Crushed rock, left in place of an amusement park. Where there was once a yellow plastic tube which emptied into a pit of colorful plastic balls there is only a concrete slab. Where a roller coaster once stood roaring its way down the track, there is only a couple iron rods left, smashed into the rocks and concrete. Caution tape covers the borders, warding out curious onlookers. The park is dead. Except for the few people that remember it, it’s gone. Once those people die, it will be removed further from existence. Until it is finally just a crumbling pit that people pass and shrug saying, “it’s been there forever”.
I walk along the yellow tape, sliding my finger along its surface, remembering all of the Sundays I spent here as a child. Standing here, my feet shaking on the rocky ground, I can almost smell the popcorn and cotton candy, sweet and sticky, that used to fill the air. My sisters and I would save up all of our allowance to go. I was the youngest, meaning I was pulled from ride to ride, a complaisant companion. They let me get a balloon once. They looped it tightly around my finger, telling me many times not to let go, or it would be gone forever. But like any child, I let go. I opened my hand to grasp a toy I wanted and it was gone, flying away up towards the sky.
Like any child I cried. The balloon was gone, only its memories remained. The feeling of the string looped tightly around my finger and a red ring of cut-off circulation was all I had left. My sisters shook their heads at me and pulled me along, telling me I shouldn’t have let go. I didn’t let go of anything important to me again. Or I tried not to. Sometimes things were yanked out of my hand quicker than I could realize they were gone. Like this park, a pile of stones and concrete. There weren’t even pictures left to commemorate its brilliance. Yet it was alive in my mind, and my sisters. And maybe hundreds of other children whom we’d grown up with. It’s grey and desolate but I’ll always remember it as a colorful wonderland that fulfilled every child’s dream and killed many balloons. Eventually, as our generation dies off, it will float off like the balloon, higher and higher until it is non-existent, even in memory.
“Hey Ann, you good?” says my sister, stumbling down the hill towards me.
“How much is this going for, the land?” I ask.
“I don’t know. Not a lot I’m guessing. It’s all rock,” she says, kicking a large rock with her sneaker.
“I want to buy it,” I say.
“What?”
“I want to buy it and build my own amusement park.”
“You’re crazy,” she says.  
I laugh. “I loved this place. You did too.”
“Yes, but it was a deathtrap. It was shutdown. Someone died on that roller coaster.”
I shrug. “I would make it awesome again.”
“You can’t just build an amusement park,” says my sister.
“Yes I can.”
“You aren’t thinking this through.”
“I find impulse works best when making rash decisions.” I say, ducking under the tape.
“Ann, you’re nuts. You’re going to get hurt,” she says.
“I am not. It’s just rock.”
“Rock can hurt. There’s caution tape for a reason,” she said, poking at it.
I roll my eyes at her. “I’m going to buy this place, Julz. I’m not going to let it slip away from me.”
“You have to let this thing go, Ann. Some things are just meant to die.”
“I can rebuild it,” I say, “Look, the entrance can go there, there could be a brand new rollercoaster over there…”
“Ann this is nuts,” she says, ducking under the tape and coming to stand next to me.
“I know, that’s why I have to do it.”
“Huh?”
“I’m so bored with college. I need to do something big, something fun. This is it.”
“You’re going to end up living on my couch,” she says, groaning.
“That’s why I love you, and your couch. It’s always there,” I said, hugging her.
I walked back under the tape and climbed up the hill.
“You’re not actually going to do this, are you?” she yelled after me.
The next day I paid the down payment.
Three years later, after a lot of hard nights on Julz’ couch, it opened. It’s called Balloonland and it’s the best thing I ever made. Sometimes things aren’t meant to die. Sometimes not letting go, even if it’s crazy, can be wonderful.