CONEY ISLAND  

            It was already a full-on beautiful hot summer day when I woke up on my 26^th birthday. I stayed up late the night before, to Jason’s chagrin, playing Tomb Raider. We walked down our park-side street toward the Sunset Diner, the closest thing to Jims in North Brooklyn. As we reached the end of our block, we could see the now familiar tell-tale neighborhood cars parked in the middle of the street, blocking traffic. A month ago I would have looked at these cars in my usual brand of “what the hell are these Yankees doing now” disgust; but it doesn’t take too much summer to realize that when the natives want to party, they take it among themselves to shut down civilization and have their way with the streets. It’s quite fabulous really, and I wish Texans would learn to use those giant Ford Rangers as a blockade to keep their kegs safe from the non-believers and smack dab in the middle of the road.  We meandered through this surreal block party complete with an inflated castle for jumping and a crude and frightening miniature crane-like apparatus decorated with a picture of a crazy banana-eating gorilla.  This was apparently a ride of sorts as children were already lining up around it. Something in the cheaply painted gorilla’s eyes gave me the first twinge of excitement for our choice of adventure today—after breakfast, we were going to Coney Island.

Actually, I kept trying to convince Jason that we had already reached Coney Island, but as usual, he wasn’t buying, and refused to let me go home and go back to sleep. It was onward, and downward from the G train to the newly commissioned W train, which I had never heard of and which apparently took over the D train’s old job. It was clearly a novice train as it took the long way to Coney island going from 56^th to 23^rd the to 62^nd and on to 8^th, of course I have no concept of this strange part of Brooklyn where the numbered avenues clash with the numbered streets and out of the rubble all that remains are the X,Y,Z’s and of course Avenue U.  I fought to stay awake, but since Jason was there to protect me, I finally nodded off, mumbling to him that no one can get to Coney Island unless they fall asleep first.  Since every New York transplant that we know has told us a similar story of Urban Legend proportion that deals with them falling asleep on the train and waking up at 3 in the morning alone and afraid in Coney Island, Jason was inclined to believe me, and kept watch while I slept.  And when I awoke, there we were.

We rushed out of the train terminal up the ramp and out into the clamor of this ageless carnival. Greeted by a larger than life Nathan’s hot dog sign and a strange blend of ocean breeze mixed with a bouquet of garbage and beer, I knew instantly this place was one of a kind.  I suddenly believed everything I had ever heard about Coney Island, it had to be some kind of Bermuda triangle of carnies and freaks, a demented Disney World, the place where the people who auditioned for The Wizard of OZ, but weren’t cute enough to members of the lollipop guild came to make a living.  I scanned the crowds for the Geek show, this place was a trip.  We moved instinctively toward the ocean.  It was beautiful.  Did you know that New York beaches have the best sand in the world?  Many of you may not believe it, but I have it on authority that although the fish are surging with mercury and some of the swimmers are found to be wearing concrete shoes, the sand is unequalled, even in Europe or Hawaii.  There were tons of fishermen and lobstermen? along the pier listening to music and using chicken cutlets to lure some critters from the water.  The sight of dirty children sending thin metals baskets lurching into the water as if they were trying to catch their only hopes for a meal made Jason glad that we weren’t there to swim.

We headed back to the carnival area and after I waited in line to use a port o potty (no further description required) and then Jason waited to get some water, we were really too tired to wait in line for the ferris wheel.  So, we vowed to come back and made our way over the planks and past the drunks back to the train for the long journey home.  Which, by the way, requires that at least one of the voyagers falls asleep.  I hope that every one will one day have a chance to see the famous Coney Island, also known as “The Last Place on Earth I’d Take A Kid”- named thus, by Jason on July 21, 2001.