The Fool and the Donkey VII

CW: References to substance abuse

TRACK VII - “Rootless” - Lewis, Lynsi - “THE ALBUM”

Bud and alcohol tangoed around her neurons, leaving the Ferris wheel towering above less a Ferris wheel and more a caricature of a Ferris wheel. A pixelated Ferris wheel, rendered in 90hz, 60fps.

English became a gibberish that she somehow understood and spoke just as fluently. Each syllable a hiss, bite, a chomp into another…more gibberish. Even Cher’s “If I Could Turn Back Time” sounded like gibberish.

Her earlier embarrassment faded into obscurity as apathy settled in her bones. She’d feel the surge of it tomorrow, along with a pounding headache and ice in her blood.

Could blood truly become frozen after one too many shots? Hangovers left her wondering if perhaps that’d already happened. Chunks of blood floating in her constricted veins…Lynsi giggled at the morbid thought. Chunky chunk ice cubed blood.

She shooed away the image. Isadora and PJ were in the middle of some conversation that looked like it could’ve been serious.

Not that she could tell. Maybe Isadora was mad?

Her pupils were large and her nostrils were flared as she tilted her jaw up at PJ. That’s what people looked like when they were mad. Right?

Lynsi looked away. Despite being here with them, this conversation was for their ears only.

She instead focused her gaze at the Ferris Wheel.

“Oh, yeah,” her Beast remarked. “That’s right.

Isadora wants to go on the Ferris wheel. You ready, Lynsi? Ready to be at the mercy of man and machine?”

Fuck, no. There was nothing less that she wanted to do than go on a Ferris wheel. Still, she had promised Isadora she would and, well, sometimes you just had to plug your nose and get the thing over with. Even if said thing left her veins cold and stomach twisted in seventy degrees Fahrenheit. Sides, giving into fear…well, that’s how Sierra died. If Lynsi had been braver, if she’d just—

The line moved ahead. Lynsi sucked in a deep breath, rolled forward, and pretended to listen to PJ and Isadora’s chat.

If only Lynsi hadn’t been such a chicken shit and just said what she meant and meant what she said. She had to get over this damned anxiety one way or another, even if it meant drowning in substances to do it.

Stop it, she told herself. Her thoughts had this tendency to repeat, like a scratched record. Same points, same feelings, as though these old memories that were the basis for it had happened just the other day. Instead of years ago.

Bad things happened when she couldn’t stop the record playing.

“No,” the Beast corrected. “They were only that bad when we had that never ending headache damn near ten years ago. You’re not like that anymore.”

Lynsi grimaced. It couldn’t be safe to test that theory. Not yet. Not ever.

“You haven’t changed.” She said to her Beast.

Whoops. Her cheeks burned pink. She said that out loud. Thank god it had been barely above a whisper. She redirected her thoughts again and gave the Ferris wheel another once over. Her stomach twisted into further knots and, suddenly, she needed to pee.

“It’s not even that high, Lyns,” said her Beast.

“Seriously, it’ll last maybe…what? Ten-twenty minutes? And then it’ll be over.”

…But what if it breaks? What if the moment she slipped into that seat next to Isadora, the controls glitched and swung them both up and dropped them just as quickly?

“Like that could happen.”

Anything could happen. Didn’t matter how small the percentage was. If something had the chance of happening, then it could happen.

“Sure, Lynsi, but that applies to literally everything. You could roll outside and get struck by lightning then, boom! That’s it. You’re dead. Everyone still goes outside anyway.”

And that in itself was another thought that led to a whole mountain trail of new thoughts. A hike’s worth of thoughts. Of millions of different people going about their days only to be struck dead by lightning. By a car accident. By an elevator accident. By medical negligence. By…overdoses. People just living their lives, dreaming about their futures, planning to have families, spending hours studying for classes…

And then they’re dead.

All that for nothing. All that time wondering what their purpose in life could be—only for it to be nothing.

