Roller Coaster

The first time I rode one, I puked. I remember the steady ticking, as the painted metal cart slowly inched higher and higher. With every rung in the track, I felt the pounding in my ears grow louder, the ringing in my heart grow sharper. This is how I will go, I thought to myself.

When we reached the top of the crest, my whole life froze. Like I was suspended, the eye before the storm. The tracks had ended, there was only down, was there not another way? And so I shut my eyes and shut out my thoughts, because that was the only way I knew. 

And so the cart hurdled down, spiraling like a shot fighter plane, with me in the cockpit, and I had forgotten how to drive. I clenched the bar in front of me, like my life depended on it, praying that the cart would not derail, even though I felt as though I already had. 

When the wheels finally screeched to a stop, it took a minute for me to open my eyes. And when I did, I saw myself surrounded by smiling faces and laughter and people saying “what a fun ride”. Were we on the same coaster? Did I miss something? When the lady operating the ride asks if I am ok I say yes and then puke in her face. She forces a smile and says that not everyone’s stomach is built for roller coasters. 

Some people ride roller coasters with their hands flung in the air, mouth open in an exhilarated, life-loving scream. Some people cling to the handlebar in a death grip. Every day I live a roller coaster. And many days, I feel as though I simply don’t have the stomach for it. I may not enjoy every ride, but I’ve gotten pretty good at learning how to hang on.