The Pike...excerpt 1966

This is a piece I cut from the novel...

The Pike was past seedy; beyond merely run down.  One of the old seaside amusement parks that dotted the coastline between San Diego and San Francisco, it encompassed a dimension found only in cheap novels about demented clowns and tattooed dwarfs.  I loved it.  When I was in high school, the Pike felt exotic and a little dangerous.  Tonight fog blanketed the beach and the asphalt midway smelled like seawater.  Our footsteps echoed through the fog as we walked up and down, waiting for Jenny.  The neon lights popped and crackled, flashing on/off, on/off, sizzling like bug zappers, snapping like a chorus of electrical shorts.  For twenty five cents a bored gypsy read our palms, and for five dollars we could have almost anything tattooed on any part of our body. 

“What about a ride on the Ferris wheel?”

The Pike’s double Ferris wheel rotated in a series of jerky stops letting customers on and off.  The stop at the top, two gigantic wheels stacked atop one another, was breathtaking.  From there, I looked out into the oily darkness over the ocean.  The buoys moaned and harbor lights twinkled.  Looking down, the wheel seemed suspended in a blanket of gray.

“Sally, how about a ride on the coaster?”

“Now way, Jose.  I hate that thing.”

“Come on, it may be your last chance.”  Bob pulled at my sleeve, urging me in the direction of the roller coaster.

“That’s for sure, in more ways than one.”

Every urban myth about cars sailing off the tracks at the first big drop, about decapitations from sailors standing up in the cars, and about passengers arriving at the terminus of the ride dead from fright, went through my mind.  The Cyclone Racer was legendary.  But before I knew it, we were in line.  My knees shook as we got in the car and I gripped the restraining bar until my hands cramped.  I heard the gears grab the pull chain ratcheting loudly on the slow climb to the first drop.  At the top I stared down at the ocean beneath us. Then the car released and plunging straight toward the sea.  As we reached the bottom, I was jerked violently to the right for the first turn.  The subsequent whips and turns shook my body into submission as the cars raced over the wooden rails.  Two more stomach churning drops and we glided safely into the station.  I took a deep breath as we disembarked and hung on Bob’s arm in relief.

“You made it old girl.”  He laughed and patted my arm.  “What about the fun House?”

I thought about the body that was found when they remodeled the old fun house.  A long lost murder victim, walled up in the musty old chamber of horrors, and I shook my head.  “I think I’ve had enough.”

As if perfectly timed, Jenny walked toward us from the other end of the midway, disappearing in and out of the wavering fog.  She hung on Kirk’s arm, smiling, and a little pang of jealousy further upset my tender stomach.

“Hey Sal.”  Jenny was the only one who ever gave me a nickname.

“It’s good to see you, Rose.”  I used her middle name. I was a little pissed.

“So, what’s happening?”  She leaned into Kirk, clutching him tighter.

“I wanted to see you before I went back up north.”

 She shrugged her shoulders and took my arm, waving in the general direction of the beach.  “What do you think?  Has it changed?  Have I changed?”

“Not really.  I wish you had come with me when I went north.  Do you regret it?”

She looked at me with a funny expression, her head cocked to one side, then she grabbed Bob's hand dragged him down the boardwalk, yelling back over her shoulder,

“We’ll be back in a few.”

I was left with Kirk.  We looked at each other and laughed.  He lit a cigarette and gestured toward a bench off to the side of the midway.  We sat in silence, watching people walk up and down, drunks staggering along, catcalling girls out for a night of adventure.  I thought about my relationship with Jenny, always competitive and sometimes tense, but still friends.  I never stayed angry at her for long, even when she told me the only reason she sought me out in high school was because I had a reputation for being the person to go to if you wanted pot. 

 “I didn’t realize you were seeing Jenny.”  I emphasized seeing but I meant screwing.

Kirk leaned forward, his elbows on his knees.  “Do you really care?  Or is it just that it’s Jenny?”

“I guess it’s that it’s Jenny.”

“I wish it was about me, Sally, but I don’t think it ever was.”  He took another drag, threw the butt down.  It sizzled like bacon in a hot pan.  We stood up walked down the midway.

Jenny and Bob were just coming out of Lyle Tuttle’s tattoo parlor when we reached the far end of the midway.  Jenny slipped her pants down one hip and thrust her side toward me.  “The rose tattoo!”  

There was our tattoo, the one we were getting together, just the two of us.  I felt tears in my eyes.  Jenny stood there, her pants still low, exposing the fresh ink.  Kirk nodded at me and took Jenny by the arm, steering her toward the parking lot.  Bob put his arm around my shoulder and turned me toward his VW van.