She is five years old, and although she is only five, she knows her parents do not have much money. She has asked them to take her to see ET in the movie theater and they have told her they will take her somewhere special, if only they can take a small nap. She asks them what she can do while they nap, and they say twiddle her thumbs. So she sits on the green couch in the living room, whose windows look over Hamilton Street, and spends a bit of time figuring out how to twiddle.
When they get into the car, the drive seems very long. Madison Ave is far in the rearview mirror, and she is getting sleepy in the car. Perhaps when they get there, her parents can twiddle their thumbs while she naps. Suddenly, an enormous ferris wheel catches her eye, and she feels a flip flop in her belly. She must not get her hopes up, but oh they float to the surface despite how hard she pushes them down. It is only when they pull into the immense parking lot that she realizes those fireflies of hope are free to fly.
Everything at the Great Escape has earned this park its name. From scary roller coasters, to calliope music, it is a treasure trove for each of her senses. It is a long day for little feet, but a day which has left indelible memories in a brain that will later prove itself to be a vault.
She is sixteen. She probably laughs at the idea of amusement parks to her friends, and casually dismisses the idea as juvenile, until the school sends them all to the Great Escape for a field trip. Getting out of chemistry to ride the Comet is really All Right. The bus ride is rowdy, with laughter as music, and no one even notices the eye rolls from the teachers. The students have wads of bills in their pockets, pockets which will come home empty and flat. They frantically list, in order of importance from greatest to least, the rides they must find and conquer. Though no one says it aloud, they each have plans to bend their lanky bodies in half to visit the shacks in storytown.
Between waiting in lengthy lines at the Scrambler, and trying not to vomit on the Rotor, she sits with her friends and eats fried dough. The powdered sugar bursts into little clouds, and it is hard not to taste the mere deliciousness of the day in the air. Later, her boyfriend tries to win her a stuffed animal in the arcade. After several attempts, and forty dollars wasted, he tosses the toy gun to her and tells her to take the last shot. It is inevitable that she will win, and she does, and she can only barely stifle the giggles at his wounded pride.
The bus ride home is quieter. It is a long day for these would-be adults. Girls have rested their heads upon boys' shoulders, stuffed animals have been placed lovingly into the bins overhead, and there is an aroma of confections in the air. The cotton candy ice cream hauntings of a good day.
She is on the cusp of thirty four. On a whim, she has taken up an invitation to bring her children to the Great Escape. This is not a trip she makes often. It seems somewhat daunting with five children, but the day is promising to be warm and uneventful, so she goes. She remembers to pack waters, and bug spray, and sunscreen and a change of clothing, lest little ones forget their potty training in the face of such excitement. They get sandwiches on the way, and the children are quiet, to avoid the fights she warned would send them all home early.
As they pull off the highway onto the exit for the park, the children all gasp and point as they see the looming roller coaster begin a new leg of its journey. They clamber over each other as they get out of the car, anticipation buzzing from them like electricity, almost audible in its intensity.
The day goes by so very quickly. She notices as she gets on the rides, how so many are not there any longer. The Scrambler has long since abandoned its building, which now stands mostly hidden behind trees like a shameful secret. The indoor roller coaster is now a warehouse, and lonely limbs of dead rides lay scattered like minefields behind the tracks of the roller coaster. But as she is noticing this, and noticing that the gun game that won her a stuffed animal and a reason to gloat has been dismantled, her children are noticing only the glory of an endless summer day with promise around every corner. It is easy to see how the youngest two, the twins, are fascinated by the intermittent squirts of water coming from the ground geysers, and why the rickety wooden tracks of the Comet are calling to the others. When the divers fly through the air into filthy green water, she cannot help but be delighted with the group as they are soaked in the aftermath.
She thinks to herself this is an easy lesson learned. Spending so long in childhood longing to get out, and so long in adulthood wishing to be back in. They go for ice cream at the end of the day, and the sudden downpour washes away the dribbles of soft serve on their chins, and cools their flushed faces.
It is a long day for this tired mother, but despite the weariness in her shoulders and her feet, she finds she has a spring in her step.
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