Ring-Billed Gull

(Larus delawarensis)

On Fridays the park didn’t open until the afternoon, and that Friday, with the reopening, things were running just a little behind schedule. When I got there, after hurrying from work so as not to lose my nerve or waste too much time, the gates were still closed. The Ferris wheel towered over me, still but for the gentle rocking of the suspended seats in the breeze. The roller coaster track snaked overhead, empty of cars, and a huge spiderlike contraption lurked a little ways off, awaiting its first riders. The painted horses on the carousel stood frozen in midstride, waiting for permission to leap into life.

The park was nearly empty as I stood at the gate looking in, but the workers hurried around getting the rides ready for an afternoon rush. The crowd waiting with me was not large; the word that the park would be reopening today must not have been out yet. That was good news, since it meant the Harringtons would be less likely to know where I was when I didn’t show up for lunch.

Behind the gates, the food carts were just yawning open their windows, and the sticky-sweet smells of cotton candy and caramel corn filled the air. I waited with the few other park-goers who milled around, watching for the gates to open and the rides to spring into action. I sat down on the grass beside the fence to wait, with only fleeting concern for the state of my dress.

A ring-billed gull perched on the fence post, eyeing the popcorn stand, and I snip-snipped his plump form out of paper to pass the time. He was no tanager, but he’d do for the moment.

Tanager. Isabella had been flitting in and out of my head in bright flashes of red all morning. By the time I’d arrived at the park I’d decided two things: she was real and I would see her again. The gull’s image would be a gift for her. I imagined what she’d say when I gave it to her . . .

Is it really from your first trip to the park? It’s amazing—you’re amazing. Are you sure I can keep it? Then she’d squeeze my hand in hers and peck me on the cheek again. I wouldn’t embarrass myself this time. I’d just say, Of course you can keep it; I did it for you

The gull, the real one, took flight with a sudden flap of his wings and startled me back to reality The park’s gates were creaking open, inviting the visitors inside. It was time.

I rose, catching sight of a tiny grass stain on the skirt of my dress—would the Harringtons notice? Oh, I needed to be more careful. And I needed to be quick too. I pressed in with the little crowd that had gathered while I sat daydreaming on the lawn. Inside, the cart tenders and the ride operators called invitations to the first customers of the day.

“Catch a ride on the Mountain Railway!”

“Pack a picnic for the boat ride. Picnic food here!”

“Caterpillar, Caterpillar—hop on the Caterpillar!”

One by one, the rides lurched into motion. Everything slowly started turning, spinning, crawling with a few riders on board. Then it all picked up speed and the whole world was a-blur with twisting and rushing. Joyful cries rang out through the hot afternoon air.

My heart sped as the park came to life and I found myself running from ride to ride, giddy with the electricity in the air and the building heat. My blood whizzed through my veins like the speeding roller coaster and my eyes ricocheted from one attraction to the next, reckless as bumper cars.

Finally, in my crazed wandering, I stumbled upon a huge wooden tube that seemed to be rotating in place. No one was inside but the big hollow barrel spun anyway, a frightening challenge to every passerby.

“Come inside,” the woman at the controls called.

“I . . . I didn’t bring any money,” I said, realizing my lack of foresight with both regret and relief. The woman paused, then shrugged.

“First ride’s free,” she said, and she gestured inside.

I swallowed hard and stepped up to the spinning barrel. I climbed the two steps and, with a deep breath to steady myself, set one foot inside. It lurched under me, but I forced myself to clamber all the way in.

The world shifted beneath me as I scrambled down the length of the tunnel. Inside the tube there was no up and no down, only dizziness and confusion. I stumbled and fell and the ground beneath my now-rumpled dress did not pause to catch me. It turned under me, and for a frantic moment I thought it would haul me all the way up its wall and toss me around until the operator had to drag me out, broken and dreadfully embarrassed.

Somehow I managed to regain my feet, though, and scurry unsteadily down the tunnel. Focusing on the still patch of grass at the other end, I tried to trust my feet to carry me. Without looking down, I tripped and tramped my way down the length of the twisting tube.

At last, I found myself back in the open air. I tumbled down the steps and fell to my knees on the grass. After a moment my jagged breath stilled, and I looked around me. The sky was up, the earth was down, and through all the spinning and rushing of the rides, the deep blue water of the lake stretched out with serene reassurance.

But somewhere beyond the lake was the city, and my house, and Mother and Father and Aunt Rachel and Sarah, and a part of myself that I’d left back home, safely tucked away at the window seat and in the hope chest.

Hope.

I hauled myself to my feet and dusted off the front of my dress. Then I let out a long sigh, wondering if I’d been hoping for the right things.