Roller Coaster

                She never liked the clown with its flattened, elongated smile. She could see the truth behind his exaggerated eyes. How could someone ever be made truly happy by a smile so obviously fake?

                The greasy food didn’t sit well in her stomach, either. She didn’t like eating here. She could have eaten before she left, but she knew she would be forced to try a bite of this and that, anyway, so she might as well not have the extra calories beforehand.

                All other things aside, her least favorite part of the experience was always—and would forever be—the roller coaster.

She remembers the first time she ever got on. She was ensured ahead of time that the ride was safe; the straps were reinforced, and the seat was strong, sturdy, and made for people just like her. She had been told that many had gotten on this ride before her, and if any came out with injuries, it was their own doing. They either didn’t strap in correctly, or they made reckless moves throughout.

                She remembers sitting in a chair that was ill-fitting for her frame. The seat was suffocating, yet she felt she could slip through the crack between the seat and the strap at any point if things got too shaky. Then, when the straps came down, they were flimsy and weak.

                Other people have ridden on this, and they have been fine. She repeated over and over in her head. You can do this.

                When the ride first took off, it was all uphill. It was all adrenaline and endorphins blasting from her spine to her fingertips. It was a mixture of this was a mistake and I can’t wait to reach the top.

                Things were bumpy going up, but weren’t they always? The rise is never perfectly smooth, and she knew that was to be expected. Otherwise, the rise was wonderful. Her best memories were of that first ride up, right before she knew what was to come. At that time, she thought that once they reached the top, things would smooth out, and the ride would remain that way forever. She laughs at that thought, now.

                She had seen others like her take on a similar coaster, so she was ready for the twists and the turns that were inevitably on their way. She had heard about the potential drops, but she had never expected to experience one for herself.

Then, it happened.

                Seemingly out of nowhere, she fell. Her body rose in the chair, and all of the swimming endorphins from the ride up went airborne. The straps held her in just enough to keep her on the ride, but she knew, if the desire was there, or if the ride took a slightly different turn, she could have slipped between the cracks in a flash.

                It was amazing to her how quickly she forgot about all of the fear and instability of the drop once she was back on level ground. In a flash, she had gone from pure fear, fight or flight, nothing is making sense to thinking everything was fine and back to normal. How did it do that? She figured there was no point in getting off now, since things were back as they should be. Even when there was a head-snapping turn here and there, they were nothing like what she had experienced in the drop. Everything after that was child’s play.

                She remembers finally getting to a place of forgetting that the drop had even happened at all. When things were good in the moment, it was so easy to forget the pain of the past. It was like how mothers would swear-off childbirth for months after their first experience, but eventually, they would forget the pain, and go for another round.

She got to a point where she could feel her cart take on another incline. She had figured that, this time, the rise was to get her to a higher, permanent vantage point. It wouldn’t be like that first incline where the only reason to make it to the top was to crash right back to the bottom. No, a drop like that would never happen again.

She took another moment to laugh at her past naivete.

It felt so good to be up there, she remembers. She could finally see how all of her patience and perseverance through the hard times were worth it in leading her to this moment. This was the time in which she would be coached to believe that the initial drop was necessary to truly appreciate the smooth ride to come. That didn’t seem too far-fetched considering that this was the first time on this ride in which she could see a clear path forward. Things were no longer shaky. Her body had gotten used to the seat. Memories of the previous drop had faded. Even more than that, she began to believe that the initial fall was part of some well-thought-out plan to lead to a life that was easy, and bright, and on an upward-only trajectory.

Of course, that was never the case. In a matter of weeks, days, sometimes hours, even, there would be another drop. There would always be another drop. There would always be another landing, there would be more forgetting and justifying, and then, there would be another drop.

                Her friends would tell her to get off the ride. If you hate it so much, why do you get back on it? They would question her after each go-around.

What they didn’t realize was that exiting is not as easy as it feels like it should be. She understood their confusion, though. She, too, had once felt the same prior to her first ride.

Everyone assumes that the time to exit is on the fall. They think that once you’re in it, and you see it for what it is, that the clarity of your situation should give you the strength to get off of the ride. If only it were that easy. It’s like when you’re standing on something only a few feet high and want to get off. You feel like you should be able to jump, but because your eyes are at the level of your head, which usually adds about 5 feet to that initial 2, you suddenly think you are far too high up to land safely. It isn’t until you finally make the jump that you turn around and see that your feet were only a few feet off of the ground all along. When she was in the drop-stage, she felt she was miles away from a comfortable landing. Even if she could get the gripping buckles undone and slip through without being noticed, she knew she didn’t have a net to catch her. She didn’t have the foresight at that time to see how close she really was to safety; all she knew in that moment was that she had no way off but to wait out the fall and get to the landing.

Unfortunately, the landing proved to be the most difficult time to leave. No one leaves a dinner party during the first few minutes of awkward conversation; they way for the dinner to be served, first. They pushed through the introductions and shoptalk to get to what they really came for. In her case, she made it through the drops so she could reap the benefits that came with the rise. Why would she leave once she hit the ground? The drop was only worth it when it was followed by good times and smooth travels. The conductor knew this, which is why the ride was so well-crafted to provide just enough lift to keep you on and, eventually, erase any memory of the drop to begin with.

                She would soon learn that this is the trick that keeps you riding forever. You are given just enough ups to balance the downs—just enough carrot nibbles before the string is pulled away and you begin chasing it all over again.

That was why she always hated the roller coaster. There was never a good time to get off, and the allure of the rise always pulled you so easily back on. No one would ever understand that until they took a ride for themselves. She didn’t want that for her friends, but secretly, maybe she did. Maybe, if they got on just once, they would see what she sees. They would love it and hate it as much as she does. Maybe, then, they wouldn’t be so quick to judge her inability to escape it.

As always, on this night, she stepped into the line. This time would be different, though, she thought. This time, there would be no drops. He had promised her no drops. Sure, he had made that promise before, but what if this time, he actually meant it? As always, there was only one way to find out.