Rollercoaster

This story alludes to death due to a car accident.

   I believe falling in love is like riding a rollercoaster. But let me ask you this: have you ever actually been on a rollercoaster? I want you to picture it. We are standing on the hot, dry, black payment of a parking lot. The line loops a block around the parking lot. The air stinks of sweat, sunscreen, and heavy amounts of perfume and cologne sprayed in a half hearted attempt to cover up the other two scents. A girl with long, blonde hair in an Ariana Grande style ponytail twirls on the ball of her foot, throwing her spaghetti arms around her boyfriend’s barrel neck. He smiles at her and I catch my reflection in the black lenses of her pink heart shaped sunglasses. Her glossy pink lips purse and glitter in the sunlight. He tips his head down; I think it must weigh a million pounds, as he offers her a peck. Her mouth frowns, she wants more and throws her weight into him. She’s trying to convince him to give her more. I take a step back, stubbing your toe through your sneaker. You wince, but don’t call out. I bounce on my feet, my bladder feels ready to burst. “Are you excited,” I demand anxiously for the eighth time. You smile and offer me a peck at the crown of my head. My black hair is red hot in the sunlight. The line moves in chunks, allowing ten people or so into the amusement park at a time. I clench my butt cheeks together and look to the open blue sky in a vain hope to imagine shapes in the clouds. No clouds. Just a perfect blue sky. So I return to bouncing to hold the urine in. 

   We inch towards the entrance and I am trapped behind a very large man who smells like stale beer at, I check my watch, 9:30am. I sigh. You wrap your arms around my waist, “Stop,” it makes the need to pee even worse. Eventually, a large red neon sign reading Carnival comes into view. This means we’re close. We walk to the turnstyle and turn in our tickets. A nice man checks my purse and we are greeted by a sea of voices moving about the main entrance. Children call out for their parents and couples are deciding what kind of soda they want as they stand at the refreshment booth. Some of the visitor’s hold gallon size jugs of lemonade which makes me miserable. I scan the area feverishly and find a restroom. You follow me. I run to a stall and rip my little black high waisted shorts down. The bathroom stinks of mildew and hot breath. I finish my business and cringe when my fingers feel the condensation pooling on the silver handle. I struggle to open the worn out silver lock and rush to wash my hands. The water is lukewarm. The soap smells stale and I have to pump the grey dispenser four times for a pea sized amount. No paper towels so I smooth my hair in my braid instead and wipe the excess water on my shorts. Outside, I see you smile at me. 

   “What first,” I ask as I take in the large ferris wheel, carousel, and other park rides. There are four gift shops, each themed that we pass. I am instantly intrigued by the jungle shop, but don’t bat an eye at the Colorado shop since I am a native. The other two shops have a coffeeshop theme where you can find tacky keychains and an art exhibit shop. We also pass two ice cream parlors, another refreshment cart, and a pizza shop. I see a large, purple octopus. His towering arms each hold a cart of guests squealing in delight. I watch him as he lowers his arms, shooting water from his head the whole time. “Let’s go to that one,” I point like a toddler. The heat fills me with a desperation to cool down. We walk over to the Super Star Line. I remember you said, “It’s your birthday, let’s splurge. It’ll cut the wait times in half.” And I am thankful that we did. Our wait time is short, ten minutes max. I feel a bit of anxiety building in my stomach, starting as butterflies. We sit in a blue cart and I throw my arms up while a boy in khakis checks my seatbelt. Finally, the ride starts. We slowly rise and I scream in delight when the first burst of cold water hits my head. The ride picks up speed, spinning us as we rise in height. I tilt my head back and let the cool water hit my face. It’s a relief. 

I smile when we’re back on the ground. “Did you love it,” you ask me while wiping water from my eyes. I’m focused on cleaning my glasses, but I’m giggling in the process which answers your question. You take my hand and we walk to the first roller coaster. It’s tucked in the back of the park. We pass the teacup ride and a pirate ship. “I want to ride the tea cups,” I tell you, which is meant by a brisk nod. The park seemed impossibly busy while we stood in the entrance line, but it’s humongous size means that you can’t tell anymore. The line for the coaster is worse than the Octopus in both the Super Star line and the general line. We pass through in twenty minutes and I sit anxiously in a leather seat still uncomfortably warm from the previous passenger. We’re up high. The butterflies have died in a tumultuous sea that exists only in my tummy. “I’m nervous,” I confess and you kiss my forehead. The ride begins. I shut my eyes. Did you know that a rollercoaster is a whole body experience? It is. The loud coaster tumbles across the tracks. I think we’re going up. We must be climbing the first hill because I can hear excited chatter from the other patrons. Then, then we’re going DOOOWWWWNNN. I can’t breathe! Everyone is screaming. I am screaming. I hear your laughter next to me and it feels like it’s emanating from a maniacal villain. The coaster sounds as loud as a freight train and my body is jerked to the left. I think we’re traversing the first curve. We’re climbing another hill. I squint slightly allowing the world in. I can see the tops stretched out below me. It looks like a Leggo city that I imagine you built as a child. “Oh God!” I scream. It’s not the cry of pleasure I’m used to with you. It’s terror.

