REUNITED AND IT FEELS SO GOOD.

Fifteen years ago, two pudgy-cheeked, snot-nosed kids took a trip to Marine World USA. It was a magical day filled with cotton candy, Slurpees, and marine-life viewing at its best. The little boy even found money on the ground, a ten-dollar bill that transformed him from a pauper to a prince in a matter of seconds. The little girl was extremely jealous of this, but she didn’t show it. Instead, she gorged herself on pizza and prayed that some rich lady’s pocketbook would accidentally fall open, dumping a wad of cash onto her lap. It didn’t happen. Still, it was a wonderful adventure. And although they left the park soaked from the killer whale show splashdown, it was inscribed in the memory books as “That Awesome Day at Marine World.” With sunburned arms and aching feet, they parted ways… and never saw each other again.

Until yesterday.

A couple of months ago, I stumbled upon a comment from that little boy on one of my NYC friends’ Facebook pages. “Could it be…?” I wondered as I squinted at his private profile photo. The name was the same, but a person changes a lot in fifteen years, especially when those years include the turbulent growth experiment called puberty. After some messaging between myself and my NYC friend, we determined that, yes, it was the same little boy, all grown up. He and my NYC friend had known each other in college. What a coincidence.

The boy, who I shall refer to here as Il Barbarossa, and I started to Facebook message, sharing the Cliff’s Notes version of the past decade and a half. “Remember that day at Marine World?” I asked.

“Do I ever!” he responded. “I found so much money that day!” We had our respective chuckles, mine colored by the fact that my luck had not been as good as his that fateful summer day. Over the weeks, however, we faded into the vagueness of Facebook pseudo-friendship—a photo comment here, a group invite there. The type of relationship that forms between people who really only share one common memory and a few “mutual friends.”

The other day, I decided to change that. “I’m in town. Let’s meet up,” I wrote. I didn’t know what to expect. Forging a Facebook friendship is one thing; forging a real one is quite another.

Later that night, I got a text. “Let’s go to Marine World.” It might have been a joke, it might have been serious. Either way, it was on.

This could have been the best idea or the worst idea ever. Here we were, two virtual strangers, embarking on a day-long journey to a children’s theme park. The drive there and back alone would mean we’d have to fill 3 hours with thoughtful conversation. Add another few hours wandering around an unknown park to that, and you might have a social double-suicide. I decided to take my chances.

The theme park was not quite how we remembered it. First of all, it’s not even called Marine World USA anymore. It’s called Six Flags Discovery Kingdom (or, for those in the know, SFDK). As we walked toward the front gates, we were greeted by a Tony Hawk-themed roller coaster. “Wait—isn’t this a marine animal park?” I asked Il Barbarossa, brow furrowed in confusion. As we walked closer to the entrance, more roller coasters spiraled toward the sky, but, other than the giant plastic killer whale cut-outs looming near the entrance signs, there were no other traces of marine magnificence in sight.

And then we hit security. A veritable barricade of metal detectors at the front entrance made JFK’s security checkpoint look like child’s play. Guards in military attire and employees in neon chartreuse polo shirts wandered about, walkie-talkies murmuring from their belts. As we passed through inspection, I wondered what kind of problems they might have had in the past: it looked like they were ready to take on a full-scale terrorist attack. Thank goodness I left my brass knuckles at home. That could have been embarrassing.

Once we were certified as non-threats to amusement, we took a look at the park’s schedule of events. Luckily, there were several marine life “shows” we could attend throughout the day. I breathed a sigh of relief: our 1.5 hour drive there was not in vain. We decided to see “Merlin’s Island Party Dolphin Show” first. We re-folded our schedule, and were on our way.

The land we entered into was completely foreign, and I’m still not sure if it was in a good or a bad way. Somehow, Six Flags has managed to partially incorporate many themes into this park. Unlike Disneyland or Paramount’s Great America, where all of the merchandise and attractions display only paraphernalia from projects produced by the respective conglomerates, Six Flags Discovery Kingdom features a little bit of everything. Due to this lack of thematic unity, the entire place is pretty overwhelming. On our way to Merlin’s Dolphin Harbor, we encountered a fast-food triumvirate of Papa John’s, Johnny Rocket’s, and Gordon Biersch (where they actually served beer – kind of sketchy, if you ask me). Kids donned giant fuzzy top hats emblazoned with Batman and Superman logos. An angsty tween Myspace band wailed from a stage beneath an already deafening roller coaster. There were even Sani Hands antimicrobial handy-wipe stations to prevent the potential spread of disease. Our twenty-something brains were almost in sensory overload. A lot has changed in fifteen years. Thank God we still had the wildlife.

Much to my elation, over in the dolphin theater, everything had remained the same. Although my moral judgment now questioned the treatment of animals as entertainment, there was a sense of comfort in knowing that the media flux hadn’t affected this part of the park just yet. Families of all shapes, colors, and sizes had crammed into the arena for the show, just as they had when we were kids. A jocund young woman in khaki shorts and a Hawaiian print shirt energetically introduced the two dolphin “stars,” and Caribbean cruise line music blared from the stage speakers. Parents and children alike oooh-ed and aaaah-ed the dolphins’ jumps, flips, and poses, and even I was a little bit jealous of the kid who got to go up to feed them. By the end of the set, Il Barbarossa and I remembered why we had come there in the first place. The Marine World magic had taken hold once again.

Over the course of the day, we saw two more wildlife shows (Shouka the Killer Whale and Valerie the African Elephant were quite the starlets, let me tell you), visited the shark and stingray tank, and saw some sea lions (which was actually pretty depressing. One of them kept turning tricks in hopes of getting a treat, but since they charge $5 per feed fish, no one was complying). Since our last visit, they had also added more non-sea animals to the mix: Il Barbarossa was especially enthralled with the lions, and I was intrigued by the Mexican porcupine that tried to make a run for the hills every time her trainer put her on the ground. And there were chinchillas, cougars, giraffes, and dual-humped camels to boot. An impressive array for a plot of land in Vallejo, California.

Il Barbarossa and I didn’t find any money lying on the ground, but we did find out some other things on our trip to Marine World/SFDK: 1) Male porcupines urinate on the females’ quills in order to “soften them up” for mating. How romantic. 2) Maybe fifteen years isn’t too much time between visits to Marine World. In fact, it might be just right. And 3) You can make Facebook friendships a reality—you just have to make that call (Did I just write that? Yes, I did). We were pleased to find at the end of our 9-hour excursion that we had not fallen into a single awkward silence, and that we had a lot more in common than just a few “mutual” Facebook friends.

I think Il Barbarossa will agree that the trip was, overall, a success. I am continually surprised to find that the kids I had grown up with are actually adults now—which means, frighteningly, that I must be one now, too. It’s good to know that you can pick up the ball after fifteen years and make an old friend new. It’s like that old Girl Scout saying, “Make new friends, but keep the old: one is silver and the other’s gold.” I guess that makes Il Barbarossa all sorts of metallic, but you get my drift. I’m sure we’ll have many blogged-about excursions to come, and that’s what’s important. We reunited, and it feels so good. Sing it, Peaches & Herb…