Chapter 7 — Home
And thus begins Chapter Seven.
The final chapter.
Now, children.
The day was ending.
I knew this because
people were leaving.
The council looks around.
Fewer children.
Fewer families.
Fewer screaming humans being mechanically rearranged.
Wonderla had begun that strange transformation all amusement parks eventually undergo.
From
alive.
Crowded.
Loud.
Moving.
Into
closing.
Children.
But not closed.
Important distinction.
There were still people.
Not many.
But people.
Therefore
no emergency.
The council pauses.
That was your analysis?
Yes.
Children.
Look.
A truly abandoned amusement park?
Concerning.
An amusement park containing significantly fewer people than before?
Peaceful.
So I looked around.
Confirmed continued human existence.
And returned to
Float Protocol.
The council sighs.
Naturally.
I leaned back.
Water supporting me.
Body exhausted.
Bone tag necklace somewhere in my possession.
And for a while
nothing.
No objective.
No ride.
No search.
No wave.
No teacher.
Just little Nuo,
floating.
Gently.
Content.
The council smiles.
It had been a long day.
Not long in the normal school trip sense.
Long in the Nuo sense.
A day filled completely.
Wave Pool.
Random paths.
Land rides.
Water slides.
Space Gun.
Space Gun again.
And again.
The distant monstrosity.
Twin Flip Monster.
Ancestors.
God.
Twin Flip Monster again.
And again.
Back to the wave pool.
Relic acquisition via Crow Law.
Children.
I had lived efficiently.
Not academically.
Not socially.
But recreationally?
Elite.
So I floated.
Eyes closed perhaps.
Mind quiet.
Fun Meter
satisfied.
Then
sound.
The council turns.
A voice.
Distant.
Loud.
Very loud.
“NUO!”
My eyes opened.
The council gasps.
I looked toward the general direction of the sound.
And there
teacher.
Silence.
Children.
Teacher.
Not relaxed teacher.
Not:
Oh there you are.
No.
Furious.
The council stands at attention.
Ah.
The organised world has returned.
Exactly.
I looked at her.
She looked at me.
And the expression communicated several things simultaneously.
Relief.
Rage.
Disbelief.
Possibly a desire to throw me personally into the Space Gun without restraints.
The council winces.
Story Nuo’s response?
Essentially:
Ah.
Time to go.
Children.
No panic.
No:
I’ve been caught.
No sudden realization that I had committed some catastrophic act.
Just
school people found me.
Trip over.
Okay.
I climbed out of the pool.
Walked toward her.
And the second I reached conversational distance
impact.
The council braces.
“WHERE WERE YOU?”
“What happened?”
“Do you know how long we’ve been looking for you?”
And
bla.
Bla.
Bla.
The council pauses.
Children.
I am sure the speech was meaningful.
I am sure it contained valuable lessons about staying with groups,
listening to instructions,
not vanishing inside enormous amusement parks,
and perhaps the emotional wellbeing of supervising adults.
But twelve year old Nuo’s memory has preserved the broader category:
Scolding.
The council nods.
Very efficient compression.
And then
information.
Apparently
I had been declared missing.
Hours ago.
The council goes silent.
Hours?
Yes.
Children.
Hours.
At some point,
the teachers had noticed that the headcount contained one fewer idiot than expected.
Perhaps during a ride.
Perhaps lunch.
Perhaps when they finally reached the water rides and discovered that one member of the herd had apparently evaporated.
The exact moment?
Unknown.
But eventually
missing child protocol.
The council becomes alarmed.
Faculty searching.
Students perhaps asked if anyone had seen me.
Staff possibly notified.
Different areas checked.
The park scoured.
Children.
A search party.
For little Nuo.
And while this entire rescue operation unfolded
what was the missing child doing?
The council looks toward the water.
Floating.
Exactly.
Children.
Not trapped.
Not injured.
Not crying beneath a roller coaster.
Not hiding in a bathroom.
Not begging strangers for help.
No.
I had spent the day having an excellent time.
And when the search party finally located their missing twelve year old
he was simply
a cloud.
Floating on water.
The council collapses.
The image remains absurd.
Teachers:
PANIC.
Search.
Search.
Search.
WHERE IS HE?
Nuo:
Cloud.
The council laughs.
Eventually,
the teacher reached for my hand.
And took it.
Children.
Not negotiable.
She pulled me along.
Back into custody.
The Wandering was over.
Freedom revoked.
