Sometimes, being present means that I’m not present
A bored-looking teenager behind the counter fastens on wristbands as we wait to pay.
“Don’t forget the socks,” she says. A sign behind her proclaims that the International Association of Trampoline Parks (who knew there was one?) recommends that patrons purchase a new pair of socks during each visit. For hygiene, of course.
And now that we’ve spent a week’s salary on admission, we can start to have fun.
The kids run to change their socks. I squint around. Lights flash and strobe, children’s shrieks echo off the rafters, and somewhere up above, the music pulsates. With each passing half hour, more people enter, and the space swarms with hyper little people and rambunctious teenagers.
Create a free account to keep reading.