She thought of this movie her brother made her watch. Some inspirational flick about an aspiring astronaut who started out an immigrant working in agriculture. All she could muse about after was how each astronaut on the Challenger worked just as hard in their own right and that damned rocket blew up anyway.

The line between inspiration and tragedy seemed as thin and brittle as a well worn toothpick.

“For fuck’s sake, Lynsi. It’s just a Ferris wheel.” Her Beast scolded.

At least diesel permeated the air. She could die surrounded in the fumes of her favorite smell.

“What do you mean you’re not going?”

Isadora’s raised voice snapped Lynsi out of her mental mountain trail.

“I don’t really want to.” said PJ, voice low. His shoulders slumped, otherwise he gazed down at Isadora without shifting his perspective.

“But me and Lynsi are doing it. Why can’t you?”

“I just don’t want to.”

“Come on, PJ. Please?”

“No.”

“Pretty please?”

“No.” PJ tensed. Isadora rolled her eyes and her smile dropped. What replaced her innocent features was cold in nature. Calculative.

“So, you’re telling me we’re both more of a man than you?” Her voice was just as icy as that earlier image that had popped into Lynsi’s mind.

“My not wanting to go on a Ferris Wheel doesn’t make me any less or more of a man, Isadora.”

“So why can’t you go on it? If it’s not that big of a deal—“

“That’s not what I said,” PJ cut her off. “I just don’t want to. It’s not like you’ll be going by yourself.”

Isadora raised her brows and her lips pressed together. She turned away from him.

“Drew would do it.” She muttered.

“Well, I’m not Drew. Also, you’re clearly drunk. How do I know you won’t, I don’t know, vomit on me up there?”

“I’m not that drunk, dick.”

And that was that.

What followed was silence between the two, aside from the screams of ride goers, the hum of generators, and creaks of twisting metal.

Just as the three of them reached the front of line, Lynsi turned to Isadora with a lopsided grin.

What would Sierra say?

“I have to take a shit.”

Isadora scrunched up her nose.

“You’re not backing out too, are you?”

“No, no, no,” Lynsi reassured. “Just giving you a heads up if I shit my pants.”

Isadora’s eyes widened.

“You wouldn’t…right?”

“I don’t know. Kinda depends on my mood, I think.”

Isadora turned to PJ again.

“See? She might shit her pants and she’s still going.”

“That’s great, Iz.”

In truth, that was Lynsi’s last ditch effort to get Isadora to drop her crusade of riding the Ferris Wheel. Nope. Girl was as stubborn as a mule.

Now it was their turn. Oh, fuck. Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit. Fuck. Why did she agree to go on this damned contraption? Fuck this, fuck this, fuck this, fuck this—

Lynsi stopped herself from inhaling sharply within Isadora’s earshot and twisted her wheelchair until her knees nearly touched the decorated metal.

“Do you need any assistance?” asked the ride operator. Lynsi shook her head.

“No, thank you.”

She grabbed the sharp edge of the passenger car and used her upper body strength to rise out of her wheelchair and into the hard seating awkwardly. Shuffling a bit and grabbing her legs, Lynsi scooted to the end of the passenger car.

I’m not drunk enough for this shit, fuck me.

Lynsi inhaled sharply, facing away from Isadora.

Isadora climbed in easily.

For what it was worth, PJ took the opportunity to shift Lynsi’s wheelchair out of line and watch it. The ride operator lowered the bar and secured it just above Isadora’s and Lynsi’s waists. Lynsi’s stomach dropped at the harsh sound.

“Hey,” said her Beast. “Remember when we went to Busch Gardens? When Sierra asked us to go on that massive rollercoaster and we did? If we can do that, we can do this.”

Right. This was nothing compared to that. That rollercoaster in question stopped just before the big drop, which was part of its whole thrill.

She remembered Anthony, her brother, Anthony, screamed: “Oh, shit! It broke!”

That made Lynsi’s eyes pop open and bear witness to the view 200 feet below her. She even completely hung off the seat; the restraints being the only separation between her and a hefty fall.

Then the rollercoaster descended at maximum speed.

