Mr. Freeze was, without question, the most horrible apparatus I had ever seen. 1,450 feet of icy blue track shot out of a dilapidated warehouse, performing grotesque twists and gyrations at breakneck speed, finally careening straight into the sky with only gravity as a harness. And THEN? A backwards free-fall, upside-down corkscrews, 4G forces yanking at the tiny magnetized cars. I involuntarily clutched my stomach. “No. No, no, no. No way, no. I wouldn’t ride that for a million dollars. Have I mentioned the fact that NO?”
As I waited on a bench for my brothers and dad to risk their lives on the deathcoaster, I considered that I probably would ride it for a million dollars. Maybe even fifty–think of all the lip gloss I could buy! But no one was paying, and anyway, twelve-years-old was far too young to die.
But! whispered an unfamiliar voice from a shadowy corner of my brain. You’ll regret it if you don’t try. You know you will.
“Uh huh. And what, exactly, about not committing 70 miles-per-hour suicide will I regret?”
The experience, whispered my brain. The adrenaline rush. The thrill of speed. The wind in your face. The chance to see the world upside-down and sideways.
“Sorry, but no. I just… I just can’t.”
Somewhere, in the back of my brain, a devious smile–Even for bragging rights?
So, for the paltry prize of bragging rights, I rode Mr. Freeze. I trembled through the entire line, sweating and nauseous and imagining my funeral, but I got on the coaster nonetheless. Once buckled into the harness and staring straight into the first tunnel, the tracks underneath me buzzing with barely-leashed energy, I died at the rate of four thousand times a second. My fears spiraled madly. I pictured my head exploding into bloody shards of stupidity or gravity suddenly taking a lunch break. I was spectacularly dramatic.
However, the instant that rollercoaster took off, I became a different person. For the first time in my life, my heart pumped more adrenaline than blood. I felt the wind–really felt it–and the speed and the movement like an enormous daredevil ballet. I felt an entirely new kind of alive, the kind that comes with risk and determination. I loved every second.
The whispering stranger in my brain found a voice that day, and I have treated it as a friend ever since. Admittedly, it is the kind of friend that mothers tell their children to stay away from, but that just makes it more enticing. It has talked me into small things like jet skiing and eating grubs, and it has talked me into huge things like traveling the world and taking off down a snowy mountain with both feet strapped onto a flimsy board. My stomach still knots up whenever I face a daring situation–I would hardly call myself fearless–but I’ve learned to embrace what scares me for the sake of a full and vivid life, for experience. And, of course, for the bragging rights.
Eating grubs is a SMALL THING?!?! *boggle*
Well, not really. There MAY have been screaming and flinging of forks across the room afterward…
I remember that moment, (and day), quite clearly! (But I will refrain from mentioning my own hesitation, doubts, and fear the first time I talked myself into riding Mr. Freeze, mostly because that would just be un-Manly.)
Well, I did ride roller coasters many times, as did my little brother, both of us hating every minute of it but wanting to please our roller-coaster- loving parents. It was years before we became fearless enough to say “We won’t go!” and stood happily watching our parents do what we would never have do again.
The above is just a small aside. I have accepted airplane rides that involved stunt flying, first with your initial trepidation and then with a rush of joy when the plane swooped down after a loop-the-loop or let me see the earth as I hung upside down midway though a barrel roll.
We should, indeed, listen to that part of us that says DO instead of DON’T.
I have been able to dismiss that little voice as far as roller coasters go, other things, I have listened. I am glad I have.
My stomach knotted by just thinking about it!
shapely ghosts
What clear, vivid and brilliant writing! That friend your mother wouldn’t want you to have has brought you to us too! Excellent SS post!
Brilliantly said. Once, I said no, when I probably should have said yes. Never again. Who wants to miss out?
Bragging rights are no small item! This telling is so well done, I can feel my stomach rebel.