When we last left off, I had just said goodbye to my ex-bf, for what possibly could have been the last time…
Saturday morning–there was a lot to process from the night before. I knew we had a full day and a half left, but at the same time, I couldn’t shake the feeling that time was slipping away
We were all pretty sluggish when we met up with Moonshine at the Starbucks across the street from the Waldorf. He needed caffeine while we waiting for one of Twi’s coworkers, Crack Lips (I’ll get to why we call her this later), to show. Finally, she arrived, and we got into Moonshine’s car and headed for Coney Island.
Coney Island, like New York City, is one of those places that draws its magic from the collective memory of experiences; of people over time rather than from its actual physical presence. In other words, I had spent the entire summer reading slice of life stories about Coney Island in the NYtimes, I had spent a lifetime watching movies of kids in newsboy caps talking about Nathan’s hot dogs. In a strange way, even before visiting the place, I felt as if I already had memories of it.
In reality, Coney Island is a shadow of what I’m sure it used to be. People stroll along the boardwalk and take pictures near the hot dog stand. The pace is slow, and the rides are old and tired. And while, having lived in California, the idea of a beachside amusement park with rickety old wooden roller coasters was no longer new to me, Coney Island still possessed a rare sort of magic that makes Coney Island, well, Coney Island.
We pulled up to Nathan’s hotdogs-VIP curbside parking, of course–passing a dirty car that someone had written “DROB DEAD” in the car’s dirt. God, way to get the insult across moron. Seriously, if you cannot spell “drop” correctly, you really need to lie down and die yourself. “Drob” dead, if you will.
It was around 2pm. Nathans was abuzz with people eating their famous hot dogs. I couldn’t decide what I wanted, as I wanted to try one of everything. Twi and I settled on chili cheese fries (the cheese is kind of cheese whizzy), cheese dog for me, bacon cheese dog for her, and a large root beer–b/c root beer and hot dogs are heaven on earth. Hot dogs, for those who care, were phenomenal–just the right salt and pepper taste. It was the beginning of an amazing day–perfect weather, fair food (my favorite), rides, great people.
First ride, after stuffing our faces with hot dogs, was Deno’s Big Wheel. Its a ferris wheel on crack. Every other car in the ferris wheel rocks and slides along a track. Of course we chose to get into this car. The first time the car slid along the track, plunging us a few, angled, feet, we all screamed from shock. Not that it was necessarily scary, we just didn’t expect it. The next few times it did it, we screamed intentionally–b/c it was more fun that way.
During this time, I made a video/took some pix of us being fake scared. The image of me was, as usual, over the top fake. The picture of Crack Lips=awesome. We zoomed in on the image of her, and it looked as if a thin layer of white dust had coated her lips (hence the name Crack Lips), and her “scared” face looked as if she had taken a dump in her pants, and didn’t want anyone to know. We were dying.
Right outside of the Big Wheel was some scary haunted house roller coaster thing. Moonshine and I wanted to go on. Twi was scared that I would try to startle her. And Crack Lips was having none of it. Next ride: Cyclone Roller Coaster in Astroland park. Looked easy enough, but that rickety old ride really packed a punch. Twi and I screamed again just for effect. By mid-ride, we were all laughing hysterically–I could see Moonshine’s shoulders shaking from laughter, and I was pretty much drooling on myself.
Afterwards, we rode some weird spinning ride whose name escapes me. The ride is like one of those spidery looking contraptions with a car at the end of each arm. As the ride progresses, not only are you lifted up into the air, but the car you are in rolls upsidedown and around and around. For some reason, Crack Lips was really into this ride. I have a problem w/dizzy rides like this, but hell, I was in Coney Island, even teh fact that I had hotdogs and chili fries churning in my stomach wasnt going to stop me. Moonshine, the only intelligent on in the bunch, stayed behind and dutifully held all three of our purses like a good little houseboy.