The only sound that escaped her mouth was:

“ANTHONY, YOU ASSHOLE!”

Horrible. Being yanked around like that, smacking against the seat and restraints and back again, gripping Sierra’s arm to the point of digging her nails in. She couldn’t even scream like everyone could. Hell, she couldn’t even inhale at all.

Right. Yeah. This was a walk in the park. This wasn’t going to yank her around and leave her scrambling to breathe. She would be fine. Just fine.

Then she read the fine print on the passenger car in front and above her: “DANGER! DO NOT ROCK PASSENGER CAR.”

Isadora grinned like the devil.

“When we get to the top, I’m gonna rock it.”

Lynsi’s heart quickened. I am so not drunk enough for this shit.

As the passenger car shifted and ascended,

Lynsi shifted her gaze to Isadora, to the sky, tried to focus on the excited shrills. The neon lights on each attraction flickered on, clashing with the hues of natural twilight.

“PJ’s pissing me off.” Isadora crossed her arms, looking down.

“Oh, uh—“ the passenger car ascended further. Lynsi’s stomach flipped. “Sorry to hear that.” Don’t look down, don’t look down, don’t look down.

“And what is with this music? I didn’t realize we were still in the eighties.”

“Huh?”

“This music sucks.”

“I kinda like it,” said the Beast. “Makes me think of…” Stop. Lynsi redirected her thoughts. Thinking of Sierra would leave Lynsi teary eyed and this was certainly not the time or place for such a display of emotion.

Besides, Isadora didn’t know anything about Sierra. As much as Isadora opened up to her right then and there about Drew the day they met, Lynsi…well, she never really shared anything in return. Not about Sierra. Or Mom.

Or that stupid, fucking piece of shit silver car.

Or the fact she still had a light scar on her thumb from when that damned car’s handle scraped her.

Or the fact the one and only time she took a ride in that car with Sierra on Thanksgiving, “Welcome to the Black Parade” played on the radio.

Of all the songs to play. Of all the songs that could play.

If that wasn’t God, or retroactivity, or synchronicity, or whatever the fuck that was…It’d been like the universe knew Sierra’s time was running out. She and Lynsi sung along, of course. Neither of them knew she would be dead within a week. Neither of them this would be the last time they’d ride in a car together.

It didn’t feel real. Like a ridiculous, spun tale made purely for the sake of drama. Like it was choreographed, as though Lynsi’s life was a Broadway stage production and some Eldritch thing was watching her from some unknown vantage point.

As the passenger car reached its highest peak, Lynsi looked down and saw concrete instead of grass. Actors instead of strangers. An orchestra instead of a stereo. The soil was a stage and the horizon its curtains.

Ever expanding, far beyond her reach, something - somewhere - in the black abyss of the Eldritch audience - had interfered with production. It decided that “Welcome to the Black Parade” just had to play in the car. Decided Sierra would make her agree to promises Lynsi didn’t know she could keep the day before she died.

Shit, the year Sierra died was the same year Lynsi met other heroin addicts for the first time.

As though to be prepared. Orchestrated, damn near fictional.

Not even her thumping heart, the sweat on her forehead, or the slight rocking of the passenger car brought her back to reality.

The tree fell in the forest then and no one else heard it.

In that moment, she was split between dimensions, of actions and observance. Of real and Broadway. Of who she wanted to be and the Beast inside that knew who she really was.

The greatest irony of this split was that the passenger car could still break and the only meaning that could be derived from this moment would be lost when Lynsi’s skull hit ground.

Rootless and laying in undergrowth of her mind’s eye, yet still in the passenger car with an Isadora who was in her own head thinking her own thoughts.

Isadora eyed Lynsi, her earlier mischief now a glint in her pupils.

“So,” said Isadora. “Still have to take a shit?”

Lynsi inhaled diesel scent and felt the chill of the passenger car on her back. Below her, the ground was a mixture of grass and pavement.

“…That depends. Are you gonna rock the seat?”

Isadora smirked and began to rock the passenger car.