The council bangs a ceremonial gavel.
NUO RECAPTURED.
We moved through the park.
Her still scolding.
Me presumably walking beside her,
perhaps wondering whether the waves had restarted behind us.
The council stares.
Priorities.
I know.
Eventually
other faculty.
And children.
Their faces.
Relief.
Frustration.
Anger.
Exhaustion.
That particular expression adults develop after imagining every possible horrible thing that may have happened to a child under their supervision
and then discovering the child was perfectly fine,
having fun,
and apparently unaware there was a crisis.
The council nods slowly.
Several stress induced heart attacks may have occurred spiritually.
Teachers spoke.
Questions.
More scolding.
Where were you?
Why didn’t you stay with the group?
Why didn’t you find us?
Children.
Simple answers existed.
Wave pool.
Then Space Gun.
Then Twin Flip Monster.
Then wet path.
Then wave pool.
The council considers.
Perhaps not the explanation they wanted.
Probably not.
Because from my perspective
nothing had gone wrong.
That is important.
The council grows quiet.
I had not experienced myself as missing.
Not once.
Children.
To be missing,
surely you must want to be somewhere else
and not know how to get there.
I knew exactly where I was.
Wonderla.
I was exactly where I wanted to be.
Doing exactly what I wanted to do.
Therefore
I was not missing.
Everyone else had simply lost track of me.
The council points.
That is not how child supervision works.
Story Nuo respectfully disagreed.
Probably internally.
And then
the students.
Children.
They were ready.
Completely ready.
Changed.
Dressed.
Bags packed.
Standing around.
Waiting.
The council looks at the clock.
How long?
An hour.
Apparently.
The entire bus departure had been delayed.
Because one child remained unaccounted for.
The council slowly turns.
You.
Yes.
Children.
Me.
Everyone else had completed Wonderla.
Returned to designated meeting point.
Changed clothes.
Collected belongings.
Prepared for departure.
And then
waited.
And waited.
And waited.
Because Nuo was still somewhere inside the park.
The council looks offended on behalf of an entire bus.
Were they angry?
Perhaps.
I don’t remember.
Did some of them glare?
Probably.
Did I care?
Children.
The Fun Meter was full.
The day had been excellent.
Hostility could wait.
I joined the group.
Back into sheep formation.
Headcount.
This time,
presumably,
teachers counted me more than once.
The council laughs.
One.
Two.
Three.
NUO.
Four.
Five.
NUO STILL THERE?
Yes.
Continue.
Children.
The bus eventually left.
Wonderla receded behind us.
The rides disappeared.
Space Gun somewhere behind the gates.
Twin Flip Monster resting after its crimes against mortality.
Wave Pool likely still cycling between paradise and soup.
And me
back by a window.
Perhaps.
The Archive does not preserve the seat.
But it preserves the thought.
One thought.
Simple.
Persistent.
This was a good day.
The council grows quiet.
Not:
That was terrifying.
Not:
I got in so much trouble.
Not:
I should never do that again.
Not:
Poor teachers.
Children.
Twelve year old moral processing was not especially sophisticated.
I sat there,
probably tired beyond speech,
replaying the day.
Wave Pool.
Space Gun.
Twin Flip Monster.
Bone tag.
Paths.
Freedom.
And thought:
Good day.
The bus moved.
Students talked.
Maybe complained about waiting.
Teachers recovered their remaining lifespan.
I watched the world go past.
And eventually
home.
The council waits.
Consequences?
Children.
None.
At least none that reached me.
Perhaps the school informed my parents.
Perhaps teachers had a meeting.
Perhaps someone filled out paperwork titled:
WHY DID WE LOSE A CHILD AT WONDERLA?
The Archive has no record.
I was not informed.
And if consequences existed elsewhere,
they apparently failed to enter my jurisdiction.
The council sighs.
So at home
same thought.
Good day.
I may have put the found necklace somewhere.
Perhaps looked at it again.
Perhaps forgot about it until much later.
Story Nuo did not understand that it had become evidence.
He did not know that decades later,
Present Nuo would excavate this school trip from memory
and say:
Wait.
That was a Wandering.
The council nods.
Because on paper
what was it?
A school trip.
Highly organised.
Bus.
Teachers.
Tickets.
Itinerary.
A literal amusement park where every attraction is mapped,
named,
maintained,
and surrounded by signs.
Almost nothing about the setup resembles what we now associate with wandering.
