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He drops his eyes, and I freeze, feeling in my gut that he’s about to say something important. Or difficult, at least.
“Carson?”
Lifting his eyes to mine, he confesses, “I’m excited to show you the park. To have a real day together, just us. You’ve done all this work to save it, but you haven’t gotten to really experience it beyond the website descriptions. I want to share it with you.”
Americana Land is a part of him. It’s where he grew up, where he stayed even after becoming an adult, and what he’s dedicated himself to. It’s his past, present, and future. And he wants to share it with me.
That sounds amazing. And honestly, I can’t remember the last time I had a day of relaxing fun.
“I would love that,” I tell him seriously, letting him know that I understand how meaningful this is. Brighter, I add, “Let’s go! I want to ride the Founding Fathers Carousel first!”
“Starting off easy, huh?” he teases. “I prefer going straight for the coasters.”
“Of course you do.”
We ride Carson’s motorcycle to the park, the trip seeming faster riding behind him instead of in my car. And I notice that he has a helmet just for me now. It’s not quite a key to his place, but it means something to me, and I know it means a lot to him. We skip the entrance lines and go straight into the park.
The photographers gathered there politely attack like seagulls at the beach. “Would you like a photo?” Carson looks at me in question, and I nod, so we pose for a couple of shots. The photographer hands us a ticket. “They’ll be available after four at the photo booth.”
And then the fun begins.
We ride the Founding Fathers Carousel first as I requested, but then we park hop around to hit other attractions. We ride the Twisted Tracks locomotive that reaches speeds of forty miles an hour, which might not seem fast, but when you’re surrounded by ‘steam’ from the hot engine, it feels wildly fast. The Runaway Mine Car has an unexpected dip into darkness before shooting you out of the ‘mine’ into the bright day as the ride comes to an end with a loud quitting-time bell. We even take a break at the Boston Tea Party snack shop.
“Want a tea slushie, regular tea, or hot tea?” Carson asks without looking at the menu.
“I think I’ll take a Georgia Peach Tea Slushie,” I answer, scanning the options. “Oh, and a butter cookie. I don’t think I’ve ever had one of those.”
Carson orders our food. A moment later, the clerk hands me a small cup with what looks like a brown ICEE in it, except there’s a straw with two peach ring candies threaded onto it.
“Oh!” I exclaim, surprised. In contrast to the small cup, the cookie is huge, easily the size of my hand and covered in a yellowy glaze with salt sprinkles. We find a bench in the shade and make quick work of the cookie, sharing the delicious, not-too-sweet treat. In contrast, the tea is super sweet.
“Oh, my God,” I groan with the first sip, immediately pressing my hand to my forehead. “Brain freeze and sugar rush all at once.”
Carson laughs. “It’s the best, right? I started drinking those when I was a toddler. I don’t know what my parents were thinking, because I swear they’d make me hear colors, and I remember running around like a maniac until I crashed. They’d chase me all over, and when I got caught, they’d plop me on Dad’s shoulders until we got to the next ride.”
I laugh at the idea of Carson as a little boy, ducking and diving through the crowds on a sugar-fueled mission to get to the bumper cars that look like miniature fifties classics. “Probably because of the full night’s sleep after a sugar crash like that,” I suggest.
It’s the first time he’s said something positive about his childhood, especially a happy memory with both his mom and dad. It reminds me of my phone call with Mom this morning and how I never had to worry about her and Dad. They were busy, but they always made time for us kids when there was something important going on, and I have loads of memories of happy holidays, game nights, and dinners around the kitchen table. Fresh appreciation for them fills my heart.
I take a few more sips of the slushie but leave the majority of the sweet drink to Carson.
“Okay, I think I’m ready for the roller coasters now,” I tell him, and he grins happily.
“Let’s do it!”
He takes my hand and leads me through the park to the red, white, and blue loop-de-loop monstrosity I saw on the day I first arrived. The sign proclaims it The American Revolution and is decorated with LED light fireworks. Ahead, I can hear riders screaming with each roaring pass of the car.
