I hate it: the screaming, the wind scraping at your face, the way your insides twist about. How do people ride roller-coasters for fun? I felt sick. Anna laughs like a lunatic at my side, gleefully taking in the sharp twists and turns. There’s some preteens in the seats in front of us, and a kid which I’m sure didn’t actually meet the height requirements behind us with their punk-ass looking dad.
It’s nighttime, and I’m confident this whole experience would be hell regardless of the hour. Maybe when I wasn’t on the Thrasher it looked almost pretty, with the green and blue and white lights glittering enticingly. Maybe when I wasn’t on this hell-beast, I thought the night added a sweet sort of ambience to it.
I’d never ridden a roller-coaster in my life before tonight. My father hated them and my mother didn’t want to go without him. Our family was too small and we didn’t make friends easy growing up, so there was no one else to take me.
Anna loves roller coasters. She loves theme parks – the thrill and the adventure. Don’t get me wrong, I love adventure, too, but if I wasn’t madly in love with the woman, I would never have gotten on this death trap.
“Natalie,” she laughs, pulling on my arm, “the ride’s over. You have to get off.”
I look to my right and see the impatient park patrons glaring at me right along with the harangued ride operators. Slowly, my limbs regain life and I lift myself out.
“Wow, you look like death,” she laughs as she drags me out the exit and towards the next instrument of my death: the 3-loop coaster that faces at the ground.
I’m going to die. Is love even worth this?