I drove to Coney Island with my friend and my dog. Nova, my dog, made the trip with his head out the window. When we got close to the beach his tail started wagging and pounding against the back of the driver's seat. As far as I know, Nova had never been to the beach before. I adopted him from the pound when he was already nine months old and since his previous owners used to beat him, I can’t imagine they took him to the beach.
The overcast sky threatened us during the drive and upon our arrival it sent down some raindrops to warn us that the day was not for outdoor fun. However, the light rain did not deter us from the beach. We strode over the boardwalk, sparsely populated by older men taking their morning walks, and went down onto the deserted sand. Nova bounded and jumped against his leash, flipping around in the air and smiling. He kicked up sand and at one point even tried to eat it.
At the water's edge I let him off the leash and he ran. He ran back and forth and then back again. He sent sand flying as his tongue waggled in the air, and then he turned to the ocean and leapt into it. I thought for a moment that he had left us, that he would go and live with the mermaids. But he turned around and bounding over the waves, he fought his way back to shore. He was soaked to the bone and I had never seen him happier as he shook himself. My friend, Jesse, dubbed him Beach Boy, as he dashed around us we called this out to him and I think he understood and I think he revelled in it.
As Nova triumphed, the sky grew darker and the rain began to fall more steadily. So we put him back on the leash and lead him to the car, we all climbed in just as the rain let loose. We had planned to walk around but with the sky's insistence we decided to drive.
The first stop was Nathan's, the best hot dogs in the world are served at this place along with some damn fine lemonade. In the summer Nathan’s has no walls, they are pulled up so that the entire place feels like it is outside and most people choose to get their hot dogs and stroll through the fair grounds. There is often a line that curls around the block.
On this wintery day the walls were down so we thought it was closed but a large “Come in, We're Open” sign hung in the door. It was 10:30 in the morning so I was surprised to find three other hot dog enthusiasts inside. The place looked sad with just the five us. Only one register was open instead of the usual seven and a single grill held the hot dogs for the day. We ordered two hot dogs, one to split and then one for the Beach Boy.
Jesse and I ate ours inside and then brought the second dog to Nova. When I placed it on the seat next to him he cocked his head and looked at me for direction . Jesse pointed out that the bun and hot dog should be separated since Nova looked confused. I took the hot dog out and laid it on the seat putting the bun by its side. Nova consumed the hot dog in two bites and followed it up with the bun which took three. Then he looked at me as if to question his chances of another hot dog. Receiving none, Nova resumed his place by the window, waiting for us to get going again so that he could have the wind in his face.
We drove along the main street which runs under the subway, passing signs in Russian. If you ignored the beach and the towering amusement park attractions, Coney Island would be like any other immigrant neighborhood in New York. People live here and work here, seemingly indifferent to the ocean and rides. I was surprised by how normal the neighborhood seemed. The people we passed looked like any other people and the stores like any other stores. We decided we had quite enough of normalcy and returned to the park.
The rides, closed and on this winter day and dripping with rain, looked sad, as if they had been deserted and they knew it. As we drove up and down the streets lined with amusements we were overcome by a feeling of strangeness. At one point Jesse spotted a shark through a fence covered in dead vine. A plastic shark, mouth wide, ready to attack. The shark was lying on its side exposing the hole in its stomach which obviously was supposed to attached to something mechanical. The shark looked forgotten, viewed through a dilapidated fence and surrounded by trash.
When we came to the Cyclone, the biggest roller coaster in the park, Jesse jumped out of the car to take photos. He noticed a shot that was perfect and he tried to get through the fence to snap it, but just as he was slipping through, a guard ran up and told him he had to go. Jesse protested that the perfect shot was only a few feet away. The guard said that for insurance reasons he couldn’t come in. Jesse gave up. As he walked away, defeated, the guard yelled “You almost had it, though” Jesse turned, laughed, and shook his fist in the air.
We decided we had seen enough for one day, passing over the bridge, as we left Coney island, I glanced back and marveled at a community which managed to ignore Ferris Wheels, Roller Coasters, and hot dogs to live their lives like any other life in New York City.
