by Carter Blake
“Okay, I see a rollercoaster out the window. Where are we again?” Maddie asks as the train’s making its final approach.
“Not Williamsburg,” I reply.
“Not Williamsburg. That’s an interesting name. Accurate, I think.”
Maddie puts her sunglasses back on and steps past me on the way out of the train. I follow closely behind, but she’s walking with purpose now.
“Look, there are the mermaids!”
Maddie points at the beachside makeshift burlesque stage like it’s a long-lost civilization.
She walks briskly there, and I follow her, eventually catching up after she chooses a spot from which to stand and watch.
Maddie’s giving every iota of attention she has to the show, although it looks more like a dress rehearsal for the actual performance tonight.
There are women of all types—over a dozen of them—with unique mermaid getups. The costumes look very professional, with a touch of individuality and care. They all designed their own costumes.
The performers are all cavorting on the stage at the same time, with no music and a tiny audience. I think we both realize it’s a rehearsal, and, with a shared look, we’re both off to the nearby beer stand.
The beach is hardly populated, and it stretches in front of us for miles, while we drink brown ale from plastic cups.
I look down at my chocolate loafers.
“These shoes aren’t coming in my apartment anytime soon.”
Maddie studies my footwear with a confused expression that I think is sarcastic—though I don’t know for sure.
“They’re not?”
“Aren’t you thinking about sand in your shoes? What shoes do you have that are so unimportant...”
Then, my eyes land on Maddie’s feet next to mine. She’s wearing her pink Chuck Taylors.
“I guess you know how to take pretty good care of footwear,” I comment, leaving it at that.
“Hey, if I’m gonna pay what Chucks cost these days, I’m gonna want them to last a few years. And I take the time to clean the sand out of my sneakers properly.”
I’ve seen her wear those shoes on the beach before.
“A few years for shoes at a low price range is pretty good.”
“Oh, right, I forgot you were Rich Uncle Pennybags.”
“Well...we don’t need to talk about that right now.”
“Okay,” Madeline chirps in her cheerful way.
This must be it—the old Maddie, the Maddie I know, coming out to enjoy a Saturday.
“Hey, come on,” I hear her demand, and, the next thing I now, she’s doing that fast, purposeful walk again towards Luna Park.
As she speeds up, I let myself lag a few yards behind.
If her spirit’s coming out, I need to let it fly free.
When she stops in front of the Sling Shot ride, I trot a bit to finally catch up.
“Perfect choice after we both just drank two beers,” I declare while buying all-day park passes on my phone.
“I know, right?”
There’s only a smattering of other people wandering around the park, and the attendant gets us strapped onto the Sling Shot almost right away.
“Have you ever been on one of these before?” Madeline’s face is aflame with pure glee. Her grin is almost maniacal, but I can’t take my eyes off her as I feel the ride start to move.
Without warning, we start rocketing straight into the sky, and Maddie is bursting with delight. Her smile is wild and untethered as she screams and laughs.
It’s the best fucking thing I’ve ever seen, even as my stomach flips and flops all the way down to the sand and straight up towards the stratosphere and back down again. The ride is over too soon.
Maddie’s face doesn’t change as we work our way through most of the rides until just after we get off the Brooklyn Flyer, and her ecstatic beaming settles into a merely content smile.
“That was fun, but I’m ready to eat,” she proclaims.
“What are you talking about? We haven’t been on the Cyclone yet.”
“Fuck...okay, we’ll check out that ancient coaster, but then I want to try that Tomasso place.”
The Cyclone is the only crowded part of Coney Island today, and Maddie and I need to sit in the very last car.
As the century-old ride starts powering up, Maddie and I start laughing in unison while we rattle down the wooden track.
We climb up to the first drop. I’ve already prepared myself, but as my stomach’s violently jolted, Maddie and I suddenly lock lips.
The kiss is over as soon as the drop ends, and the rest of the shaky ride is a blur.
Dinner’s a blur as well, but a happy one over Maine lobster and ossobuco as a skilled tenor serenades us with the help of a pianist.
There’s no more kissing, not much more talking. There’s a bit of laughing, but that almost completely dies down by the time the check arrives.
But for a little while, I feel like I just got a glimpse into what life could have been like if things had ended just a little bit differently between us.
Ethan
The neighborhood outside of Tomasso is quiet on a Saturday night. We’re as far as you can get from “the city” while still being in the city, and I swear you can still hear the ocean—even here from this ugly-ass sidewalk.
And Maddie’s barely even smiling at this point.
And that’s probably because we’re both beyond stuffed.
And that’s definitely because I insisted on ordering anything on the menu that Maddie showed any interest in.
“What now?” I ask Maddie, echoing something I feel like I asked her recently—though my memory’s being stingy with the details. “Luna Park is closed, so…”
“That’s fine.” Maddie barely finishes speaking before succumbing to a noteworthy yawn. “Oh, holy shit, what a day,” Maddie utters through another yawn.
“Getting tired already?” I ask.
Shit, I’m not good at being playful all of a sudden.
