In the summers I keep the ride open late. You never know when a bunch of teenagers from Montclair might show up. The Puerto Rican families stay out until midnight on the weekends. More and more, too, I get the kids — I call them kids, but they’re in their twenties — out on a date, trying to impress each other on the bumper cars and Whack-A-Mole. Big night for them, I guess, to look at the freaks, or to pretend like they’re freaks themselves. When they make it over to me, which they almost always do, I slow the carousel down so they can enjoy each other. The young have certain needs. I was young once, too, and once there was romance in my life.
Sometimes special circumstances arise. It was after 11 p.m. I yawned into the newspaper; no one had been by for a ride in at least forty-five minutes. I decided it was time to shut down.
Two girls came along the boardwalk. They weren’t beautiful in the way that you see on TV, or naturally beautiful, either, but they had style. In fact, they had a style that I hadn’t really seen before, hair done a certain way, t-shirts of a certain design, their skirts real short, cut at a certain angle. They had a look about them that just seemed, well, contemporary. I’m not a contemporary guy, but I could still tell.
They stopped in front of me. I felt my breath sting my chest, which happens when I get excited. One of them said, “Please don’t tell me you’re closed.”
I gulped. Sixty-four years old, and still a sucker. “Just about to,” I said.
“Shit!” she said. “You’ve got to let us ride.”
“What?”
“We really need to ride the carousel.”
She reached into her purse and took out a twenty.
“For both of us,” she said.
“It doesn’t cost that much.” Then — don’t ask me why — I said, “You two ride for free.”
The other girl, prettier than the first, touched my arm. I felt a jolt travel down my spine and into my brain. I’ve always been stupid around women.
“Aren’t you sweet?” she said.
“We’re gonna ride for three songs,” said her friend.
“Okay,” I replied.
I was going to lose a little money. I didn’t care. It had been a profitable summer. So I started up the carousel.
The first few notes of the organ coming to life scare me. It sounds like someone being resurrected from the dead, against his will. Didn’t seem to bother the girls, though. One of them got on top of a tall black horse in the front. The other took a digital camera out of her purse. While the first girl rode and waved, the other one took pictures. When the song ended, they switched places quickly.
While the second song was still playing, the girl who was taking pictures walked to my booth.
“I’m gonna get on the carousel with my friend,” she said. “Will you take our picture together?”
“Okay.”
“We’re on a scavenger hunt,” she said. “We need proof of being in different places and doing different things.”
“Sounds fun.”
“It’s very fun. You should come with us next time.”
“Oh, I don’t think so,” I said. “I have to…”
“I was kidding,” she said. “Oh.”
She got on the carousel for the third song. They sat together on a bench. I stood in front of the ride, camera ready.
“Take our picture!” called out one of them. I couldn’t tell which. The carousel had started moving and they were blurry. The first time around, I got them with their arms in the air, shouting. But it was a little out of focus.
“Again!” one of them said.
When they came around the next time, the photo took nice and clear. The girls were kissing. Not on the cheek, either. Really kissing. And they kept kissing until the ride was over. I’d never seen girls do that before.
“You get the pictures?” the first one asked.
“Oh yes.”
“You got us kissing, right?”
“Yes.”
She put the camera in her purse. The other girl patted my hand. I blushed.
“See you next time,” she said.
No one was going to Coney a dozen years ago. It was really at its low point. So when I bought the carousel, I didn’t expect to make any money. I’d retired from my city job with some savings. When you start at twenty-two, you can stop work pretty early. My wife and I didn’t have any kids, and we didn’t enjoy each other, either. She doesn’t like traveling, and I don’t like going out to dinner. I needed something to do. One day, I was walking down the boardwalk, trying to remember what it’d been like as a kid. There was a For Sale sign.
I talked to the Russian who was taking care of the ride. He obviously didn’t give a shit. The paint on the horses was chipping off, the poles were rusted, and the room was decorated with a faded mural dating, at the latest, to 1965, but probably further back than that. It was dingy and depressing.
“Who wants to ride a fake horse, anyway?” the Russian said.
He was asking a little more than I had available, but what the hell? I went to the bank and pulled some financing together. A guy I knew from the city was able to grease the walk-through inspection. After I closed the deal, I went home for dinner.
“Where’ve you been?” asked my wife.
“I just bought the Coney Island carousel,” I said.
She looked at me hard. I’ve never been able to figure out why she hates me so much.
“So?” she said. “You think you’re special?”
I’d definitely made the right choice.
The heating system was old but still pretty efficient. I spent the winter — which was miserable, with winds like knives — chipping away the rust. I bought some industrial cleaner and gave the whole place a scrub, which took about ten days. Then I hired some mural painters, real cheap, students from Parsons. They did up the horses beautifully. I wasn’t as happy with their work on the mural, but it was fresh paint, so it didn’t really matter. I hammered together a comfortable little booth to sit in. Someone came out and worked on the organ. Before I knew it, April had arrived.
I went up to Martha’s Vineyard for a few days, and didn’t take my wife. Told her I was going to visit mother in the home. The carousel operator on the island couldn’t have been nicer. I was a quick study. The day after tax day, 1992, I opened the ride.
The girls came back two weeks after their first visit. It was around the same time of night. They looked even cuter than before, if that was possible.
“Remember us?” asked one of them.
“Yes,” I said.
“I’m Katie, and this is Diane.”
I took Katie’s hand. “Hello,” I said.
“Can we ride the carousel tonight?” said Diane.
“Of course!”
She handed me a twenty.
They got on together this time. But they didn’t ask me to take a picture. They just rode around. Katie pulled out a little flask, and they sipped from it. I didn’t usually allow drinking on the ride, but it was late and no one was going to get in trouble.
They got off when the song ended.
“You want to ride with us?” Diane asked.
“I can’t,” I said. “I have to operate…”
“I can do it!” she said. “For one song! You can show me how.”
For some reason, I said okay. It didn’t take a genius, after all. She picked it up pretty quickly. Did a practice spin. Then Katie and I got on. We sat together on a bench.
The carousel started going round.
“This is so fun!” she said.