Seattle Center

Saturday night, the four of us feel ready for a little adventure. The sky is clear and the city beckons. We fly across the I-90 Bridge, marveling at the dusk sky, the choppy blue water, the heights of the city. After living here over a year, we decided it's time to see Seattle Center, the cluster of museums, art venues, and carnival rides at the base of the Space Needle.
We park with ease, near the monstrous Experience Music Project/Science Fiction Museum. Frank Gehry designed the place, which resembles inflated silver crinkled plastic wrap. It's unlike any building I've ever seen, and no matter how many times I see it, I can't quite wrap my head around it. Eerie electronic rock music blares from a big plasma screen outside the museum as we walk through the plaza, looking out on Fun Forest. The abandoned rides look creepy, but we walk on anyway. Brad really wants to take the family on the ferris wheel, which is still lit up. We press on past the darkened roller coasters and merry-go-round. Jane's too short. Ah, well. We enjoy the Space Needle from this angle--it really does look like it could take off for the stars at any moment.
We're determined to do something, we're here! We're paying for our parking spot! How about the monorail? We wait on the platform with a few couples on dates, a group of tourists, and a group of teenagers. Trains come every ten minutes. It's hard to keep from chanting "Monorail, Monorail, Monorail." Finally, the futuristic train pulls in.
We choose seats that face out so all of us can have a good view. If nothing else, we're inside something, giving the kids a chance to warm up. It's not really cold outside, but they're not exactly dressed for a September evening out. We brace ourselves as the train pulls out.
We curve around the Experience Music Project and see a giant space creature we've never noticed before. We admire the skylights and the view from 5th avenue. We wonder how far the monorail goes.
About four minutes later, we arrive at our destination--Westlake Center Mall. Oh, Brad and I say. That's it. We exit the train--Jane bounds ahead, excited to do it herself--and go in the mall. After looking around for a bit, we go back to wait for the train back. Jane dances around the metal platform, her steps crashing and keeping her warm. Shorts and a puffy vest? Really? I scratch my forehead and avoid looking any other mother in the eye. Grey reaches and strains, trying to get out of his stroller. It's time to go home. On the ride back we wonder what it would be like to live in one of the many apartments we pass, looking out on the future of the 1960s--monorail.
Five minutes later, we walk back through Fun Forest toward our car. All the rides and games are closed now, and it really is creepy. Don't underestimate the creepiness, Brad says. Look at that clown.
The rides have the classic look and colors of amusement rides anywhere. There's The Music Express, Galleon, Windstorm, Wildriver. Even when the lights are out, the bulbs glow with their atificially bright primary colors. The only light shining down on us comes from the plasma screen outside Experience Music. We move toward it like bugs to a zapper and step into the glass elevator. We're relieved to find that our car is still there and there's no parking ticket on the windshield (we're a little past our hour).