Late Night Coney Island
Yesterday I said goodbye to Claire, my grandmother’s minister’s daughter who I was playing host to for two days while she visited the city. She has quite a few travel stories of her own, which are far more exciting than any I can remember having, such as missing a flight from San Fran to Albequerque, hopping on a plane to Denver, renting a car with another stranded passenger, and driving to Santa Fe overnight, arriving just in time for her friend’s graduation.
I rode up to Penn Station with her and saw her off. At about 5:30, I hopped back on the A train and headed toward W4th Street, but when the train pulled into the station, I was too comfortable sitting there, sideways, my feet stretched out in front of me, the rocking train lulling me into meditation. I started to wonder what would happen if this particular train went on forever. What would happen if the track was endless, if I could just sit there comfortably, half-conscious for the rest of my life.
We passed Canal St station, and I decided, it had been too long since the last and only time I’ve been to Coney Island. I decided it would be just as nice to squish along the beach, sand leaking into my shoes, as it would be to ride the train forever. And since trains don’t go on forever, I got off at Jay Street to catch the F Coney Island Bound. That train seemed to go on forever. The sun began to set over the brownstones and cemeteries, and the clouds became feathers.
The air that blew in the car when the doors opened at each stop chilled me through my sweater. Darkness fell just before I arrived at the end of the line. I got off, my arms hugging my chest. I strode towards the beach. Every storefront was closed behind a metal gate. Streets were empty except a few tired people waiting for a bus.
I could smell the ocean. How much I missed the surge of salty energy that pulses through me when I stand on a beach in the moonlight. But something in me told me to stop walking, to turn around, to go back to the main street where the crowd of strangers shifted their weight on the opposite corner.
I walked quickly back, but I resisted the voice. The street stretched onward toward the Aquarium, I knew. I paced a block, passing under an overhang where a clownish voice told me to come on in and ride my ass off on the bumper cars. The lights were all out. The voice went on, laughing.
The next street was dark. A lone figure wavered back and forth along the sidewalk in the distance. For a quick second I resented being female. The beach would have to wait for another day.
Tags: 7. USA, 7A. New York City, Travel
Drea
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