“I can’t haul ass round the clock like I used to, uh, whatever that means.”
“None of us can. That’s why I’m getting us a Town Car back to the city.”
Maddie’s back is to me now, and she’s facing the beach entirely.
I was that lucky motherfucker for a few hours. I’ll miss it, and she’s missing it already.
We’ve got the rest of our lives to get used to it, at least.
I find the car service number still saved on my personal phone. I hit the button to call, ready to put the phone up to my ear, not realizing it’s on speakerphone. A loud ringing slices through the quiet just as Maddie’s turning around.
“Yeah, this is the dispatcher.”
Maddie and I both hear the impatient voice clearly. I forgot how much I love the car service’s customer service.
“Yo, dispatcher, how are ya?” Maddie shouts, coming back to life.
“I hear you. What do you want?” This guy loves his job for sure.
“We’re at 86th and Bay 8th in Brooklyn, and we need someone to take us home into the city.”
Maddie just narrowed down some of her mystery while yelling at my phone, possibly.
“What’s the destination?” the dispatcher questions flatly.
I give Maddie an obvious look, waiting for her to finish her instructions, but she’s boomeranging the look right back.
“Ten Barclay in Manhattan.”
The instant I’m done reciting my address, Maddie jumps back in.
“It doesn’t have to be fancy. A subcompact or whatever you have would be fine. Just...the sooner the better, that’s all.”
Maddie can’t wait to get out of here. That’s understandable—she doesn’t need to live through this shit all over again.
The dispatcher’s gets out a mumbled “five minutes” before hanging up.
“That seems quick,” Madeline remakes, starting to clap her hands together as the temperature plunges.
“It does seem quick. Too quick is what I
think.”
“Is that what you think?”
Maddie’s taking a few slow steps in my direction, which is nice, because I suddenly don’t notice how cold it’s getting.
The sound of a loud mechanical bang ricochets from around the corner. The sound of a loudmouth, needy car engine follows—an engine that probably hasn't been serviced since sometime during the Ford administration.
This couldn't be our ride from the service—their cars are typically newer, usually from sometime in the twenty-first century, even.
As I hear that engine round the corner and see the typical Town Car headlights coming toward us, I know that this is our ride indeed.
The vintage livery cab pulls up to the curb, and I look at Maddie.
What is she thinking? What will she say?
Will she crack a joke? Or is she going to appreciate this uniquely old ride back to the city in a beautiful way that I know nobody else can?
I wait for her reaction, and she just claps her hands with mild coldness a couple times.
"This is us, right?"
Maddie does not even wait for me to answer—she's already opening the back door.
All I want to do is tell her that I’ll make it up to her, and I'll take her for a ride in any kind of car she wants any goddamn time she wants.
She seems like she could care less, though, and now it's too late, as she’s already climbing into the back seat. And the driver could probably hear everything I say.
Seeing Maddie looking tired and looking at me with an expression I can’t make heads or tails of, I need to do something, something...funny.
So I looked over at her, and I nod.
It's a good nod—not my best, but it's polite, and I see her lips trying to fight a laugh again.
And she nods back in the same way.
And then, without warning, the driver hits the gas, and we take a rather violent U-turn around the wide, two-way street we’re on. And we are just shooting north like a rocket toward the BQE.
Locally owned bakeries and bodegas and auto body shops on either side of us blur by too fast to see what any of them are.
"This is worse than the Cyclone, I think," comments Maddie, her voice about a quarter fearful and three-quarters laughing.
"Which one?” I ask smilingly, my eyes right on her as her eyes stay locked on the windshield.
“Allow me to clear up any misunderstanding,” she begins, still looking through the windshield and still in that same tone of voice. “I am referring to the Coney Island roller coaster we were on earlier—not this roller coaster and not any sort of tropical storm or hurricane—even though we don’t call those cyclones here.”
I pretend to consider my response as we merge onto the BQE and start approaching what must be sound barrier breaking speeds.
“So, are you saying that this ride is almost worse than the cyclone at Coney Island, yet not worse than any of those other things?”
“I just wanted to use the roller coaster exclusively as a comparison. I’m not trying to compare this to any of that other shit, and I don’t want to think about that right now.”
“So, have you decided yet? Is this worse than the Cyclone?”
We’re now in the left lane of the highway, at what feels like a comfortable cruising speed, but we might just be getting acclimated to this Fast and Furious shit. We are both watching the view through the left window, the Lower Manhattan skyline, and this rocket ride in a retro Lincoln doesn’t seem half bad.
Sort of peaceful, almost.
Sort of.
“Not sure yet,” replies Maddie. “We’ll have to take a wait-and-see approach on that one.”
“Don’t wait too much longer. The ride’s halfway over.”
“Mm, so it is.”
Maddie’s eyes are on me as she speaks, even though the view behind me can’t be nearly as nice as the view out the other side.
Not to get too cocky or anything, but I don’t think she’s looking at the view—at least not the one through the window.
I’m not doing well with avoiding cockiness, am I?
