Singularities: Chapter 19-"Sounds of Summer '78"
In which AM radio, banned video games, and "E" tickets lead to a solemn realization.
The year is 1978. My mother loads our bags into the back of a rented Chevy Citation while I argue with my brother about who will sit up front. A few months earlier, my parents won a small court case, and in her largesse my mom has decided to take her two young sons on a dream vacation- Disney World in Orlando. What happened was this. A real estate developer, while in the process of constructing a new supermall, determined that a string of homeowners along the adjacent street were owed a cash payout. Seemingly, in the old days, when our deed was written, the document expressed some language stating that homeowners were entitled to financial recompense if the nearby property were ever developed for commercial use. Astonishingly, even a mile away from the construction site, our house was eligible. After the lawyers do their thing, our windfall was over six thousand dollars.
In her excitement, my mother spares no expense. Plane tickets, hotel rooms, and rental cars become part of our routine for the next seven days.
My brother Patrick and I are agog with excitement. The news is plastered with announcements of the newest attraction- a futuristic indoor roller coaster with an interstellar theme. The ride is called Space Mountain and it is all anybody talks about these days.
While in the car I am in charge of the music. For those to young to know, popular music reached its creative zenith in 1978, generating legions of rock stars and influential bands. The atmosphere in our rental car is joyful and electric. I tune in the local AM station, discovering “Miss You” by the Rolling Stones, and “Baker Street” by Gerry Rafferty. My celebrity crush, Olivia Newton John, declares that she is “Hopelessly Devoted” to me. We all sing along in the car, halting occasionally to make fun of the lyrics.
As “Reminiscing” by the Little River Band plays, I wonder if I will remember this vacation when I am a grown up. Probably not, I decide.
The adventure gets better even before we arrive. Our hotel, an affordable resort in nearby Kissimmee, offers many of the latest amusements for the modern family. A swimming pool, a neon-lighted air hockey table… and a video game machine, which was still quite unusual in 1978.
So on the first night, before we even arrive at the park, I shovel handfuls of quarters into my latest obsession- an arcade game called Death Race. The object of the game is, I am not kidding, to drive a car into pedestrians. Upon striking a moving pedestrian, they emit a little electronic scream, and a little gravestone pops up to mark their death. A grim concept, and understandably attractive to teenage boys.
It may be worth noting here that this game was banned in later years for promoting violence.
The next day, our first in Disney, is magical. After riding Space Mountain, we sit in the relative shade of Tomorrowland Terrace to eat lunch.
As I set down the paper plates, it dawns on me. We are only three now. My mother, brother, and myself.
I remember Dad leaving the house last week. I remember him carrying an armful of dress shirts out the front door in silence. No one said anything as he navigated his burden to the car. I am too young to understand what “divorce” means, so no solemn speech marks the occasion. There are no emotional farewells as I hold the screen door open.
All of this churns in the back of my mind as we make our way to our next stop, Adventureland. The noon sun rises higher. I am a northerner, so this is the first time I have seen heat waves shimmer over black asphalt. The entrance gate wavers before us like an oasis in the desert.
Our first stop is an “E” ticket attraction called Pirates of the Caribbean. In those days, the best rides, the ones with the most animatronics, are designated by the letter E in a colorful printed ticket book.
Descending into the underground darkness is like entering a faraway world. The three of us are entranced by the creative design and spooky setting. Pirates and skulls and treasure and cannon fire! The little boat ride in the near darkness is exhilarating.
After the experience we emerge from the cool and cavernous shelter of the ride into the brilliant afternoon. The heat and sun of Central Florida is intense- like a laser shining on your head. Sour sweat runs from my forehead and into my eyes. I rub my eyes and they are too moist. I must have been crying.
I stop in the middle of the asphalt thoroughfare, and wonder where my father went. All I know is that he is not with us. Today, on this day.
The crowd mills around me as I block traffic.
But he has to be coming back. We have a house. We live there, together; a family. Most importantly, when he left, he forgot his fishing poles. Even now, they are stacked neatly in the dusty corner of the dining room, waiting for him. He would not really leave without his fishing gear.
As we approach the rope ladders of the Swiss Family Treehouse, I start overheating. I kneel for a moment, panting and sweltering. My shirt is wet through and my heart pounds. My brother approaches with the water bottle.
My hands tremble as I accept the cold drink. I look to my brother, and ask him, being honest with myself for the first time.
If he left his fishing poles, that means that he is coming back, right?
Right?
END
Thanks for following Substackers! I hope you liked this short story, I enjoyed making it.
Timothy B. Fling
Writer and Creator
“Ars Longa, Vita Brevis
For those in the area, I hope you will come and visit me in Harrisburg!
