And, We Went to Coney Island

It was early morning, summertime in the city, you could hear the whining peal of Briggs & Stratton engines and smell fresh-cut grass, a tip-off that today would be a lazy day. 

Henry wakes to the sound of pinging  chainsaws coming from Flushing Meadows Park, the sound removed some, but unsettling, even on the 14th floor. As he lays in bed listening to the racket his wife of 2 months, the toothsome Cubana Lucia Varga lip-locks his cock and sucks the bone out of it, and says, 

buenos dias, darling!   

She walks to the kitchen of the couples Queen’s apartment to brew coffee and mix a pitcher of bloody maries, as ever the diligent wife. Henry is on the balcony sitting cross-legged in front of his IBM Electric Typewriter drinking a bloody mary and pounding out the pith of a new story. As he works, the opening pages roll out easy peasy and are fun to write. Later though, things slow as sentences and paragraphs stutter and spurt like they want to take the day off.  

It has been a century since Jack Kerouac died, he was a groundbreaking hero to many. In 1943 Kerouac enlisted in the Marines and was discharged after 10 days for what his medical report labeled— strong schizoid trends. 

A schizoid person, behaves mad and crazy-like or is emotionally aloof and likes to be alone. 

The schizoid goes on to write one of, if not, the premier novels of the 20th Century, On the Road. Kerouac said he wrote the book in 2 weeks, cranked on Bennies, typing non-stop without inserting periods or commas on a roll of printing paper he fed into his typewriter. Later, the myth is debunked by his X girlfriend, Joyce Johnson, who says in her tell-all book that Jack spent years rewriting and crafting the book as though each paragraph was a poem. 

In 1957 On the Road was published by Viking Press and the book burst onto the American scene like a supernova. Woefully, the fame that accompanied the success of the book was toxic for Kerouac, so he chooses to stay loaded on cheap booze and hide away from the world. 

Working through the haze of alcoholism he continues to find enough stuff inside to write and publish books, some, really good like Dharma Bums, but, none as good as On the Road. 

Jack Kerouac died on an operating table at St. Anthonys Hospital in St. Petersburg, Florida, from cirrhosis of the liver in 1969, he was only 47 years old. 

He wrote musically, every sentence and paragraph was a scat declaration of sound riding a hot rocket to the Moon.  

As Henry finishes the story on Kerouac Lucia, who has just showered, and, is wrapped in a towel, comes to the balcony and says, 

the day’s really fresh babe, let’s go to the beach! He says, 

OK, get dressed, bring your swimsuit, we're going to Coney Island!

By 10 AM they are out of the apartment sitting in Utopia Street Station waiting for the A Train to Coney Island, it’s a short ride, just an hour. As the couple de-train at Coney Island Lucia eyeballs the panorama of the amusement park and the ocean, she is stunned and says, 

darling, it’s magic, I love it! 

They walk a short distance to the beach making their way to the bathhouse and Lucia notices the entry price is 4 dollars. she can’t believe it and says, 

the gringos want 4 dollars to go into the bathhouse, they are robbers, we can change on the beach! Henry knew she was an exhibitionist and says,

cover-up if you change on the beach, Coney Island cops will arrest you for indecent exposure in a New York minute, and Lucia laughs saying,

indecent exposure, my body isn't indecent, people love it!   

He shrugs and pays 4 dollars for her to use the bathhouse to change, figuring it was the easy way out. 

As the couple walks to shore Lucia’s body shakes and vibrates erotically and the other beachgoers eyeball her— she belonged on a beach in Cannes, not Coney Island. Henry then asks, 

come on sexy, let's go for a swim, and she answers, 

are you loco baby? The water will ruin my swimsuit!   

Henry was on the swim team at Queens High School and was a strong swimmer even though he never won a race. He walks into the water and swims straight out to sea without looking back as the lifeguard yells into his bullhorn, 

back to shore, NOW, asshole!

Embarrassed as he reaches the shore, without sitting down or drying he picks up the couple's belongings and says to Lucia, 

let’s get outta here. 

He puts on a Hawaiian shirt and Lucia wraps up in a sarong. They walk the boardwalk, going to Nathans for lunch, Henry goes to the counter and orders pepper and onion hot dogs, cheese fries and 2 large lemonades. He brings lunch on a tray to a table under a canopy and Lucia asks, 

Is this American food darling?  He answers, 

you bet, Coney Island is the epicenter of American food!

After eating they make a b-line to Luna Park and queue for a spin on the mighty Rotor. Inside, they amble with the other brave riders down a rough planked stairway which winds around the hatbox-shaped spinning wheel. Reaching bottom, they walk through the door of  The Rotor and go inside. With the other brave riders, they stand in a circle with their backs the wall. Lucia looks skyward at the stands above The Rotor noticing a crowd of gawking high school boys. 

As The Rotor door is closed the wheel begins to spin, slowly at first and then faster and faster creating a gravity force that pulls the brave riders against the wall, holding them there as the floor drops down 6 feet. A few minutes into the ride the gravity force rips Lucia’s sarong off and it is sucked upwards into the peanut gallery of horny onlookers who let out a joyous roar. 

As the floor moves upward to ground level, The Rotor slows to a stop. Henry hands Lucia, who in her bikini, his Hawaiian shirt and they walk out of The Rotor as the peanut gallery above hoots and whistles. Outside, he buys an XXL red t-shirt for Lucia with Coney Island University printed on it and says, 

That’ll do it for Luna Park, I need a drink! 

Back at the boardwalk they go to Ruby’s Bar and Grill, sitting at the bar with the Luna Park barflies. As they suck up Boilermaker after Boilermaker Henry looks outside and notices it’s dark, saying, 

let’s go, babe! 

They walk the boardwalk to The Coney Island Sideshow and are drawn in by the mile a minute gab of the barker known as The Texas Talker. 

Henry’s Old Man, Benny Lucowski, had taken him to a circus freak show when he was a kid. He remembers walking through a small tent that was adjacent to the big top, dragging his feet through the sawdust floor and then stopping with his Old Man to look at the geek known as The Wildman from Borneo. The wild man wore a leopard-skin cloak and his nose was pierced with a sharp-ended bone. Occasionally, he would take a snort from a pint of Sir Edward’s whiskey and jump up and down as he roared at the small audience.

After another snort of whiskey, The Wildman plucks a live chicken out of a rusted cage, waving the chicken in the air ceremoniously before sacrificing the paltry Phasianidae, biting its head off and spitting the blood-covered bits into a bucket. 

Henry, who’s 10, is sickened by the performance and begins to cry. As they walk out of the sideshow his Old Man says to him, 

it’s OK son, the guy was making his supper, that ole chicken is in a pot cooking with carrots and onions!

As Henry and Lucia walk into the sideshow he notices it’s a far cry from the old-time freak shows, the acts are gentrified— you’ve got Koo Koo the Bird Girl who looks like a bird, does a bird dance, makes crazy faces and funny sounds. Or, Insectavora, a misplaced socialite from Long Island whose face is tattooed tribal style that is a fire-eater. And finally, Fin Flexible a contortionist who walks on glass and swallows chains. 

As they watch Koo Koo the Bird Girl doing the bird dance Lucia says to Henry,

you paid to see this? The chica is loca! And he replies, 

OK, babe, it's getting late, let's go home.

As they ride the A train back to Queens Henry in an aha moment cottons the understanding that life with Lucia would never be a day-to-day typical and she would never be a creature-of-the-commonplace. 

Being with her was an adrenal rush, similar to driving a car blindfolded.