Gigantor
slipping undetected past the security desk, I pulled the rope from my satchel and prepared myself for the long ascent into the unknown.
there it is, a giant needle piercing the sky. we took the elevator to the level below the ridiculous drop ride, screams crowding around above us. i leaned my body on the plate glass window and looked down on the strip below. that was when my friend told me about the shoddy building practices, the history of the owner. ok, move back, step away from the edge.
the lullaby my mom used to sing me was james taylor -- "winter spring summer or fall. all you have to do is call. and i'll be there." and i believed that. and i still kinda do.
i always wanted to hit the road in an old silver airstream trailer, carrying my life within those shiny walls, no one to answer to but myself, or maybe a canine companion. it's an american dream, of sorts, i suppose. but now i like standing still.
My sister went to NYU in Manhattan, so as a young malcontent in Massachusetts I would hop on the Peter pan bus and spend a weekend on the island. It was my first taste of some sort of freedom, before I learned how to drive, before the shackles of responsibility came down on my head. I had a few hairy run-ins with unscrupulous taxi drivers, but it actually taught me something to be able to hold my own in these situations. Still, it would be a while before I felt comfortable completely standing my ground, but these early trips were unforgettable, as far as my understanding of the ideas of personal freedom were concerned.
Later, I lived for a few months in the city, and that experience was much more harrowing, much less pleasant, but it, too, taught me many lessons.
The city I once knew no longer exists, though. It has turned into a corporate Disney playground. I don't even like to go back there. There's nothing there anymore.