Roller coasters are the devil’s handiwork

I accompanied my husband and my child to Six Flags this afternoon and, because I was clearly out of my mind or under the influence of something I wasn’t aware I had ingested, agreed to go on some roller coasters.

It took me a long time to ride the big coasters when I was a kid. Most of my friends had long been riding those rickety piles of kindling before I mustered up the nerve to try out the starter coaster in every park: the Mine Train. I loved it, once I got on it, and then rode just about everything. This was helpful when I grew up and started dating a boy whose bucket list includes Riding Every Roller Coaster in the United States, and Maybe Some in Other Places, Too. We rode coasters together at Six Flags, Disney World, Kings Island, and the roller coaster capital of the world, Cedar Point.

Then we had a child.

My motherly instincts include a strong urge to not orphan my daughter by doing anything I can to prevent unnecessary death, which now includes riding roller coasters. She was a baby when we went to Kings Island and my husband wheedled me into getting on some death trap with a mile-high lift hill. During that long, rickety climb, I lambasted him with a running monologue about the sheer idiocy of what we were doing. “She’s down there, innocently strapped into her little stroller, with your mom holding the handle, and we’re up here strapped into this stupid car with nothing between our heads and the earth except some questionable metal bar that isn’t locked tight enough – can you feel that gap, CAN YOU? – and we’re going to die and she’s going to be raised by her grandparents who will tell her ‘Well, at least they died doing something they love’ only it’s not something I love, it’s something you love and how can you do this to her and how can you do this to me and what was I thinking letting you put me on this deathtrap…” and then we crested the hill and I couldn’t reprimand him anymore because I was too busy screaming my head off. If I remember correctly, he laughed through the lift hill lecture and then thoroughly enjoyed the ride.

I didn’t ride roller coasters for a long time after that.

Now, it no longer bothers him that I won’t ride coasters with him, because it has become clear that he has passed his thrill-seeking gene to his spawn and now my daughter gleefully climbs on board every ride with him while I stand below and silently berate him while sweating through my shirt from fear and worry.

Today, for reasons still unknown to me, I agreed to ride a coaster with the two of them. The first ride they selected was Batman, and as we wound through the stiles to the loading station, I intentionally did not look up at the metal structure. I could it hear it whirring and whooshing above me, and I could hear the screams of its victims. I tuned it all out and reassured my daughter that yes, I was sure I wanted to do this.

I think the only reason I got on that damn thing was because there was virtually no line and I hadn’t taken the time to properly assess the potential danger.

The ride seats four across, so my family put me between them. They wanted to sit in the first row and I told them that there was no way in hell I was riding up there and that they were lucky just getting me on this thing. We sat about four rows back, and I started sweating almost immediately despite the chill in the air from the slight drizzle and cool temperature.

Batman has a rigid u-shaped harness that folds down from above to cover your torso. Your head sticks out the U and your arms wrap around the outside and your hands cling desperately to flimsy metal bars that stick out the front of the U. I’m convinced they put them there only to give you a place to set your hands, because they’ll be of no help whatsoever in a catastrophic failure.

My harness came down and locked, but it felt pretty far from my body so I let my husband know. He assured me that it would lock down tighter, and then when it didn’t lock down tighter he said it was fine and for the millionth time in a theme park I did not believe a word from his lying mouth. I began to immediately assess all the potential safety redundancies and their failure rates, which zeroed out immediately upon the ride beginning to move. I tried to dry my sweaty palms for the third time on my damp jeans and gripped the useless metal brackets on the front of my entirely too loose harness, reassuring my kid in a quivery voice that Mommy was just fine, just fine, just fine. Most likely I was trying to reassure myself. Whatever.

We started that slow, agonizing climb up the lift hill – my idea of hell on earth – and I concentrated fiercely on the seatback in front of me. It was black and metal and would be the last thing I would see before meeting my untimely death in front of my family. Then I screamed and screamed and in between screams when my body made me stop screaming to inhale so I could continue screaming I heard my husband helpfully telling me what was coming next. “Tight turn!” I wanted nothing more than to yell, “F*ck you and your tight turn!” but I was too busy screaming again and so I couldn’t. The world was a swirl of movement and I thought that I might actually enjoy it if I weren’t so terrified.

The ride ended and I was still alive and so was my family so I was calling it a success. We exited the loading area and entered a short tunnel when my head started spinning. I slowed down and touched the wall and peripherally felt other people pushing past me. Then everything started going gray and I think I said something and knew I needed to get down before I fell down. M’s hands guided me down and I heard Zoe’s voice, high-pitched and frightened, “Mommy? Are you okay?” “I’m okay, I’m okay,” I said, not at all sure that was true. I put my head down for a moment and tried to take a few deep breaths. Then whatever it was mostly passed and I was able to move again, sure in the knowledge that I was never going on that ride again.

We ambled over to American Thunder, a wooden coaster that doesn’t go upside down and that I figured was relatively safe if only because it didn’t have a harness that covered the upper half of my body and also had a seat belt under the metal bar, and I climbed on board hoping that there was something to immersion therapy. After that I was finished. I took a break in the train station and chatted with a delightful young man named Nathan who, in between loading the trains, checked on me and told me how he has thoroughly enjoyed his first season as a Six Flags employee, despite some difficult patrons. That conversation was the best part of my evening at the theme park.

In my brief time with Nathan, I realized that, for me, there will be no more coasters. I will probably never ride another roller coaster again, and I am honestly okay with that.

Now, if I can figure out a way to convince my family that staying safely at home and reading a good book is just as thrilling…

#blog#family#fear#personal essay#writing

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