The council listens.
And yet
the moment the group vanished,
the structure vanished with it.
Children.
That is the point.
Not distance.
I barely left an amusement park.
Not destination.
I’d already been to Wonderla before.
Not motive.
The motive was school trip.
Not duration.
One day.
Not adulthood.
Twelve.
Not drugs.
Sober.
Not solitude by design.
Accidental.
The council nods.
And still
I wandered.
Because wandering was not determined by the geography.
It was determined by how I experienced the place.
The council grows quiet.
The school had a Wonderla.
Their Wonderla had an order.
Land rides first.
Water rides next.
Stay together.
Follow instructions.
Meet at designated points.
Move as group.
That was their version.
Children.
Mine?
Wave Pool.
Waves stop.
Leave.
Three paths.
Choose one.
Ride appears.
Try it.
Clock says waves later.
Keep moving.
Space Gun appears in distance.
Curiosity.
Go.
Space Gun is magnificent.
Repeat.
Something even stranger appears far away.
Hunt.
Twin Flip Monster.
Discover God.
Repeat.
Miss waves.
Navigate by wet floor.
Return.
Float.
Find necklace.
Mine.
Float more.
Teacher appears.
Wandering complete.
The council smiles.
Same amusement park.
Entirely different experience.
No checklist.
No desire to see everything.
In fact,
children,
I barely saw anything.
I cannot name most of Wonderla’s rides.
Could not then.
Cannot now.
Because I did not care about completing the park.
I cared about what called.
The Wave Pool called.
Space Gun called.
Twin Flip Monster screamed from the horizon like a mechanical deity demanding sacrifice.
Everything else?
Scenery.
The council nods.
That template became my Wonderla.
Not the official map.
Not the recommended route.
Wave Pool.
Space Gun.
Twin Flip Monster.
Repeat as needed.
Children.
That is enough of a place.
You do not need to consume every square metre for somewhere to become yours in memory.
Sometimes three things are enough.
Sometimes one.
Sometimes none.
Sometimes the thing you remember most is simply the freedom between them.
The council grows still.
And perhaps that is why this Wandering is unique.
The place itself was contained.
Designed.
Controlled.
There were fences.
Entrances.
Exits.
Rules.
Operating hours.
Mechanical rides following precise programmed paths.
Nothing physically wandered.
Children.
Except me.
I had been brought there by an organised system,
and somehow,
for several hours,
experienced it without one.
The council nods.
The park did not change.
The relationship changed.
It stopped being:
Where are we supposed to go?
And became:
Where do I want to go?
That distinction
small on paper
was everything.
Story Nuo did not know this.
Story Nuo went home thinking:
Good day.
Present Nuo looks back three decades of idiocy later
and recognizes the shape.
The same shape that makes a five minute detour capable of mattering more than a planned itinerary.
The same shape that allows a familiar destination to become unfamiliar when you stop experiencing it through someone else’s order.
Children.
Wonderla proves the Wandering does not live in the miles.
It lives in the movement.
Not motion.
Choice.
The moment one interesting thing leads to another
without needing permission from a plan.
The council smiles.
And little Nuo?
He did not have the word.
He simply knew the day felt different from the family trips.
Better.
Not because family was bad.
Not because school organisation was evil.
Children.
Because for a few hours,
the place belonged entirely to his attention.
And his attention was free.
Wave.
Ride.
Monstrosity.
Wet path.
Water.
Relic.
Float.
That was enough.
The council closes the file.
Thus concludes Chapter Seven.
The Closing Park.
The Return To Float Protocol.
The Furious Teacher.
The Missing Child Declaration.
The Search Party.
The Cloud On The Water.
The Recapture Of Nuo.
The Hour Delayed Bus.
The Mysterious Absence Of Consequences.
And The One Thought That Survived The Journey Home.
This was a good day.
And thus concludes the Eleventh Wandering of the Unbegun.
Wonderla.
Children.
A Wandering does not require a distant state.
A sacred city.
A mountain.
An ocean.
A quest.
A train.
A hostel.
Or even a place you have never seen before.
Sometimes
it requires only that the schedule disappears.
The council looks toward twelve year old Nuo.
A school brought me to Wonderla.
Then misplaced me.
And for several hours,
I experienced the park exactly as I wanted.
No group.
No route.
No plan.
Just the Fun Meter
and whatever caught my eye next.
The council smiles.
Everyone else called me missing.
I called it
a good day.
