DREAM: Rummaging through a dump yard right off the interstate. Finding discarded pictures, vintage 80’s style—maybe from a hair salon—mangled up—edges bent in. I’m trying to collect them to bring home. I hear a familiar phone ring from just up the hill where it’s understood China Wok is at. In waking life at work it’s automatic for me to answer it. Here I feel the need to run and pick it up until I remember it’s my day off. So I continue gathering the finds.
Leaving Margot’s house sometime after 9 a.m. Her and I are headed to Williamsburg. On the way there I purchase the fun card tickets from a lady I found on Craigslist. Good deal.
Breakfast: Lemon Poppy Seed Muffin. Orange Pineapple Juice.
Me: “Are you gonna like me today?”
Her: “I’ll try.”
[kiss]
Her: “Are you gonna like me?”
Me: “I’m gonna love you today!”
Hello Busch Gardens Williamsburg. It’s only been a few years or so since I last traversed your mock European continent. The polka accordion soundtrack following me everywhere I go—up and down the hilly coarse rock pavement—passing vending stations with overly priced refreshments and food—the families—the kids—the heat—the excitement.
“This place is much smaller than I remember. I guess everything seems bigger when you’re a kid.”
The Loch Ness Monster is our first ride choice, a classic rollercoaster that I’m sure would be a disgrace to the park if it were ever torn down. The Big Bad Wolf and Drachen Fire leaving was a bad enough loss.
We venture through the zoo part of England…
A few workers are handling a huge Burmese python. We’re allowed to touch. Putting my hands on his thick round body—a long yellow and white pipeline. I can feel the constant movement. It’s amazing how his whole body seems to be moving all at the same time.
We’re allowed into the bird aviary—feeding the pretty rainbow lorikeets with a tiny cup of $5 nectar. They’re beautifully colored. I spot two actually mating on a rope. One of them hangs out on my shoulder, nibbling my blue sunglasses and picking at my ear.
Me: “Those birds remind me of you.”
Passing by the bald eagles with their permanently furrowed brows resembling old wise men in a constant state of contemplation. All these birds were taken from the wild because they can’t fly anymore.
Passing by the white wolves. Staring at one of them lounging by a manmade brook. Feeling unimportant to him. I’m just another observer on another day in his life. Does he care about being watched all the time? Maybe we’re being watched, too.
Dianne, a hawk perched in a closet size cage, I read has lived here at the park for more than 10 years.
Me: “Man that sucks. It’s just depressing. If I was a bird and I couldn’t fulfill my life’s purpose (i.e. flying), then I wouldn’t even want to live.”
I was smart enough to pack a lunch for us. So we trek back to the car enjoying Egg Salad Sandwiches, mine with Tomato. Some Watermelon. Kettle Cooked Potato Chips with Avocado. Honest Ade Orange Mango Mangosteen Juice.
After a while the rain starts to heavily pour down. We take shelter underneath a show house in Italy. It eventually stops.
We run into a situation at Apollo’s Chariot. The lady at the front of the line refuses to let us though with my green backpack because they have a policy of no loose articles allowed in the station. Of course we’re forced to pay a dollar for a locker nearby or stash it somewhere safe. We almost had this issue at Alpengeist. But this is ridiculous. I’ve never experienced this before. Usually you could just leave your belongings in a cubbyhole before you got on the rollercoaster. The whole idea of a theme park isn’t just make-believe thrills. It’s a money scam, obviously. They know you’ll be stuck here in the park without food and liquid. And they know you’re gonna complain in your head about that $6 water bottle but fork out the dough anyway because it’s convenient and you’re thirsty. And now this? Punishing the people who want to bring their own nourishment or have their own stuff? You’ve lost me. But like any establishment that’s bonkers, you find a way around the system because you’re smarter than they are.
Margot gets soaked on the Pompeii ride. She’s legitimately pissed because she gets drenched after the boat drops from these water blasters mounted along the fence. These kids thought it was funny. Her dress and hair are soaked. It’s the end of the world. She thinks she looks ugly and feels like a dog.
“C’mon baby, its just water. You’ll dry in an hour or so. You’re pretty already. It’s not a big deal.” But no. It’s a big deal. Enough to where she gets teary eyed and ends up buying a new dress from one of the shops.
We find out later that the water blasters even cost money to use them. I think it’s kind of funny that someone went out of their way to pay for Margot’s misfortune.
I’d like to say that we had sex on the sky lift ride. But I couldn’t convince her to be a little adventurous. Plus, the trip was shorter than I thought.
Getting dinner at the Trapper’s Smokehouse in France: BBQ Ribs, Beef Brisket, and Chicken. Green Beans. Mac n Cheese. Waffle Fries. Lemonade.
When it feels like we’ve run out of things to do here, we leave.
“There’s just nothing else I want to do that we haven’t already done.”
She takes the wheel while I nap for a little bit.
Stopping by her mom’s place where so many cats live. Their dog, Zooey, is spastic, running around with two tennis balls in her mouth begging for me to throw them.
It’s not often I get to see Margot and her mom interact. Her mother has the same body structure. She gets a lot this beauty from her momma.
Back at her place in Bay Colony. She’s got P.S. I Love You [2007] on the TV.
Enjoying a cold Sam Adams.
When the movies over I turn off all the lights except for the washer and dryer room with the door cracked.
Smiling, “I’m just setting the moooood.”
Making sweet love—seems like forever since we’ve had sex but it was really just last week—I finish earlier than I wanted but she doesn’t mind.
Back home.
Sipping on Hot Red & White Tea and eating Blueberry Streusel Bread.
Talking on the phone with a friend—The stories of our lives coexist in strange reoccurring experiences. Learning from each other’s individual insight. It’s amazing the cages we keep ourselves locked into, and for fear that we may lose those precious cages.
I’m really tired…
Sleep 4 a.m.
No comments:
Post a Comment