A Trip To Coney Island

We step outside to wind that whips through the avenue pushing us towards the subways entrance. Once underground it’s a race through the turnstiles to the already waiting L train. Just barely we make the first train and head towards Union Square just a stop away. The train feels hot compared to the outside world above and is most likely the reason for the constant smell of trash and sweat. I sit down on the nearest open seat after leaving the Union Square station, having transferred and now rattling on the Q train. I pull out E.B White’s “Here Is New York” and begin to read. I’m not very good at reading on trains. Any movement or cough too easily distracts me. However, today the train is almost empty. As I read I realize the truth of his words describing each neighborhood, each street as a city of its own. For a while I stop and envision my small city, my block that feels like a home. How little of the city I really know as well as 13^th street.. I have hardly left 13^th street since I’ve returned from schools winter break. I’ve seen almost nothing outside my comfort zone. Everything I need to stay content is right on my block. On the subway I’m glad to have left my cocoon.

We arrive at the Brighton beach stop and exit through the maze of unfamiliar staircases and exits, and onto a strange street. I’ve never seen any above ground train tracks from below, only in pictures of Chicago. The tracks seem to continue above the street and as my eyes tell me into the ocean before us. We decide to take the first street to left with hopes that it will lead us to the boardwalk. Our guess is right, walking up a large flight of stairs and onto a boardwalk filled with people. Before us lays a sprawling ocean that disappears into the clear blue sky, uninterrupted by any buildings. I realize I no longer have to crane my head upwards to see the sky and it reminds me of home. I wonder if here the stars are visible at night.

The wooden planks that make up the boardwalk are covered in sand. I kick at it like a child. As we continue to walk it seems that everyone we pass isn’t speaking English. There’s a constant chatter of Russian and I feel as if I’ve traveled further than a forty-minute train ride. There didn’t seem to be a mixture of languages, just an overwhelmingly disproportionate amount of Russian being spoken. I vaguely remember seeing a sign with some Cyrillic letters. Maybe this was the Russian city.

It’s a strange mix of natural beauty and concrete separated by only a wooden walkway. Here the ocean is meet by cement, and the ocean is not destroyed. I am used to beaches without any buildings around, that you have to walk through paths to get to. The people do seem to move at a slower pace. No one seems to stop to admire the skyscrapers of Manhattan, or people are simply too busy to take time to pause and take in the city. But here off the grid, off the pavement, natural beauty slows us down. I can feel myself slipping out of routine and slowing my pace.

In the distance I can see the skeleton of the motionless Ferris wheel, not even swaying in the wind. We walk towards it but stop once we see benches that sit in the sand. We sit for a while and write, and I forget that there are people around. All I can hear is the chatter of seagulls and the shrieking wind. I awake from my daze to the sound of a runner’s foot on wood, the creaks of the boards mimicking his stride. He breathes heavily in rhythm with an empty look in his eyes. It must feel free running here without the interruption of traffic lights and the constant dodging of people on the streets. I light up a cigarette and watch the man run out of sight.

We get back onto the Q train and I almost immediately fall asleep. I wake to the shove of my friend sitting next to me and sleepily walk with him back to our street. I have to look up to see the sky. I begin to wish I stayed longer at the beach, trying to think about the next time I’ll see the ocean that clearly. The boardwalk is a different world away from cabs, people, and city noise. I promise myself I’ll return to Coney Island, just to see the sky.