More screams of delight fill the summer air. We rush down the hill. I try my best to keep my eyes open. I am thrown to the right of my seat as we scale another steep curve. I peek past the large, black side of my seat to see you smiling. Your eyes sparkle in the sun. We climb one last hill and I find a smile creeping across my face. I scream as we crash down the hill. But this scream is one of delight. The coaster chugs along as we head back to the beginning. I watch as the colorful dots in front of me become the faces of anxious patrons. A voice welcomes us back from the ride. A little boy pulls on the sausage fingers of his father. The ride ends. We’re back to the entrance. I open my eyes once we have stopped. “Wanna go again,” you ask. I shake my head and unbuckle myself. I raise the safety vest from my shoulders and you reach out a hand. We deboard together, grab our bag and wallet. “I liked it,” I said. We’re both drunk on delight and adrenaline. We stumble across the carnival over to the teacups. We are sitting in a big, pink cup. Between us is a black steering wheel. You grip it with both hands. The ride begins twirling the worn out, gum covered, wooden floor beneath us. You begin twirling us. 

At first, I try to spot something to keep my gaze. But the world all blurs around me. Carnival pop music plays in the background and I lose myself in the psychedelic experience. I can hear the delightful squeals of children in their own teacups. When I open my eyes, I see you, smiling. Your eyes are as big as the saucer we sit upon, but green, not pink. The ride finally stops and it takes me a bit to regain my bearings. The air is thick with butter from a cart a few feet from us. It nauseates me terribly. I am embarrassed as I careen back and forth. “I think you need to slow down,” you say and lead me over to a ride that’s covered in cheetah spots. I smile at the sign, Jungle Adventure. We stand for ten minutes in the Super Star line. We are led to a black cart, the huge paw of the cheetah is painted on the side. The ride leads us through a long tunnel. It’s transformed into a jungle. When I look up, I can watch blue Macaws and red Parrots soaring through a rainforest canopy. We gasp as a monkey swings across from one wall to the other. I swear I can touch him. A cool mist begins to fall around us and I feel more sober than before. The sounds of the jungle-birds crying, monkeys chittering are mixed with the oohs and aahs of the passengers. When we exit, we are led to a booth manned by a bored teeenager. 

He asks us in a bored, exasperated voice, “Would you like a photo of your,” he brings his hands up to make air quotes, “‘Jungle Adventure?’ They’re only $19.99 before tax.” He looks up to the sky with bored, glassy eyes. Images of patrons from our ride flash onto a tiny, black TV screen. I nod and bat you slightly on the cap of your warm, red T-Shirt. You sigh and nod at the teen. “Alright,” he drones, “What cart were you?” I point wildly at our cart. “That’s cart number four, maaa’aaamm,” he draws out the last word as he rolls his head on his neck. He looks like a bobblehead figure. “Alright,” he sighs and pulls up a photo of us. I look in awe. My eyes are wide with curiosity, I grin ear from ear. Then, I see you. Your eyes are on me. They’re filled with the affection I didn’t know I was worthy of. They gaze down at the love of your life. I release a breath I didn’t think I was holding and nod gleefully, “Alright. Yuh need to pick a frame,” says the man as he begins clicking furiously. Monkeys dance in the corner of one, the jaguar lazily lays across the top of another, but I tell him to stop at the third option: Birthday Theme. Cupcakes with blue, red, yellow, green, and orange wrapping topped with flaming candles are in the corners. A Happy Birthday Banner is strewn across the top. The man asks us, “And how many copies?” We request one and a digital print to be sent to us. “That’ll be an extra $10,” he tells us.

“Oh, nevermind,” I whisper.

