Wonderland

In my late teens, I was in Boston. Public transit with actual, real-life trains, was new to me. I loved riding the T. And one day, while looking at the Blue line map, I saw the final stop was a place called Wonderland.

Obviously, this was the kind of place I had to at least see. So I rode the Blue line all the way to the end. It was late fall, and only an idiot couldn't feel the incoming winter. The clouds hung low, the wind cut through my hoodie. Once I got of the train, my friend and I were the only people in the world.

For this post, I could have read what's actually at Wonderland, but I'm just going to tell you what I remember. I knew Wonderland was close to where the horse tracks and greyhound track were. Later, I did go to the greyhound track. I remember the mechanical rabbit they made the dogs run after was so old, it threw sparks. Watching that sparky rabbit, I realized, greyhound racing was probably not very nice. But the day I went to Wonderland, my friend and I got off the train. We were the only people on the platform. We made our way to the ocean.

The area had a bygone vacation destination vibe, and it wasn't just because the season had turned. I walked along the frigid coast, the grey water snapping at the coarse sand, and I could see what were obviously once-grand hotels perched just above the water. But even in the slanty light it was clear, their paint peeled. The ornate decorations on the exteriors were crumbling. Everything seemed bleached out and shabby. The wind seemed to be returning every structure we saw back into dust.

Still, having come from a landlocked state, I found the absolutely freezing water interesting. It was the ocean after all! Who couldn't be fascinated?

I decided I needed to touch the water. I took off my shoes and rolled up my pants and waded in. Even in only calf deep water, I could feel the rip tide.

I walked in the Atlantic, careful not to lose my footing and get swept out to my death. I considered the hotel up on the cliffs. Was it a casino? It felt like a run down casino, but I didn't know enough about Massachusetts gambling laws to know if it was casino.

I scanned the entire beach. No one, other than my friend and I, were out. We were totally alone.

Something bumped my leg. I looked down and saw the first horseshoe crab I had ever seen! I had read about them. And here one was! How exciting.

Except it was floating upside down and was obviously dead.

I jerked away from the dead horseshoe crab, entirely sad that it was dead, and when I moved, the water jostled the crab. Something floated out from under the shell.

It was a wadded up piece of paper. No, a bill. It was a wadded up dollar bill.

I reached out and extracted it from the dead sea creature's orbit. I'd never actually seen a bill completely wadded up like that. I mean, you hear about it in books, a crumpled dollar bill but to see one, it's weird. Who just smashes a bill into a ball like they're going to three-point it into a trash bin? It's the least efficient way to carry paper money, all smashed up and chaotic.

I un-wadded the bill.

It was a $100.

The wind threw a cold spray of water over me, but that wasn't why I went cold. I looked up at the crumbling maybe-casino, down at the dead horseshoe crab, and then at the sea-stained $100 bill in my hands, and I was convinced that something illicit had happened to land this bill, in this condition, floating in the water at the end of the Blue line.

I thought about dropping it, but after a long, cold second, I clamped it harder in my hand and waded back to the shore.

At the time, I only needed $100 to open a saving's account. So I took the money and opened a bank account with it, which makes me realize, I was a really boring teenager.

I don't know whose $100 that was, but they weren't out there that day. Or if they were, they were underwater and didn't it anyway.

Wonderland just had that kind of vibe.