One of my mother’s favorite stories about me is from when we went to Disney World. My father and I had gone on the log ride. (One of these rides where you get in a car with three other people, go up a long conveyor belt, take a quick U-turn and then hurdle straight down a big slide into the water, getting completely soaked in the process.) I recall only the first part of the story which is where somewhere during the fateful U-turn I looked back to my dad and said something to the affect of “I don’t want to do this anymore.”
My mother likes to tell it from the top of the slide though. Where we are just peeking out over the top and the car pauses for a split second and then launches downward at lightening speed. Everyone, anticipating the wall of water to come, ducks their heads. I am the lonely figure sitting stick straight up, my mouth frozen open in a scream. We never get to the part where I probably got a mouth full of water and a possible case of typhoid, because my mother usually starts laughing so hard that she can’t stop. Thus, my history of cowardice began.
The summer carnival was a big event in our little suburban town. I used to watch the rides with a sick feeling mixed with dread. Oh sure, I’d dare to take on the Tilt-A-Wheel, but anything that went upside down was completely out. The Zipper? No way. The Spinner? I don’t think so. The Brain Scrambler? Not for me. I remember laying in bed late at night listening to the death spin of the Chicago Loop, a circular track that would hold people upside down until they begged for mercy and money fell out of their pockets. That was the summer that I was 12.
This particular summer was gloriously hot and it must have affected my brain because I had dared to ride the flying bobs. Pumped up by the blasting rock music and flashing lights I made a decision that would affect the course of my life forever. Everyone was going to ride the Kamikazi, a towering monolithic structure made of rusty steel recycled from a World War II tank and brittle kitten bones.
“Are you coming Katie?” Angelica asked. I though for a moment. At 12, given the choice between being left out and facing my mortal fear, I made the logical sane decision to face my mortal fear.
“Yeah, sure,” I squeaked. As we stood in line I watched the two cars swing higher and higher as the screams from its victims grew louder and louder. They swished up and up, crossing each other’s paths and meeting at the top where they paused and then shuttled back down to Earth. As we got closer I began to giggle hysterically and sweat.
“We’re lucky to get on,” Tara said. “Looks like they’re shutting down for the night.” We were indeed the last ones in line.
“Yeah, lucky…”
Finally it was our turn. I had one thing to keep me going, one thing I clung to, one thing that would save me, and that one thing was that I would be with my friends. They would get me through this. They would be my rock. We stepped up and I watched them trail into the car in front of me.
“Not you,” the carnival man barked. “Car’s full, go over to the other side.” I stared at him stupidly.
“But then I’d be the only person on the car,” I said meekly.
“You catch on fast kid,” he leered at me the smell of stale cigar and fish sticks slapped me in the face. I could see from his yellow rotten teeth and bloodshot eyes that he didn’t care. I slowly trudged over to the back of the ride my one shred of hope gone. I carefully selected a seat near the middle of the car and prayed for a miracle. A tall, good-looking miracle to hold my hand and then buy me an ice cream.
The Carnie came over to strap me in and slammed the rusty metal grate shut needlessly hard. As the cell door shut a single bolt fell from just above my head and clattered to the floor between my feet. I tightened my grip on the icy metal bar. The ride started up and began swinging forward and back. “This isn’t so bad” I thought, “It just swings. No Biggie.”
I relaxed my grip a little and shouted to the other car as it passed, “Hey this is fun!” I could hear Tara laughing. What happened next has become a sort of legend in the suburban town of Roselle, Illinois. My memory gets a little hazy since I went into a trance-like state of fear. But this is what I remember.
My car swung down and as I passed the operation booth my smile of glee was met with a malicious cackle from the monster inside. Swing.
I flew up into the air, paused for a second, and then the car swung backwards and as I passed the booth again I caught a quick flash of metal being pushed. Swish.
The beast responded with a groan and swung even higher until I was almost upside down and then with a fury swung forward and over until I was suspended looking at the ground, and there we stayed.
The scream started somewhere down in my toes and gathered steam as it barreled through my body stopping only momentarily in my stomach to grab some bile. It resonated out of my mouth at a decibel so high that it was recorded on electronic devices up to three states away. Babies cried, people stared, dogs barked, glass broke, cable service was interrupted, the tides changed. Minutes passed. Tick, Tick, Tick…and still I screamed. It was the kind of primal sound that hadn’t been heard since the big bang. Suddenly the wind was rushing through my hair at the car catapulted downward, swung us around like the spin cycle for a few minutes, and finally came to a merciful stop. Just as the car jolted still my scream emptied the last of itself out into the air and drifted off to rest somewhere over Lake Michigan. The metal grate clicked open and I stumbled out and down the ramp into the sweet night air.
“Are you ok?” Angelica asked.
“Huh?” I gasped, “Oh yeah, no biggie, it was fun.” And then the truth hit me… it was a little fun. In fact, it was a lot fun.
