Part 3 of Dreams of the Boardwalk is now up at matthewkeville.com! Head on over for more of the story about teenage dreams, second chances, and the outpost on the City’s shining edge.
Careful, though! This chapter is NSFW! Our Heroine and Dream Boy finally get their night under the boardwalk.
A few days later, I was back at Coney – running through the boardwalk night and headed from the West End to the amusement area. The moon was full again, and there were fireworks exploding in the distance.
This time, I was wearing a black sundress with a pattern of white flowers – the perfect thing for a girl meeting her boyfriend for an evening of special romance…because tonight was the third reel.
(I was also wearing black half boots and a leather jacket that I knew was his, though I also knew that he would be wearing a jacket of his own when I saw him – my dreams just wouldn’t let me be less than badass, even when I was being all soft and frilly.)
As I approached the amusement area, I saw that my guess had been right. This time, the Childs building was an amphitheatre, just as it was in the waking world, and there was a band playing inside. I don’t know what band, but they were playing anthems of youth and joy and lowdown dirty goodtime teenage sexuality.
The crowd had spilled out of the amphitheatre, and were dancing on the boardwalk, under the streetlights.
(Watching them dance, I had the strangest…intuition? Impression? Presentiment? Feeling? They were all so young and strong and beautiful, but somehow I sensed that some of them had rode the planet around the Sun more times than I had. Many more times. Maybe it was because those whirling, stomping dancers were dressed in a spectrum of fashionable youth that went back to at least the Forties. There were greasers, bobby socksers, hippies and punks. People were done up in disco gear, heavy jewelry and big pants, Nineties earth tones, Eighties glam and Goth club gear. And was that a zoot suit? But how could that be? This was just a dream, my dream. They weren’t real.)