The Gazebo

What an astounding and invigorating summer…the likes of which I haven’t seen in a decade. I’m never shy to complain about the unseen and arguably non-existent collective air that society tends to generate, but if I may atone for my bitterness, I’d like to acknowledge that the fear and tension and anguish that has plagued our great nation for the last several years has finally began to change. Last summer was among the worst; everyone was gripped with the hanging intuition that something very very bad was about to fall on them, and it was evident in their faces. There were bouts of friendless about, but it was always such an obvious and transparent veil to hide their terror, that it was rendered worthless for those of us who care only for motive, and root level feelings.

And then came winter, and the house of cards finally fell. The stock market plummeted. Unemployment skyrocketed. Miserable winter weather the likes of which we also haven’t seen in decades fell upon the land. The economy self destructed and sank…and finally there was at last a known to satisfy the intuitive fear that had plagued all of the debt ridden american consumers. Fear, as we all know, is most crippling when it’s of the unknown; so despite the fact that things were suddenly miserable, at least the cat was finally out of the bag. People denied. They were angry. Sad. And finally, as spring began to rear it’s head, they found themselves in a place of acceptance. Lives were rearranged toward efficiency, and minimalization. Things began to bloom. Hope grew. And as the weather turned from dismal to sunny, the attitudes of my fellow americans followed suit– springing to life with the leaves and the lilac bushes, renewed and optimistic for the first time in a long time. The glorious return of the old fashioned american summer was upon us once again.

Symbolizing this transformation was the recent reopening of a local park that had been closed for many years; a place that I used to frequent often with women in my 250 dollar car when I was young. The park was first built as a development requirement for an organization that sprung up nearby called Bay Harbor (created in answer to a call for rich fucks from out of state to have a local place to purchase, as my area is highly sought after for it’s scenic beauty and serenity…as most of the older communities are attainable through inheritance only), which was built on top of an old cement plant site; a site that was an enormous source of fascination for me as a young boy. It could be seen from the road when traveling south out of town; it’s enormous abandoned smoke stacks mingling with it’s half collapsed buildings. An entire field of accidental cement surrounding it, with only the periodic plumes of growth springing up through it’s cracks. From the water, the place was even more intimidating and frightening. I remember riding in a boat with my father across the bay to it one day, and gaping at the mangled rusted machinery littering the coast line. Old hooks hanging and creaking in the breeze. Corroded door handles on dilapidated second story hatches. Dark shapes in the water. Ominous, to say the least…which is why it came as no surprise that after the debris was demolished and the pseudo-rich-people community was slapped together overnight for billions of dollars, it was discovered that the buried kiln dust from the plant was poisoning the water; killing fish, and causing anyone who went swimming to develop severe burns over their body.

The park that I enjoyed, with it’s long windy trail through the woods to it’s secluded and hidden gazebo perched just inside the tree line, high on a cliff overlooking the bay, was closed to the public and transformed into a contamination-control site. I was furious, to say the least, as it was one of my favorite little sneaky places that few knew about. A place nearby that I could enjoy the outdoors in privacy; carving my name into the railing while stealing glances at my delicious female companion’s legs.

Contamination finally controlled after six years of effort, the park was opened again, and I just returned from my first visit there in a long time. The path was still there, just as I had left it, as was the gazebo. I also found my name still sketched into the wooden railing, though it was a bit softer and more faded than I remember…the smell of my old piece-of-shit car was more potent than ever in my memory, though, and the young haunting faces of my old friends and lovers could be seen laughing and dancing up the trail a ways, as well as back the way I had come…just out of sight…just beyond the bend.