by Phyllis Reilly
A trip the Fourth of July to Coney Island in 1948 has an unexpected turn…
We are going to Coney Island to spend the day at the beach and plan to stay late to watch the Fourth of July fireworks. I have been to the beach many times but this is the first time I will see fireworks, and I’m very excited.
My mom packs a bunch of food and rather than lug our cooler my father decides to splurge and buy cold drinks from the stand on the boardwalk.
It is early in the morning when we leave the house, and it is already hot. I can see the heat rising from the asphalt like smoke signals. We decide to take the bus instead of the subway. The windows open and at least there’s a breeze. Besides, it’s a shorter walk to the beach.
The bus is filled with people going to spend the day at Coney Island. The bus driver yells out the stops. If someone wants to get off, he will stop so they can exit out the back door, but the front door remains closed. There is simply no room. We get to the beach in record time. People pour out of the front and back exits until the bus is empty.
On the beach
We spread our blanket and towels close to the stairs that lead to the boardwalk—close to where they sell cold drinks. I’m already thirsty, but it’s too early for soda so my mother takes me to the water fountain. The line is long but moves quickly. She reminds me, “Don’t put your mouth on the spigot—it’s full of germs.” She lifts me up, and I take a long drink and hope that none of the germs jump into my mouth.
The beach is more crowded than usual. I have never seen so many people in one place, before or since. My father calls it “A Sea of Humanity.” I don’t really know what that means, so I ask him.
“It means lots and lots of people, so many that its looks like a people ocean.”
I don’t really get it, but he’s under the umbrella reading, and I don’t bother him.
playing in the waves
My father never goes in the water. He prefers to stretch out and relax under the umbrella. But today, it’s even too hot for him. He carries me down to the water because the sand burns my feet. We wade out to where the waves break. The water is over my head, and my feet don’t touch the bottom. I wrap my hands around his neck. We jump the waves, floating up and over as they carry us to the shore. It is so exciting that I forget to be scared and feel like a ballet dancer as he holds me high above him. I am a flying fish, floating on the crest of the waves weightless and safe.
When it’s time to return to the blanket, he tells me, “You stand right here. I’ll go get your shoes and cover-up. Then we’ll head to the boardwalk for some ice-cold lemonade. I’ll be back in a minute.”
He leaves me at the water’s edge. The water rushes over my feet. I know never to go into the water alone and stand there and wait for him.
I watch him walk past the blue umbrella and head in the direction of a red stripe umbrella, then he disappears. I wait for him to come back and play at the water edge. I cup the water in my hands and pour it on my body to cool my skin from the scorching sun. I am hot, thirsty and frightened. I wait for a long time, and then I wait for a long time some more. I think that maybe he forgot where I am.
little girl lost
I decide to walk to the blue umbrella and then the red umbrella.
Beyond that, I can only look for the stairs to the boardwalk. My feet are burning, and I can’t find my parents. It’s as if someone moved them. I walk in one direction and then the other. I look everywhere for our Bright Yellow Umbrella, but there isn’t any close by. I see one, but it is way down the other end of the beach. I am all turned around and realize that I am lost.
When I find the stairs that lead to the boardwalk, they are the wrong stairs. There is no soda stand, only benches and mobs of people. I go back to the beach. People stop and ask me if I am all right. I ignore them.
I call out, “Mommy, Daddy,” over and over again. I am crying so much that tears make it hard to see, and the sobs are so deep that my body is shaking. A woman holding a baby gets up from her blanket and offers me a drink. She blows my nose and with a damp cloth washes my face. I sit on her blanket. She tells her husband to go up to the lifeguard; “Tell him that we have a lost little girl.”
“What’s your name?”
“Erin. It’s Erin.”
“How old are you?”
“Six years old.”
A lifeguard takes me to his station and lifts me up on his chair. I am high above the crowd. I look everywhere, but I don’t see our yellow umbrella or my parents, just people everywhere—A Sea of Humanity.
at the police station
He takes me to the police station and tells me, “This is the first place parents look for lost children.”
The police chief tells me my parents will definitely come to get me. He asks me lots of questions and lets me wear his hat. I haven’t eaten since breakfast, so they get me a hamburger, fries and a Coke. They give me paper and crayons, and I sit and wait and draw pictures. While I am not crying, I am afraid my parents forgot about me and will never come and get me. Then what will happen to me?
Officer Grady tells me they are going to send a police car with a bullhorn to alert everyone that there is a lost child named Erin at the police station located at the end of the boardwalk.
He says, “It drives very slowly along the entire length of the beach. Everyone can hear it. Don’t worry. Your mom and dad will pick you up very soon.”
what if my parents don’t come?
I’m thinking – That’s if they want to find me. Maybe they don’t care. Maybe they’ll leave me here. Punish me for not staying by the water where my father left me… I could spend the rest of my life at the police station waiting for them. I start crying again. All I can do is wait and hope they come to get me.
“What time is it? What happens if they don’t come and get me? Will I have to sleep in a cell?”
I ask Officer Grady the same questions over and over. He reassures me that my parents will be here soon.
“What time is soon?” He looks annoyed and says, “Soon is the time they will be here. Do you want a soda? Can I get you some chips? If you’re tired, you can curl up on the bench and take a nap.”
“I’m not tired. I want my parents, and I want to go home.”
I keep checking the front door. I can hear the bullhorn as it moves along the beach.
Safe and happy
When my parents enter the police station and see that I am safe, they are relieved and happy to see me.
I tell them, “I thought you forgot about me and were never going to come and get me. I’m sorry. I should have waited for daddy by the water. I’m sorry.”
My father says, “I’m the one who is sorry. I should never have left you alone.” My mother hugs and kisses me and is crying. They sign some papers, and we are free to leave.
My parents thank Officer Grady for taking such good care of me. I thank him and give him back his hat.
As we walk to the bus stop, I hold tight to my father’s hand, happy to be going home.
Fireworks
I never did get to see the fireworks.
Author Bio: Phyllis Reilly: I am seventy-five years old and have recently returned to writing after a ten-year absence. I started the Croton Writer’s group two years ago and have been working on my memoirs. My poems have appeared in the Croton Review, Poets On, The Hudson Review and other small press magazines. I am currently writing flash non-fiction, short stories and creative non-fiction. A novella that started as creative non-fiction has become a fictional story. Only the Muse knows how it will end. Recent Publications: Flash Fiction Magazine: 2018 May edition Brevity Magazine: 2018 May edition Ponder Review: 2018 June Edition Volume 2 Issue 1
