A remembrance at Eldridge Park in Elmira, NY
By the time the game ended,
Dad’s socks were red with infield dust
and the lights over the ballfield
Somewhere beyond center field,
you could hear the carousel music
floating across the lake.
That was enough.
We were headed to Eldridge Park.
Dad unlaced his cleats
sitting on the tailgate,
dirt falling from them
in little dry streams
while I watched the sky
going purple behind the hills.
The air smelled like cut grass,
lake water,
French fries,
machine grease from the rides.
By the time we reached the midway,
the whole park was lit up.
Strings of bulbs trembled above us.
The arcade flashed and clattered.
Somewhere near the lake,
the wooden coaster groaned around its turns
followed by delighted screams
rising into the evening air.
And the carousel kept turning
beside the dark water.
Dad always rode the outside horse.
Always reached for the brass ring
like losing was somehow impossible.
I can still see him leaning out,
one hand locked to the pole,
the other reaching,
music spinning around him,
shirt sleeves rolled high
from the game.
And every time he caught the ring,
the ride started over.
Like the night
had found one more excuse
to keep going.
Mom walked beside us afterward,
tucking loose hair behind her ear
while she laughed at something
one of us had said.
I don’t remember the joke.
Only the sound of her laugh
moving through all that light.
Back then,
I thought places stayed forever.
The coaster.
The arcade.
The long line of lights beside the lake.
But years keep taking things.
The rides go quiet.
Wood rots.
Music stops playing.
Still ...
every now and then,
usually in late summer,
I’ll catch the smell of lake water
and hot machinery together,
and suddenly I’m back there again -
Dad reaching for the brass ring,
Mom smiling beneath the lights,
the carousel turning beside the dark lake
like it had found a way
to keep one small piece of evening
going forever.
GBS
2023
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