Dangerous Amusement Park with Stores I Can't Afford

Monday night
10-14
(logged on my phone – catching up again)

I am in at the beach in Key West, Florida with my aunt, cousin, and mother.  My cousin and I are horsing around in the water, getting knocked down by the massive waves and laughing.  She catches an amazing video on her phone of a giant wave as it approaches and towers over her.

The huge waves start to get a little too violent, and everyone begins retreating from the beach.  They are taking high ground on the top of a cliff made entirely of sand that has been carved out by the waves.  In my attempt to retreat, I find myself hanging from the edge of the sand cliff with my aunt, cousin and mother at the top, looking down at me.  I’m begging my mother for help getting up.  She just keeps insisting that I can do it, that I’m not trying.  I struggle, trying desperately to pull myself up.  Anger rises within me at her refusal to help.  I see another giant wave approaching from over my shoulder.  As it reaches the cliff, I let go of the cliff edge.  I let the water take me, and ride the wave to the sandy beach below.  With my anger plastered all over my face, I simply walk to the side of the beach and up  a slope to the cliff.

My mother and I are at some sort of amusement park.  In a concrete outbuilding reminiscent of the St Louis City Museum, there is a fake stone wall atop which we are standing.  I jump the 15 – 20 feet down to the neon-colored ground and land as easily as if I’d stepped down off of a stair.  I point a video camera up at my mother, and urge her to jump down, telling her that it is easy and fun.  She reluctantly makes the jump, but graps the lip of the wall at the last second.  She dangles there, hesitating for a moment before hesitantly letting go.

Next we are in a silver BMW roadster that is on auto-pilot.  It is driving itself like one of those amusement park cars that are on rails so you can’t get off track.  We ride around the streets, but unlike the rail cars, our BMW doesn’t always stay in its own lane.  We turn a corner, hit a ramp, and the car goes airborne.  The tires don’t touch back down to the road for an unnaturally long amount of time.  Eventually, the BMW takes flight, and we soar effortlessly through the air.


Now I’m alone, travelling to the end of a dock.  There is no body of water at the end – just forest.  A guard is standing watch at the end, arms crossed.  A netting of branches covers a gap in the dock.  The guard puts out a hand to stop me.  He sees in me a white suburbanite girl, and recommends that I have a gun ready if I’m going down.  I coolly whip out my iPhone, which is now also a gun.  I jump down through the netting of branches and find myself in the middle of a giant nature hut with a peat moss floor.  There is circle within circle of aboriginal peoples.  Crude tables and pallets are covered in beautiful pendants.

The 4 of us sit. Natives start drumming on various items. One man starts singing a continuous note of “Ohhhhh,” while looking around at everyone with imploring eyes.  He sounds as if he is trying to establish the pitch of a song.  He starts singing “Play That Funky Music” by Wild Cherry, and others join in without hesitation. My mother begins to tell me that the hidden meaning of the song is for white boys to stay away from their aboriginal women. I bring up my phone and begin to look for the video I took of the flying BMW to send to my dad.  Howard Stern leans over and asks my mom about her e cig. He is currently smoking a blunt. She says her e-cig healthier than pot and is still all natural.

The Key West storm worsens, and I find myself in the beautiful stone courtyard of a marina, all alone.  I start walking to find cover, but can barely move due to the strengthening wind.  I look out over the marina at a group of people on a suspended bridge.   A huge wave swallows the bridge.  When the wave crashes back down to the water, the people are gone.

I manage to make it close to a building, and round its corner to escape the wind.  I find a black man who is a celebrity from something that I can’t recall, and clutch onto him to keep from being blown away.  Another girl is also clutching on to him.  He drags the both of us along.  Despite the apocalyptic circumstances, we make small talk.  The girl is from some other state, but the man and I discover that we are from the same state.  We bond lightly over our shared information.

The man manages to drag the two of us into a dimly lit, high-end department store.  I happen to own the lingerie store that is in this very same complex.  Matthew McConaghey is one of the employees in this branch of my store.  I peruse the beautiful nighties on the shelves and marvel at the prices that are so high that I would never be able to afford a single panty.  The two tall, thin sales women with faces like porcelain dolls snicker to each other and treat me extremely rudely.  In a stupid last-ditch attempt to salvage my pride, I flash them the two of them my wedding ring and hurry out of the store.

Matthew and the girl from earlier are sitting at a table in ritzy bar just outside of the lingerie store.  I sit down at the table with them when someone frenzies their way over to bombard Matthew with complaints about cruel store standard. I check out the bar’s drink menu and find at drink called the Cadillac.  It is a pretty pink color, nice and fizzy judging by the amount of bubbles, and served in a champagne flute.  I think to myself that I probably can’t afford it.