The Man At the Beach
Louis D. Rubin
From the top of the ferris wheel at Folly Beach you could see a long way in all directions, up the beach to where it was woodland along the shore and beyond that the black and white rings of Morris Island lighthouse tower, northward to the flat marshland beyond the wide creek that separated Folly from James Island, and to the south the ocean, green-blue to the far-out horizon beyond which lay nothing but water all the way to the coast of Africa. It was almost like being in an airplane, except that there was the steel grid of the giant wheel that, though it revolved, was anchored securely to the earth.
The amusement park was across the way from the pavilion. We headed for it as soon as my father parked the car. Uncle Leo's car was right behind, and Maynard and Elaine hurried across to join us. Uncle Leo and Aunt Sophie were not really our uncle and aunt, but we had always called them that. There were five of us in all—my sister and my little brother, Maynard and Elaine, and myself. Maynard, at 13, was the oldest, and my brother, who was seven, the youngest. Each of us had money for three ride tickets and an ice cream cone when we were done. My brother went straight for the merrygo-round, as he always did. There was one horse that was his favorite, painted red with a silver mane and saddle. He would climb aboard it and grasp the reins securely, use all three of his tickets one after the other, then buy his ice cream cone and rejoin my parents on the beach in front of the pavilion.
What we liked were the electric cars. There were several dozen of them, and when the current was turned on they all glided around the circle. The cars were powered by electricity.