First off, we were the only 3 people on the ride. Secondly, the guy who was in charge of operations was eating a bag of cheetos and chatting on his cell phone, practically oblivious to us. A little disconcerting to say the least. And then the ride started up–slow at first, and then reaching a dizzying speed. At times, the car we were in would lunge towards the ground, face first, as if we were free-falling. My grip became tighter and tighter…and the ride…just kept on going and going and going. They say most rides are over in about a minute. I swear this one kept on going for about 5. Each time we passed the control booth, where the guy sat nibbling on cheetos, we would yell, “STOP THE RIDE!” or “GET OFF YOUR CELL PHONE PLEASE!” or “STOP EATING YOUR CHEETOS AND STOP THE RIDE!” Of course, this made us only laugh harder, making it all the more painful.
After our epic ride, we went back to the boardwalk and got refreshments. Crack Lips and I got ice cream–soooo delicious. The boy in front of us, who was about 8-10 years old–just rammed the ice cream cone into his face. I couldn’t really comprehend it, but rather than licking the cone like a normal person, he just leaned over and pushed the cone into his own face. Weird, but ok. Naturally, me and Crack Lips imitated this for the rest of the day.
We settled on a park bench on the boardwalk, watching kids play in the sand. I drew (or actually stomped out) an ice cream cone of my own, much to Crack Lips’ delight. There were a few pieces of lettuce (???) hanging on the guard rail and twi walked so close to it, nearly getting it on her pants, that we nicknamed her “Lettuce Legs.” We goofed around some more, and then decided to walk to the other end of the boardwalk.
I should mention that I was wearing a tshirt bought the day before, that said, “National Hot Dog eating champ.” As we made our way to the pier, a random guy yelled, “YOU’RE a HOT DOG.” I stared at him w/a quizzical look on my face, “I’m a hot dog…?” “YEAH, I’LL EAT YOU ALLLLL DAY LONG. YOU’RE SCRUUUMPTIOUS!!!” Um, yeah. WOW. Of course the other three were no help–they just laughed hysterically.
On the pier, we watched kids fish and catch crabs. Twi posed with a guy who looked like a cross between Ronald McDonald and Albert Einstein. Another guy accosted me and asked me how many hot dogs I could eat. I kept tripping on the missing boards in the pier. We spent a lot of time leaning over the edge of the railing staring out towards the water and then back towards Coney Island, absorbing everything; wishing there were more hours in the day. And then we walked back, past the sign that said “No weed smoking here.” Past the weird XXL tshirt stand with snowman tshirts. Past the digital sign of how many days left until the next hot dog eating contest. And then finally, we drove back to the city.
When I think about Coney Island, I will remember the view from the top of Deno’s Big Wheel. I’ll remember the way the light, in the early days of fall, tried to convince us that there was still some summer left. I’ll remember all of us, with huge goofy grins, laughing, feeling so carefree and so alive at something that was really very simple. It was one of those moements in life where you feel as if you are watching a movie of yourself — time is both suspended and moving forward. Its as if you, and everyone you are with, are aware of how uncommon it is to experience such a pure happiness in such an adult life. When it does happen, it transforms you; makes you want to hold onto it forever. At the same time, you realize that in the blink of an eye, it will all be over–another memory of Coney Island to add to the collective mix.
Years from now, when I am old and gray, I can imagine telling my grandkids about this day–how the guys from the stands yelled at us, how we stood over there and posed like muscle men, how we screamed at the top of our lungs on such and such a ride. Maybe, by then, everything will have changed. But this moment was real and it belonged to us, and if we never ever have a moment like that again, we will always share that memory of what my sister called, “the perfect day.” And that is how I will forever remember Coney Island.
I still wish we had crammed the four of us into a photo booth and had our pictures taken. Ah, well, maybe next time.
Fuckin’ NYC.
ps–if you look closely, you can see us in the shadows, from L to R: Me, Crack Lips, Twi, Moonshine.
