The roller coaster shrieked above us, the sound of rusty metal making contact with more rusty metal simultaneously exciting and terrifying, the screams of the people in the coaster joining the teeth-jattering screech as it came to a pinnacle and plunged, only feet from our heads. It was the coaster from my dream—The Cyclone. It was right next to the other coaster—the beltless, the bruising Wild Chipmunk.
Walking through Lakeside was like moving into a bygone era. The faded yellow entrance with “Lakeside” in cursive—yellow and orange sunbeams shooting out of the lettering—was peeling, and the building hadn’t been the bright white of the past for many, many years. But my past was still there, a past that belonged in a city that, in ways, no longer existed. In the dream I’d had with my mother, Lakeside had been young, bright, beautiful.
I had come here as a teenager, my lithe, angry body caught between iron parts, moving up and down in different directions, pinching my arms, legs—my mind swirling with alcohol and promise. Debby and I had spent the ’80s as young girls eating cotton candy and throwing balls at impossible targets shaped like spirals or clowns, flirting with boys with our eyes, lying to Sandy about where we’d been, who we’d talked to. But it was places like these that had shown the divide between my life and Debby’s.
When I hit thirteen, I was already a woman, in body and mind. I was a parking lot kid, ditching and getting high with Jaime not far from the school in some metalhead’s car, not giving a fuck about my grades in math or English. But Debby, only five years my senior, was studious. She was in her last year of high school for my first year of junior high, and though she loved me, she didn’t approve of my lifestyle, and in her quiet way, she made it known. There were many years in which she was just my cousin, and what furthered the divide was the fact that we looked nothing alike. Her shy, quiet hellos in the shadows of the hallways, my oh, she’s my cousin to confused looks from my friends, were our only interaction for years.
The screams from the big, white coaster above started again, as it came back for another round, the expressions of fear and delight above us amping me up.
“This was such a good idea,” Debby said, squinting fearfully up at the coaster. She’d always been afraid of them. I’d tried to drag her on them time and time again, starting from when we were kids. I knew today I’d try once more. After all, that’s what we were here for. And if I wasn’t successful, the next time that I got her here—or more likely, to Elitch’s, there was no way I’d quit attempting to persuade her. Of course, the one time I’d been successful, Debby had hurled, though she’d waited until we’d gotten off the coaster. She’d even been able to unsteadily walk a line to a trash can and yack directly into it. In a way, I’d been impressed.
“We’re kind of in the line of fire, though,” I said.
Debby’s forehead creased in confusion.
“People on this thing often barf. And we’re directly under one of the curls—which, is where I’d be most likely to barf, that is, if I—”
Getting it, Debby looked up, shuddered, and pulled us both away from the coaster.
“Ewww,” she said.
I laughed.
“I know,” I said. “Let’s get cotton candy.”
“And a Slurpee!”
“I haven’t had a Slurpee in ten years,” I said, shaking my head.
“That’s just flat-out wrong,” Debby said.
“It’s fucking immoral, is what it is.”
Debby giggled. Just because we were here to learn more about what I’d seen in my vision, didn’t mean we couldn’t have fun.
I squinted at Debby as she yipped and clapped her tiny white hands, remembering the girl she’d been, the girl I’d been too.
“It smells exactly the same here,” I said, lighting a cigarette to Debby’s disapproval. I was sure I’d get caught at Elitch’s—but at Lakeside, they were just glad we were here.
“It does. Like sweat and burning peanuts,” she responded, giggling.
Jack was furious with me, but Debby had told him that she was visiting a friend in the hospital, and that she’d gotten some time off at Walmart. I’d told her that she needed to confront him, give him an ultimatum, but she’d only said I didn’t understand.
She was right. I didn’t understand.
We strolled leisurely down the alleyways, past the buildings, taking it all in, its faded glory, the overgrown fountains, both gothic and ’70s retro. The white Ferris wheel that someone had taken their last ride on possibly forty years ago, the gears sinking into the dust. The Labyrinth, which must have once been a hall of mirrors, but was now just a small building with planks of wood scattered, abandoned throughout. There were teenagers there, and though their hair wasn’t sprayed into spikes, or frosted—though their jackets weren’t acid wash, like when I was a teenager—the smell of booze and weed was emanating off them, and I smiled, their mocking laughter echoing after me.
I took the last, few, dying drags of my smoke, and stubbed the cigarette out, throwing it in the ash- and gum-covered trash can on my left.
We wandered until we found the cotton candy stand. It was a little red-and-white-striped platform, complete with wheels. We’d seen the guy moving a few feet ahead and worked to catch up. He’d stopped in front of the bumper cars.
There were layers of cotton candy in plastic: fuchsia, dusty rose, and lavender and white. Lollipops of all colors were for sale too, and Debby plucked two, round pink pops, making sure they were exactly the same for her girls, and stuck them in her pocket. Debby then deliberated about the color, as if there was any choice beyond pink, and we walked away with our treats, me making a joke about how it looked, after a few bites, as if we’d been making out with the prom queen.
