glancing at the box, I ask, “Is that a sparkler?”
Lifting the item in question, he says, “Yes.”
“A sparkler? A kids firework?”
“You got it.” Reaching behind him, Foster opens a small side drawer, finding a long-nosed lighter, and he places it next to the tape on the countertop. “Are you ready for some magic?”
“So, where’s the science in this? What did you do? Lace it with some kind of coating?”
“Nope, it’s just a regular old sparkler.” He pulls the tape, sticking it to the firework’s tip, and begins to wrap two of the sticks together. “They contain oxidizers, which allow them to burn, and the tape will assist in keeping it lit underwater.”
Skeptical, I narrow my glare as his hands finish wrapping up the sticks. “Is this something you learned at school?”
“No.” He chuckles, placing a pair of safety goggles over his face. “At a fraternity party, freshman year.” He flips on a nearby fan.
“What’s that for?”
“Ventilation. The smoke isn’t pleasant. Are you ready?”
“Sure. Why not?” I bend at the waist, peering at the large glass bowl through my camera, checking the aperture speed once again. “Let’s see this magic you speak of.”
A crackle ignites in the air for a few seconds before the metallic spray of the lit sparkler appears through my camera’s lens. Then, without warning, Foster plunges the firework into a bowl, dimming the silver-white sparks. Fiery hues of amber, tangerine, and crimson-honey explode through the clear liquid in a burst of magnified color, all contained by the glass barrier. It’s a display of liquefied flame and flowing color.
My finger presses the shutter button, quick and furious, diligently trying to capture the moment unseen by the human eye. The water begins to cloud into a thick, muggy gray haze, and the color deepens to a dense shade of charcoal in a matter of seconds. Then, the light is gone. All that is left is a blackened stick submerged in the coal-like water.
“Holy hell,” I whisper, stunned by the demonstration. Coming out from behind the camera, I tell Foster, “That was so much cooler than I thought it would be.”
“I thought you might like it,” he replies, prideful. He retrieves three more of the fireworks and begins to prep them like he did the first. “Do you want to see it again?”
“Absolutely.”
Twice more, Foster plunges fire into water, showing me in a somewhat artistic, scientific, and playful way how, under the right conditions, two forces at constant odds can miraculously morph into a harmonic symphony, despite their battle. Each time, I’m amazed even though it’s a juvenile trick learned at a houseful of college boys.
This is an act of chemistry, and its beauty enraptures me.
“Last one,” Foster announces as we both edge down the length of the counter toward the tall and skinny beaker. “Just beware. This one might get a little more…vibrant.”
“Oh, yeah? Why’s that?”
“The flame will always seek more air in order to thrive. The design of this thin cylinder will elongate that process.” He finishes wrapping the sparklers. “It’s best just to show you.”
“This should be interesting.”