Punk 57(11)

I’d written to Misha about it, to see if he knew her, since they lived in the same town, but it was in one of the many letters he never responded to.

Taking a right onto Badger Road, Lyla digs in her console and pulls out a tube of lip gloss. I roll down the window, taking in the crisp, cool sea air.

The Atlantic Ocean sits just over the hills, but I can already smell the salt in the air. Living several miles inland, I barely even notice it, but coming to the beach—or the Cove, the old theme park near the beach where we’re going—feels like another world. The wind washes over me, and I can almost feel the sand under my feet.

I wish we were still going to the beach.

“J.D.’s already here,” Lyla points out, pulling into an old, nearly deserted, parking lot. Her headlights fall on a dark blue GMC Denali sitting haphazardly in no designated space. I guess the paint marking where to park wore off long ago.

Waist-high weeds sway in the breeze from where they sprout up through the cracks in the pavement, and only the moon casts enough light to reveal what lies beyond the broken-down ticket booths and entrances. Looming still and dark, towers and buildings sit in the distance, and I spot several massive structures, one in the shape of a circle—most likely a Ferris wheel.

As I turn my head in a one-eighty, I see other similar constructions scattered about, taking in the bones of old roller coasters that sit quiet and haunting.

Lyla turns off the engine and grabs her phone and keys as we all exit the car. I try to peer through the gates and around the dilapidated ticket booths to see what lies beyond in the vast amusement park, but all I can make out are dark doorways, dozens of corners, and sidewalks that go on and on. The wind that courses through the broken windows sounds like whispers.

Too many nooks and crannies. Too many hiding places.

I pull up the sleeves of my hoodie, all of a sudden not feeling so cold. Why the hell are we here?

Looking to my right, I notice a black Ford Raptor sitting under a cover of trees on the edge of the parking lot, and the windows are blacked out. Is someone inside?

A shiver runs up my spine, and I rub my arms.

Maybe one of Trey’s or J.D.’s friends brought their own car tonight.

“Hoo, hoo, hoo,” a voice calls out, imitating an owl. I tear my eyes away from the Raptor, and we all look up in the direction of the noise.

“Oh, my God!” Lyla bursts out, laughing. “You guys are crazy!”

I shake my head as Ten and Lyla hoot and holler, running toward the Ferris wheel just inside the gate. Scaling the grungy yellow poles about fifty feet above us, between the cars of the old ride, is Lyla’s boyfriend, J.D., and his buddy, Bryce.

“Come on,” Lyla says, climbing over the guard rail toward the Ferris wheel. “Let’s go see.”

“See what?” I ask. “Rides that don’t run?”

She races off, ignoring me, and Ten laughs.

“Come on.” He takes my hand and pulls me away from the ride.

I follow him as we head deeper into the park, both of us wandering down the wide lanes that were once packed with crowds of people. I look left and right, equal parts fascinated and creeped out.

Doors hang off hinges, creaking in the breeze, and moonlight glimmers off the glass lying on the ground beneath broken windows. The wind blows through the elephant and hot air balloon cars on the kids’ rides, and everything is hollow and dark. We walk past the carousel, and I see rain puddles sitting on the platform and dirt coating the chipped paint of the horses.

I remember riding that when I was little. It’s one of the only memories I have of my father before he split.

The yelling and squealing of our friends fade away as we keep walking farther into the park, our pace slowing as I take in how much still remains.

This place used to be full of laughter and screams of delight, and now it’s abandoned and left to decay alone, all of the joy it once contained forgotten.

A few short years. That’s all it’s been since Adventure Cove closed its gates.

But regardless, deserted and neglected, it’s still here. I inhale a deep breath, taking in the smell of old wood, moisture, and salt. Deserted and neglected, I’m still here, I’m still here, I’ll always be here…

I laugh to myself. There’s a song lyric for you, Misha.

I stroll behind Ten, thinking of all the musings I’ve mailed my pen pal over the years that he’s turned into songs. If he ever makes it big, he owes me royalties.

“Kind of sad,” Ten says, wandering past gaming booths and letting his hand graze the wooden frames. “I remember coming here. Still feels like it’s alive, doesn’t it?”

The night wind sweeps down the empty lanes between the booths and food stands, sending my fly-aways floating around me. The air wraps around my legs and blows against my sweatshirt, plastering it to my body like a skin as chills start to spread up my neck.

All of a sudden I feel surrounded.

Like I’m inside the still funnel of a violent tornado.

Like I’m being watched.

I cross my arms over my chest as I hurry up next to Ten. “What are you doing?” I ask, trying to cover my jitters with annoyance.

He pulls at the shutter of one of the wooden gaming booths, and although it gives a little, it won’t lift completely due to the padlock keeping it shut. “Getting you a teddy bear,” he answers as if I should’ve known that.