Well, if it helps, she’s not necessarily gazing deeply into my eyes. There could just be a spot of pesto on my face from Tomasso that Maddie put there using sleight of hand, and now she’s enjoying not telling me about it.
We are holding hands, though.
“The Cyclone wasn’t all bad, was it?” I ask her.
“What are you talking about? It wasn’t bad at all.”
“You enjoyed it?”
“Uh, yeah.”
Maddie glances down to the middle seat where our hands are clasping. I can tell she knows where I’m going with this because of the way she’s looking at our hands while also looking at nothing, and because of her slight smile, and because she’s...is she blushing?
Holy fucking shit. It’s hard to tell in this light, but she’s also blushing. How fucking adorable is that?
“I just want to be sure you enjoyed, because I did every moment—if you know what I’m referring to.”
“Oh, I know.” Maddie’s back to making eye contact, and she’s smiling with less coyly and more mischievously. “All that rattling around, that’s my favorite part of anything. The suspension in this car is a nice simulation.”
“You mean simulation, or—”
“Yeah, hey, look,” Maddie interrupts. “We’re on the bridge already.”
Maddie’s changing the subject, but her hand is gripping mine with increasing strength.
We’re taking the Brooklyn Bridge back into Manhattan, which is a much more scenic route than what I thought the driver was going to take.
Maddie’s grip on my hand reaches its peak as we fly over the bridge, and I’m starting to seriously consider that I might be in a dream, but she lets go gradually as we take the offramp back into my neighborhood.
Turning onto Broadway, I don’t dare ask Maddie where she lives or if she wants a ride home from this guy or from another, less Gone in 60 Seconds–like method of transportation, because I don’t want to make it seem like I want her to leave.
On the off chance she’s not ready to call it a night yet, that is.
Besides, I figure the way it will probably play out after the driver drops us off on Barclay is that we’ll say a quick goodbye and Maddie will disappear again.
I’m prepared for that eventuality as the driver pulls over, and I leap out of the car to hold the door open for Maddie as she steps out.
“Wait, you live here?” she asks as the Town Car speeds away from us.
“Yeah, this is Ten Barclay...well, the Barclay Tower officially,” I say, pointing toward the lobby.
“Oh, of course, and you do have that kind of job...”
“Do you want to check it out while you’re here?”
Maddie looks into the lobby, seemingly basing her decision on whatever she sees there.
“I’m on the 52nd story,” I tell her.”
“Holy shit. Okay, yeah, I’ve never been in an apartment even close to that high off the ground.”
“It’s pretty high, alright.”
I walk alongside Maddie into the lobby, past the concierge desk to the main bank of elevators.
“Up, right?” Maddie asks before punching the up arrow button.
“Uh, yeah, I’m up from here.”
Maddie and I keep our eyes locked as she slowly presses the button.
The moment is interrupted by the door opening to the palatial elevator car, infused with marble.
“That’s all? I was expecting more.” Maddie’s dripping with sarcasm as she comments on the elevator. “It’s not going to take too long ride up to the 52nd floor.”
“No, but you may want to have some gum in your mouth for the change in elevation.”
We ride up to my floor, the elevator taking a few seconds as usual.
“That was over fifty floors, huh?” Maddie asks when the elevator doors open.
“Fifty-two, to be exact.”
Maddie’s
already doing her fast walk down the hallway.
“Other direction, Madeline,” I say, stepping out.
“Yeah, I’m right on that.”
My apartment is close to the elevator, and by the time I unlock the door and walk in, Maddie’s right behind me.
Luckily, the view is the first thing you see when you walk through the door.
Maddie whistles.
“That is some view, alright.” Maddie walks past me as I turn on the entryway lights.
Maddie gapes out the window for a few seconds, then she briefly looks around the room.
“Some apartment too. I can see why people get into finance.”
“Would you like a drink? I don’t know if you noticed the bar over there.”
“No, thanks. But thanks for letting me see this place—I don’t know the next time I’ll be in an apartment this nice. See ya.”
Maddie walks past me and back to the door so fast that I don’t even perceive it happening until she’s walking out into the hall.
“Anytime, Maddie, have a good...”
She’s gone.
I automatically walk to the bar. It’s time for another Macallan with a little water and a few minutes of sitting and staring out the window.
Then I can get back to work.
The problem is, that thought doesn’t fill me with as much comfort as it usually does.
That view’s not doing shit for me either. For as much as I pay for this place, I don’t think it ever fucking did.
The thought of spending one more night here, the same place I’ve spent nearly every night for the past five years, is fucking unbearable.
The thought of spending another night here on my own, that is.
I’ve spent so much time over the past five years regretting the way everything ended—more time than I’ve realized.
And I’ve spent even more time thinking about what I could’ve done differently.
Now I have another chance, and I’m letting it slip through my fingers.
If I don’t at least try this time, the regret will be even worse, and it’ll last through the rest of my life.
I almost trip over the marble tiles running to my apartment door.
Maybe she’s still in the lobby. If she’s not...fuck, now I wish that elevator weren’t so fast.
I get out the door and sprint toward the elevator, thinking about using the service elevator if this one’s in use.