“Gross,” Debby said.
I laughed. I still got a good shock of pleasure teasing her.
I bit into the candy, enjoying the way it instantaneously shrunk under my teeth. I pulled at the fibrous material, until it came out in a long string, and then plucked the string from my mouth, and pushed the whole thing into my maw.
Debby was doing the same.
“I feel guilty for not taking the girls,” she said, frowning in-between bites.
I stopped in my tracks. “You’re a great mother. And to be a great mother, you need some time without them. It’s not natural to be a parent 24/7. Don’t do that to yourself.”
She took a rapid breath, but didn’t say anything, and I started us going again. Damn Jack for making her feel like she was a giant, walking womb.
“Do you want to get on the coaster?” Debby asked.
I sighed. I wasn’t ready. “Let’s play some games.” I knew that was Debby’s favorite thing to do at places like this. I liked the rides the best, the illicit thrills.
“They’re all scams,” Debby said, pulling some candy off her swirl, and tucking it into her mouth.
“Who cares?” I said, and she shrugged, but I could see her smile in my periphery.
She ran, like a kid, over to a neighboring game. The wall was a white panel with pink and blue balloons tacked to it. You had to throw a dart, try to pop the balloon. She loved this game, and I suddenly recalled her playing it here when we were kids, right before our friendship had broken off. It was nice to see Debby happy for once, caring for herself. Not minding a kid, worried if it was stuffing something it shouldn’t into its mouth, or if Jack was too drunk.
She threw dart after colorful dart, missing each time and snorting in disappointment when she did.
“You want to try?” she asked, and I told her I was almost out of tickets. She went to get more, and the dude who was running the stand smiled. I was checking my phone to see if there were any calls when I thought I saw something, someone large and hulking reflected in the guy’s sunglasses as I was looking back up. I turned around. Nothing. My mind went to my dream, and I felt a violent, nervous edge of excitement move through my veins.
Debby shoved a gigantic roll of blue tickets into my hands, and I could see the excitement in her eyes. I shook my head. It took her half the roll before she gave up, and moved onto the next, a game that, to my mind, was even more futile. There were little, bright green frogs sticking up above water on plastic lily pads, the goal was to swing a ring over the head of the frog, all while the whole thing spun lightly, each frog floating past in a circle.
We split the tickets, and I swung, and she swung until most of them were gone, Debby finally ringing a frog at the end, and acting like she’d won a car on a game show, jumping up and down and shouting once they gave her a choice between a roll of candy and a keychain. She chose a Power Puff keychain.
Debby wanted to get on the carousel next, which, I had to admit, held a lot of charm with its chipped, painted horses moving up and down to the broken-down sounds of carnival music, playing out disjointedly into the air, the mirror beside me reflecting my own wild laughter—and something else, that thing I’d sworn I’d seen reflected in the worker’s sunglasses an hour before. I snapped my head around, hoping to catch whatever it was, but we’d moved around the bend already, and the only thing I could see was a family with twin girls with grubby faces, red hair, and soft blue dresses. I tried to shake the feeling off, not spoil the day. But the reason I’d wanted to come here moved anxiously in the back of my mind. This had to be a sign. God how I hated people who thought everything was a sign, and now I’d become one of them.
We got lunch inside the park after the carousel had lost its shine—a couple of sandwiches and some lemonades, and watched the people go by. I couldn’t help but give special attention to the teenagers. It wasn’t that I wanted to go back—though parts of my life had been wildly fun, many parts had been sad, tragic even. But they were a reminder of who I was.
“I love spring,” Debby said. “Like, fall is my favorite, you know that. The falling leaves, the crisp air, the pumpkin spice lattes. But spring is so great.”
I nodded. I did too, but my head was somewhere else.
“Do you miss being a kid?” I asked.
She sighed thoughtfully. “Sometimes. But I get to feel all that stuff again, through my children. Like Christmas. Remember how magical it was?”
I remembered. But it was shadowed by my father’s inability to really celebrate it with me. To even get him next door, where I would migrate after settling Daddy in every Christmas morning, feeling bad as I shut the door on him, the glow of the television lighting his face. Even though I knew he really didn’t understand that Christmas wasn’t like any other day, I always felt like I was abandoning him. But he cried hysterically when we tried to get him out of the house. The last time we’d tried was almost ten years ago. He’d gone down on his knees at the door, frenzied, calling Cecilia’s name over and over, like a religious chant.
“Yeah,” I responded, not wanting to kill Debby’s mood. Really, I should’ve said teenager. I didn’t miss being a kid, I missed being a teenager. I missed being free, and wild, and most of all, I missed Jaime.
“I feel that magic again, when I see their eyes Christmas morning,” she said. “The little one especially. Her eyes get so big.” Debby was near tears.
I smiled indulgently.
Big, black clouds were gathering. I wondered if it would rain.
After an hour of Skee-Ball, hit the clown, and finally, my favorite, wheel of chance, I persuaded Debby to step it up.
