Westword, Volume XLVI

The bottom fell out under me and gravity took over. Unable to contain my scream, I dropped straight down, a plunge of over eight feet – nearly akin to falling out of a second-story window.
 
Happily, I splashed down safely into the huge pool at the base of the waterslide. Surfacing like so many times before, I quickly swam towards the exit – so as not to be in the line of fire from the next kid hurtling down – and made my way up the slippery submerged stairs and out on to the concrete patio, poolside. This time, there would be no return walk to the top to undertake another downward ride.
 
Huey Lewis and the News had a hit single called “Perfect World” climbing the charts, and it was playing loudly above the din of splashes and shouts, hoots and hollers, wails of the babies, and gleeful shrieks of those seemingly suspended in midair just before the welcomed rapid descent.
 
The familiar scents of fried food and chlorine filled the air. I turned and faced the four blue waterslides, indistinct from one another at times as they twisted and turned their way down from the hilltop. The sun shining in my face had already gone golden, though it wasn’t anywhere near the dinner hour yet – a telltale sign that August days and endless summer fun were in great peril.
 
While waiting for my cousins to splash down and complete their final slides, I took in these sounds and smells and sights. Lots and lots of sights.
 
This day was similar to many others that had preceded it – a parent dropped off a litter of kids and teenagers for a day of waterslides and arcade games, hot dogs and ice cream. A couple of trips like this each summer broke up the monotony of our little lakeside beach from which we rarely strayed all season. A couple of bucks was all that was needed; the older kids watched out for the younger kids; everyone usually returned home happy and tired.
 
But today was somehow different. There were no parents now, since the older kids were in high school and college, and could handle the driving. As the baby of the group but now a teenager myself, I had long-sought independence. I didn’t have to wait for permission or accompaniment, and I could go up and down whenever I wanted – even the biggest, scariest slide which the little kids weren’t allowed on. Furthermore, my new contact lenses made things so much easier; no more worrying about dropping or breaking my glasses, or (worse) trying to see without them.
 
And, yes, let’s acknowledge some reality. This was the year that you could say I truly noticed all the girls…and their swimwear choices…for the first time (not my dopey cousins or sister, I mean all the OTHER girls!)
 
After such a busy and fun day, I was exhausted and went to sleep so quickly. I was pretty sure this would be the last trip to Surf Coaster until next summer, seeing as Labor Day was closing in.
 
This was 1988, and I wish there was more to tell.
 
But I never set foot on that property again.
 
And that’s how childhood works, friends. You do something once, or a hundred times. One day you don’t do it anymore. And some day you look back and wish you had paid attention a bit more, memorized a bit more, not knowing that the last time would come and go with no warning.
 
Surf Coaster was a water park near Weirs Beach, located about ten minutes from our summer cottage on New Hampshire’s idyllic Lake Winnipesaukee. It was open from 1983 to 2006 and has sat abandoned ever since. Overgrown with woods and long-since fenced off, it was the site of a suspicious fire a few years ago. Sometimes driving past stirs up memories, and most of these are joyous – only occasionally are they accompanied by that little chill of time’s shadowy presence, as a candle breathlessly extinguished with a tiny flicker.
 
Last month, a plan was put forth to develop the property into 150 apartments and condominiums. While reading about it, I felt both those joyous memories and the chilling flicker. If the plan passes, I guess we’ll grieve the end of Surf Coaster a second (third?) time. Driving by will look different. But it will feel the same.
 
Huey sure was on to something. And what timing, for that song to have been playing as I spent my last minutes there. Oh, I know the lyrics indicate that there is no such thing as a perfect world. But childhood memories of carefree summer days are pretty darn close. Surf’s up.
 
One wave closer to the doddering old fool who tells you where things used to be.
 
Westwood Living? No…thank YOU for living in Westwood. See you next month (still thinking about summer all winter!) and I look forward to hearing from you any time at jayresha@comcast.net