Jane
We pass the time making outrageous guesses as the botanical garden unwinds from manicured paths to ones wild with Spanish moss-laced oaks, palmettos, and other scrub.
Aiden pulls our joined hands up and points. “Ummm. What the hell is that?”
We approach, and it’s…a small concrete dinosaur in bad shape. Opposite, an old mechanical wheel and gears sit under a wooden roof.
Nearby, we find a path lined with big three-toed stone footprints painted green. A hand-painted sign announces, “Do Not Feed the Dinosaurs,” with most of the word “Not” missing because of a big bite taken out of the sign.
“What the hell?” Aiden says, his voice amused.
We walk down the path, and then we see it. A huge concrete stegosaurus corralled by a black metal fence.
Oookaaaay.
I point. “There’s another sign.”
We sidle up to a sign that reads BONGOLAND in blocky letters and learn that this was a failed theme park in the early fifties.
“Concrete dinosaurs?” Aiden says.
“Apparently so. That was not one of our guesses.”
He laughs. “No, it wasn’t.”
Apparently, it was named after a baboon on the premises, and there used to be a train that brought tourists around the theme park, which also featured a replica Seminole village and a human sundial. It closed from lack of interest.
We turn around, and there’s a giant T-Rex.
“Its head,” I say. “Oh my God.”
“Well, the sign warned us that the guy did it to the best of his ability.”
The body of the T-Rex is bad enough, with its legs almost looking like separate attachments on its sides. But the head… It’s thin and narrow, and while it does have a lot of teeth, it looks like a dopey grin. It reminds me of the plaster horse at Solomon’s castle.
I hand Aiden my Polaroid, try my best to imitate the grin the T-Rex is sporting, and he snaps a pic.
A sign nearby warns of the danger of the dinosaurs, with another big bite taken out.
We wander the paths and find one more, a Triceratops, all that’s left of the old theme park.
It’s quirky and sad.
I sit down on a nearby bench. “I picture this guy all excited about this theme park and how fantastic it will be. The crowds.”
Aiden settles next to me and pulls out the muffins and fruit he bought earlier. “And then it’s a flop.” He passes me a muffin and a banana.
I peel the banana and look around. “Yeah. He and his friend put all this work into it, creating these dinosaurs to the ‘best of their ability,’ and wait for the crowds. Stay up nights talking about their big dream.”
I don’t know why it’s affecting me so much. I just hate picturing the disappointment. Especially when it follows the excitement and hope of a new venture. There’s something so vulnerable about that excitement that makes the disappointment brutal.
“Don’t forget the train and the Seminole village they built.”
We eat the rest of our food in silence.
Once we’re done, Aiden stands and holds out a hand. “Come on, baby doll, let’s see if we can find the human sundial.”
I give a start at the nickname, but I put my hand in his, and he pulls me up.
“What was that?” he asks.
“What?”
“You went stiff and got a funny look on your face. We can skip the sundial.”
I laugh. “No. It’s not that. It’s just that, that’s what my dad calls me.”
“Baby doll?”
“Yep.”
He steps back. “Yikes. Yeah, I’ll be skipping that one then.” He laces his fingers with mine and picks up our trash that we’d stuffed in a plastic bag. “Good memory or bad?”
“The nickname?”
“Yeah.”
I shrug. “Neither really. He’s a lot like you, actually.”
He groans. “That’s not good. How so?” We start walking down the path, deeper into the property. An overhanging tree momentarily casts his face in shadow.
“He’s a charmer.”
“You think I’m charming?” he teases.
I give him a get-real look. “You know you are. You charmed us in here, didn’t you?”
“Guilty as charged,” he says, voice light, but I see a shadow cross his face, quickly masked.
It works out well for my mom. She adores my dad and vice versa. There’s nothing he won’t do for her.
But I learned pretty early on that charm is cheap. My dad would always pour it on thick whenever he failed to show up at a school recital like he promised or some such thing like that. He’d make other grand promises too…and never deliver. He would for mom, but not for me.
I don’t think I was quite what either of them expected. They both wanted a princess-type to dress up. Instead they got a mousy girl who’d rather bury herself in books or browse the aisle of an office supply store than a clothing store.
I was—and am—a third wheel in my own family.
Aiden
We don’t find the human sundial, but we do find another necessary attraction, apparently, because Jane turns to me and holds out her Polaroid and journal.
“Watch these for me?” She thumbs behind her to the ladies’ bathroom.
