Quill Ink

I remember waiting in line for an hour and a half for that ride. Those plywood-shaped waves were making me nauseous as I was fighting to keep down the hot dog, soft pretzel dipped in nacho cheese, chocolate soft serve ice cream, and Belgian waffle with extra whipped cream lunch in my stomach. My legs were shaking the whole time, my knees were knocking, and the devil was in my ear telling me that if I got on that ride, I was going to die. My friends were so excited, and all I could do was think about the thousand ways I could fall out of my seat and plunge to the earth headfirst at a hundred miles an hour. My parents would kill me if they found out I died on that ride. They begrudgingly, after days of begging and pleading and promising everything I could think of, including my future firstborn child, just to be able to go with my friends for the day. They finally agreed, unlocked my shackles, and let me go. We were 3 couples behind, and I was numb. I kept checking to see if I peed myself because I could not feel my legs. It was finally our turn. I stepped up onto the platform, fighting tears and forcing my legs to move. I stood there staring at the empty seat, my friend Julie waving her arms, squealing at me to get in. Why haven’t I ever noticed how big her mouth was? And why did it look like she had more braces than teeth? The man who checks seat belts came over to me and yelled for me to get in. I looked at his leather-worn face, and I swear he had horns and a forked tongue. Then, as if God had sent an angel down to rescue me, I turned around and flew right back through the line; I swear my feet never touched the ground. When I finally made it out of the pit of souls that were trying to grab hold of me to drag me back down, I was standing once again in front of the waves that now looked like flames. I was trying to gulp in as much air as I could without hyperventilating. I had to blink several times to refocus my eyes. Every time I looked at the ride, it looked like the bowels of hell. The waves were flames, and the loop was on fire, and everybody on the ride was chanting, ‘I hate you forever, Anna.’ I finally regained all of my faculties just in time to see my friends walking down the ramp off the ride, clucking like chickens. For the remainder of the day, I was treated like a leper. Nobody said two words to me, and at one point, I sat on a bench under the bridge that led to the log ride, hoping to get kidnapped. I don’t think I ever spoke to Julie again after that day. Two weeks later, she moved back to Maryland and never said goodbye. I HATED THAT RIDE!!!!