“Stop,” You pull me close to you by the waist. I can feel your hot breath on my earlobe, your mustache tickles me and I giggle, “It’s your birthday.” You look at the man, “We’ll take the digital, too.” You hand over your credit card and I watch anxiously as the photo prints and man places it in a thin, black, cardboard frame. “Here you go,” drones the man. I open my phone and see the digital copy. I nod and smile as you take my hand in yours. We walk to the Italian restaurant and split a pepperoni pizza. I suck down a Cola and you let out a chuckle. “Make sure you drink water, too, sweetheart,” you push a glass my way. It’s sweating profusely, just like me. I suck it down in three gulps. We bus our table and walk to another coaster. It’s bigger than the first one and painted a lime green with flames. I swallow my fear like a stone. I am strapped in next to you. This coaster zips to the top of the first hill. I squeeze my eyes shut and I hear you whoop and holler. I am calling out for God. You are laughing. We spin through a loop de loop and I feel my pizza threatening to make a second appearance. The coaster stops at the top of the last hill. The world is filled with the soft, happy chatter of the guests. “When do you think we’ll go?” I ask. You smile mischievously and shrug your shoulders just as we fly down as fast as we can. I can’t breathe.

When we finally stop, I cry. You hug me tight and take me to the refreshment stand. We order more soda and a pink cotton candy. We venture over to the ferris wheel. Our passes don’t cut down on this line. So we wait as the hot sun burns us like a cake in the oven. I pop open my dessert and pluck a fluff from the large cloud encased in plastic. I let it melt slowly on my tongue. The sugar is slightly flavored with cherry. I giggle. You open your mouth like a whale and I pop some in. You smile and let out an “Mmmm.” Your cheeks are flushed and when I kiss them, I like salt from my lips. We suck down our drink and devour the cotton candy as we approach the entrance. The cold soda feels refreshing even though I know it’s not hydrating me at all. The ferris wheel is more my style and we make out like foolhardy teens at the very top. I feel your sharp teeth nibbling my lip. Your tongue, warm and wet, worms its way into my mouth. I flush with embarrassment at the end. We pass the gift shops without pause. I am exhausted. You pop into the driver’s seat of your truck and expertly remove the tin foil colored sunscreen. It crinkles in your hands. I feel afternoon beginning to fade into evening. I sink into my seat and let the AC take me away. It cradles me into sleep. I awake to the penetrating sound of glass shattering. Then, it all goes black.

I believe falling in love is like riding a rollercoaster. But let me ask you this: have you ever actually been on a rollercoaster? Have you ever been in a car accident? Have you ever woken up to the bright antiseptic environment of the hospital? Have you heard them tell you they have bad news? Looked into the too green eyes of the young doctor? The following summer, I drove slowly to the amusement park. I stood in the admissions line fighting tears at the young couples wrapped in each other’s embrace. Good news, I don’t have to pee this time. And I am not bouncing on my feet. When I see my reflection in the sunglasses of the young mother standing in front of me, I see the ghost of a woman. I wonder how I can still see the bags underneath my eyes in polarized lenses. “Don’t stare,” she chastises her little boy and turns him around. But his little blue eyes find my eyes again. I turn up my music that I am playing. I wordlessly hand over my ticket and walk to the octopus ride. His giant, purple arms glide me into the air. I lean back and listen to the chorus of delighted guests. More tears threaten to ruin today. I think you’d be proud of me as I walked to the coaster. I kept my eyes open the whole time. Can you believe it? I stare down the first hill. Then we’re going DOOOWWWWNNN and I am screaming at God for taking you away from me. For making me go on a roller coaster all alone. I am drunk on pain and adrenaline with shaking hands.

I stumble over to the teacups and call “No!” at the sight of a family going into our pink tea cup. “Please,” I beg as the father places his arm protectively over the children. He leads them to a blue tea cup and I take my seat in the pink one. Try as I might, my trembling arms and hands can’t spin us the way you could. I feel the tears pricking, threatening. The carnival blurs my vision. The buttered air makes me queasy as I walk to our ride. I wait patiently and take my seat in car four. I am once again entranced with the tunnel. The mist cools my sunburnt cheeks. The employee, a perky redhead, asks if I want a photo. I wave her away and pop my music back on. I stand behind her and hold a photo, worn and torn on the edges with cracks of white in places up against the cart. I can see us. I can feel your love again. I turn slowly and meander into the Italian restaurant. I order a slice of pepperoni pizza, then return for seconds. I suck down a soda and a water, remembering your warning. I play an angry rock song as I walk to the lime green coaster. I will myself to hold my eyes open and cry when it’s all over. 

At the top of the ferris wheel, I sit alone. The first drops of rain feel like a lie in this exhausting summer heat. I realize the world is crying for you, too.