The Round-Up was a ride that you stood on, strapping yourself to the circle as it spun, the bottom eventually dropping out beneath you. I loved it. Debby closed her eyes the whole time, stumbling off afterward to my riotous laughter.
I couldn’t help it, teasing her was so easy.
“Shut up,” she said, and though I laughed some more, I pulled a bottle of water out of my bag, and waited while she sipped, before we moved on—further along toward my final goal.
“I think … I think I’m ready,” I said.
The Cyclone—one of the few authentic wooden roller coasters left in the country, was the first coaster I’d ever ridden, and it was beautiful. I’d been drunk on it, high on it, I’d given a hand job on this thing, to great consternation of the older, married couple behind me. I’d been fifteen years old, the boy climaxing right as we hit the peak, the couple tattling on us once we hit the ground, the workers laughing like hell. And now I really had a reason to ride it again.
“You getting on it with me?” I asked.
“You know they scare me,” she said, her forehead creasing.
“We’ve come all the way here. We haven’t in a decade. Who knows how long this thing will even be open, Debby? You really want to die knowing you didn’t ride the Cyclone?” I asked, walking backward toward the coaster, and shaking my head, urging her forward.
“I don’t know, Kari…”
“I need you on this, Debby. I mean, what if I have some weird-ass vision or experience in the middle of the ride, and end up in danger in some way? I didn’t want to tell you this, but the whole time we’ve been here, I swear—I’ve been seeing something. I don’t know what, but it’s been in my periphery the whole time.”
She craned her neck, her eyes hitting the very top of the coaster, and then sighed anxiously.
“I guess you’re right,” she said.
I couldn’t believe it.
After a long wait in line, we buckled into the cars. I could see The Chipmunk from my perch, the cars resembling white bullets with blue insides, the front marked with numbers and names. The Cyclone on the other hand, at least offered traditional coaster seats, and most impressively, belts.
“WHOO,” I said as we took off.
“Don’t make it worse,” Debby said. I could see her visibly sweating.
The sky began making noises, thundercracks.
As we pulled forward, I could feel fear radiating off Debby in waves, the sun beginning to set. We went sharply around a corner, and Debby screeched—God, it was high-pitched, and I tried to reassure her by patting her on the back. The entrance was lit up now, and it was beautiful, the bright white burning into the night. I urged her to look, but she kept her eyes squeezed shut, sweat pouring down her forehead.
I really regretted making Debby do this. But I had to. I didn’t want to do it alone.
As we hit peak after peak, corner after corner, Debby yelling like each shout was her last, my eyes flitted over to the entrance again, and I thought of its little, strange, pink doppelgänger, Casa Bonita, yet another nearly faded part of Denver’s past; one that, like Lakeside, hung on, despite everything. With its terrible “Mexican” food and cheap Disney-style Yucatán-ish insides, complete with faux-waterfalls, caves and even cliff divers, it was a Denver institution, even winning a spot in an episode of South Park, and a place in a novel by a famous crime writer.
“Doesn’t the entrance kind of look like Casa Bonita?” I asked, elbowing Debby, and trying to get her to open her eyes.
“I hate you,” she said.
I sighed.
It began pouring rain.
We were near the end of the ride when I thought I saw what had been in my periphery all evening, what had been bothering me, and what seemed illuminated in the searing amusement park lights through the sheets of rain in a moment of lightning, its long hair wet and plastered to its sides, its mouth pulled up in a snarl. It was the Lofa. The big, hulking monster from my nightmares. I felt my throat swell up, and my mind fill with fear, but when we rounded the corner, it was gone.
I blinked. The thing was, I could’ve sworn that I’d seen the monster behind a brightly lit popcorn ball stand, watching us. I didn’t want to make the ride any worse for Debby, who was barely hanging on as it was, so I kept my mouth shut. Then my mind went to a darker, even more irrational place. I couldn’t help but wonder if it was hoping to get us alone.
That was crazy. Or was it?
As the coaster hit the final bend, and Debby squealed weakly, I pictured it in the darkened parking lot, Debby and I rounding an abandoned corner, distracted by our own laughter and maybe a drink or two, the business of finding our keys. Its hairy back. Its teeth that ripped flesh right off the muscle, off bone. I felt sick.
When the ride came to a stop, I steeled myself, and took Debby’s hand.
“What the hell, Kari?” Debby said, panting. “Where are we going? It’s raining like crazy!”
“Just … follow me.”
We ran down the steps together, people angry as I jostled them out of the way, my shoes splashing in the gathering puddles. I let go of Debby’s hand when we reached the bottom, confident that she’d follow me, and kept going, my breath heavy, the thud of my footfalls echoing in my ears.
But at the popcorn stand, there was nothing there, except the lingering smell of something rotten—something like old meat, permeating through the smell of rain on cement.
“I thought I saw something, is all,” I said, running my hand through my wet hair and leading us to shelter. Under the awning for a small pizza restaurant, I felt insane—like someone with a fucking brain tumor. Like someone who was slowly coming apart. Had my mother meant for me to come here? Why? I didn’t understand.