I toss the trash in the garbage by the building and take her things. “You trust me with your innermost secrets?” I hold up her journal and waggle my eyebrows in a mock-sinister expression.
She rolls her eyes. “Nothing secret in there. Look away.”
She disappears inside, and I lean back against the building. I lift the journal. Hell, I’m as curious as the next guy, and she doesn’t seem to care. I open to the last entry.
Even so, I don’t read the captions. She said I could look, but it feels like a line I shouldn’t cross.
I smile at the one I took of her by the giant Viking. She’s doing a serious face, trying to look like the fierce warrior. It’s as if each time she does these imitative poses, I see her peeking out from her shell. Being daring. Being herself.
And it’s one hell of a turn-on. Because it’s just like her transformation in bed.
I run my finger alongside a Polaroid of the restaurant where we ate last night, which led to the stroll on the beach, then the blistering hot sex and her calling me Supermouth and fiddling with my joystick.
I chuckle and flip back another page, and there she is in front of the giant potty chair, umbrella in hand, but half of her hair blocking her face from the wind and rain.
There’s the one of her in front of the Spook Hill sign.
But as I flip back through the memories we’d made in such a short amount of time, something bothers me, and I can’t quite name it.
I turn to another page, and it dawns on me.
Despite taking selfies of us together at each of our stops, every single memory she chose to record in the journal is of just her. Alone.
I push away from the wall, still looking at the one of her at Solomon’s castle. This journey is about her, prompted by her friend Claire. It’s not about me, or us, but…
An unwelcome hurt suffuses me, and I blow out a frustrated breath. I don’t know, it just…feels strange that we explored these places together—hell, I even had to push her to spend more time at some of these—and it’s as if I’m not even part of this trip. Not worth recording.
It’s stupid, but I can’t dislodge the feeling. As if she’s ghosting me again, but this time, I’m the ghost.
The door creaks open just as I get to the first page, and I snap the journal shut.
Jane emerges with a big grin. “I’ve gotta take a pic of the inside.”
“Of the bathroom?” I hold out the Polaroid.
She looks around, but of course no one’s near. “Come see.”
I peek inside the sanctum-sanctorum that is a woman’s bathroom, but it looks pretty basic in its essentials. Except for the walls. They’re covered in primitive but colorful drawings of dinosaurs.
She lines up a shot and takes her pic. I hand over her journal, and she stuffs the photo into the back. “Now, let’s go find that sundial.” She grins and pushes past me.
I shove aside my pity party and follow. This is her trip. I’m aided by the sight of her ass cupped in her Capri pants, and my dick gives a little, hello-there kick.
Deeper within the grounds we stumble across the remains of an old sugar mill. Explains the name of the botanical garden. We stroll along all the paths and outdoor exhibits, everything well-labeled, Jane fully engaged, but an antsiness has me by the short hairs, and I can’t shake it.
I’m sure the site’s interesting and historical and all that crap, but I can’t focus. Not on it, at least. No, I’m focused on Jane. Focused on how she moves. Focused on how she interacts with everything we find.
It’s as if we’ve reversed roles. Now she’s the enthusiastic explorer of this site, and I’m the reluctant tag-along. But it’s more than that. Today’s Thursday. By this time tomorrow, we’ll be in Atlanta. I’ll be with my team, and she’ll be turning around and heading back home. Our time’s growing short, and that doesn’t sit well with me. Not at all.
The more I watch her, and the more my role as a ghost on this trip sinks in, the more I want to insert myself. Make a big enough splash that she has no choice but to acknowledge my part in her journey. It’s an immature reaction, I know.
But it’s the only explanation for why, when we round the back of one of the sugar mill buildings, I grab her upper arm, push her up against the wall, and start kissing the shit out of her.
It’s rough, and she’ll push me away. Any moment now. Then—oh fuck—my sexy librarian groans into my mouth and grips the back of my head.
The semi I’ve been sporting all morning now pops against my jeans as if it’s been zapped. I want to be inside her. Now.
I grip her waist and slide her up the wall so she’s of the same height, and all the while we’re nipping, stroking, tasting. She’s gripping my hair so hard it stings. I push my hips against her, giving her a good hard grind and pinning her there, my aching cock against her pussy.
She gasps in my mouth, and her legs whip around my waist and squeeze. Fuck yeah. I trail desperate kisses down her neck, as I basically dry hump her. She’s wiggling and writhing, and as before it’s like zero to sixty between us.