[The Luna Park Icon. Photo: Google search.]

It wasn’t a humid heat or a muggy heat. Nor was it a roiling heat or a smoldering heat. It was a seething heat, like a kettle of water about to boil. It was so hot, my fillings softened. It was so hot the sweat glands on my eyelashes were dripping. That made me take notice, a second take because eyelashes don’t have sweat glands.

I stood at the back window of our apartment and looked out at our patio. Our rugged plastic shed was beginning to look like a cake that was left out in the rain. Our potted plants and flowers glared at me through the mosquito netting. I could distinctly hear them crying out to me: “What have we done? Why are you doing this to us?”

“It’s the fossil fuel industry,” I replied.

Before returning to the bed, I went to the kitchen and poured a short glass of cold brew from Starbucks onto three ice cubes. I studied my La Cross Weather Station from Costco. All the temperature/humidity readings were gone. The screen was black except for a small digital message. Two words: YOU’RE FU**ED

I made the bed in seconds flat and propped myself on the five cushiest pillows I owned. I played a few games on Words With Friends, but after being barraged by seventeen straight ads for Maybelline, I put my phone down. I leaned back against the pillows. The soothing roar of the A/C began to lull me to sleep.

There must be some way out of here, I mumbled. Then it hit me. I sat up to a sitting position faster than I did when I had root canal work.

There was something on our calendar. I slipped out of the bed. Mariam was in our home office on her Think Pad balancing our checkbook. I heard her quietly weeping.

I went straight to the calendar. There it was. In the square for the 28th of July was:

B & K

We had plans. We were going to meet up with my son, Brian and his wife, Kristin at Coney Island. I already had the tickets to see the minor league Brooklyn Cyclones play at Maimonides Stadium.

But first. First there was Coney Island, waiting for Mariam and me.

Coney Island! A place for all dreamers. Tawdry, tacky, sometimes seedy, grimey, beautiful and exciting.

“We have to go to Coney Island,” I yelled above the A/C.

Ten minutes later we were all ready. Our backpack, filled with three Starbucks mugs of ice water, weighed as much a summit pack for the Matterhorn.

I once went to Coney on my own. I was sitting in the Sideshow theater. It was a warm day those many years ago. Before I knew it, I was one of two volunteers about to stand on the belly and thighs of a woman who was laying on a bed of nails.

I was very happy.

We hopped the #1 train to 59th St. and transferred to the D train for a forty-five minute ride to Coney Island/Stillwell Avenue.

An hour later we arrived. The sea breeze took the edge off the heat…but not by much. We headed straight to the Sideshow By The Seashore. The park had been damaged by a coastal storm several years ago. I was hoping it wasn’t too Disneyfied.

During the first of a handful of acts, I found myself once again called to help out. This time, I was asked to assist in pulling a nail from the nose of the performer. I did it with much fanfare. (Mariam has the video.)

It was time to head to the ballpark. I had $25.00 tickets so close to the home teams dugout, I could almost High 5 the players. Almost.

I drank our ice water and tossed peanut shells onto the concrete floor.

I was very happy…

Alas, the Cyclones went down 4-2, but it didn’t matter. This was baseball as it should be seen. Close-up and personal.

After the game, B & K caught an Uber to Sheepshead Bay to visit a friend. Mariam and I headed for the D train for the ride back to Manhattan.

I was very happy…

[The Parachute Ride. No longer in use, but still beautiful. Photo is mine.]

[The Fire Eater. Photo is mine.]

[The Sword Swallower. Photo is mine.]

[The Parachute Tower and waxing moon. Oh, and a Cyclones employee. Photo is mine.]

[Kristin and Mariam. Coney Island Lovlies. Photo: Kristin Maier.]