“Born to Run” and oh, “Wendy let me in I wanna be your friend / I want to guard your dreams and visions.”
One of Pike’s favorite parts about going to the shore was the last ten minutes of the ride, when the air suddenly changed and she could already smell the ocean. She loved it when the land got flat and grass yards turned into stones, into different colored pebbles, the docks and rows of boats and the familiar smell of water on wood, drenched deep into the lumber, into the planks. The distinct cry of seagulls.
And then that final turn, and the sight of it—God, the sight of it—that beautiful, beautiful boardwalk. Everything lit up gold against the dark blue sky, the Ferris wheel and the hot air balloon ride and the swings rising up, up, up—the good kind of screaming—and the carousel, a real proper carousel, the one her grandfather she never met used to work on, lit up like a night flower and the music that made kids bounce on their heels, and tired parents getting to rest for the duration of the ride but still smiling and sometimes taking pictures as the kids picked out their favorite horse or elephant or tiger. The sound of arcade games being played all at once and flashing and the temptation of a claw machine when it carried that one thing you wanted, no matter how poorly made, the comforting sound of skee ball being played, a spray of tickets to trade in for an eraser or a bouncy ball or a little rubber ring.