The Accident
Hazel – Maddy Artinger
Luke Thomann
I felt like jumping off. Death is better than the stomach-dropping, astral projecting, gut-scrambling 208-foot drop on the Raging Bull. As I gawped at my surroundings, time seemed distorted, stretching and warping, elongating each moment into an eternity of apprehension. I couldn’t believe I was at the top of what looked like Mount Everest. Until suddenly, I felt it come out. It went all over my underwear. Humiliation washed all over me as reality set in.
It all started on the last day of school when my seven best friends and I planned a fun, beginning-of-summer outing together. I had just finished fifth grade and had a crippling case of FOMO, the fear of missing out. Thus, I agreed begrudgingly when my friends told me Six Flags was our destination. I had never been to Six Flags, let alone an amusement park besides Disney World. My history with rollercoasters was practically nonexistent; the only ride I had ever gone on was The Mad Tea Party since I cried out of It’s A Small World and the famous Navy Pier Ferris wheel. Equally important to my FOMO was my demobilizing fear of heights; I had avoided airplanes, bungee jumps, hot air balloons, helicopters, spiral staircases, mountains, skyscrapers, rock walls, ladders, pyramids, blimps, zip lines, ledges, and, most importantly, roller coasters, all my life. I had never told my friends about my acrophobia in case they thought less of me because of it. I believed they might call me names and drop me from the friend group if they found out.
Going into the day, I knew I had to suck it up. I needed an unfazed appearance despite the blood-curdling behemoths of rollercoasters if I wanted my secret to remain undiscovered. Convincing my friends of my fearlessness seemed like Mission Impossible. My friends were not some wannabe amateurs; these people were veterans of Six Flags rollercoaster riding. All my friends owned season tickets for Six Flags; they went at least ten to twenty times per summer. My peers knew every drop, every loop, every turn, and every track of every ride better than they knew the back of their hands. Then there was me, who quivered at the thought of climbing a 6-foot tree. I knew this was a long day in the making.
After an hour-and-a-half long car ride, we finally arrived at Six Flags. A whirlwind of stimuli overwhelmed me as I stepped out of the car and into the towering gates. Immediately, the Sun’s blinding, golden arms sucker-punched me, leaving me grasping for my sunglasses. Once I regained sight, I saw a kaleidoscope of vibrant pigments as the hulking roller coasters dominated the skyline. The rollercoasters’ tracks weaved a hypnotizing tapestry contrasting the canvas of a clear, baby-blue sky. Distant screams of debauchees intermingled with the buoyant melodies from various attractions, electrifying the air with palpable energy. The invigorating breeze carried the aroma of freshly popped buttery popcorn and sugary confections, prompting my stomach to rumble as if I hadn’t eaten in a millennia. Laughter and cheers echoed from every direction, creating an almost infectious feeling of joy.
My exuberant mood quickly vanished as my friends decided that our first ride of the day was the Raging Bull. My stomach plummeted, filled with a twisted knot of hopelessness and dread. My overwhelming sense of anxiety gripped my mind like a vice, eclipsing any feelings of glee. Suddenly, the air felt colder than it was, and a muted hue spray-painted the world around me. The Raging Bull was the tallest rollercoaster at Six Flags, and I grasped that making it out alive was impossible. Failing my mission seemed imminent.
I peered at the slender wait time sign when we arrived at the Raging Bull. I halted as the bold, illuminated numbers taunted me; the sign displayed the number ten. I was flabbergasted since a short wait time was unheard of at Six Flags.
“Why is the wait time absurdly short today?” I queried.
“The wait time typically ranges between an hour and two hours,” noted my friend, Izzy. “We got extremely lucky.“
“Are we sure we should start on this ride? It may make us sick for the rest of the day,” I posed. “Should we not save the best for last too?”
“The Raging Bull will get crowded later, so starting with it is the best use of our time,” declared Cassie, one of my other friends. “Now, let us go!”
My mind was erratic, like the Flash darting all over the place. As I freaked out, I tried maintaining a tranquil image and devising an escape plan. I feared that if I did not make a getaway, this might be the last time my friends ever hung out with me; too ashamed of associating with a loser. I floundered like a baby thrown into a pool, scrambling to stay afloat.
I felt a subtle dew on my neck that glistened like quartz upon my skin’s surface. The sweat culminated from the sweltering sun beating down on me and my skyrocketing anxiety levels. As I paced through the metal barriers and painted fences of the undulating, serpentine waiting line, the tiny droplets on my neck multiplied and united into rivulets that trickled all over my body. My clothes started clinging to my skin, becoming a second layer that absorbed my salty secretions. As I inched closer and closer to my final destination, the distant screams and rumbling roars of the rollercoaster intertwined with conversations of those eagerly awaiting their turn. Unlike others, I waited anxiously, knowing I might momentarily make a fool out of myself in front of my friends. My palms felt clammy, and my fingers uncontrollably fidgeted, seeking solace in small gestures. As I crept toward the end of the line, my eyes drew to the looming structure of the rollercoaster, its steel tracks spiraling and diving with menace and eeriness. My heart rate started quickening, with the imminent decision of whether or not to ride the rollercoaster daunting me. The mechanical clatter of the rollercoaster’s wheels screeching against the track constantly interrupted my thoughts, prohibiting me from choosing. Before I knew it, my friends and I reached the end of the line; we were boarding next. My anxiety came to a crescendo as my mind oscillated between fears of looking like a loser and qualms about the ride’s safety. Suddenly, I felt a harsh breeze brush my shoulder: my ride of doom had arrived.
The gates opened, and my inner thoughts were the only thing standing in the way of mounting that coaster. “I feel queasy and cannot ride!” I exclaimed. However, my friends ignored my request, and before I knew it, my friend Abbie grabbed my sweaty hand, pulling me onto the train. I resentfully plopped onto the worn-out leather seat beside Abbie and questioned my life decisions. I shifted uncomfortably as the thick, cool metal lap bar imprisoned me almost suffocatingly. I tried letting out a yelp, yet only air came out. I reached for a seatbelt or harness, but there was nothing. The lack of restraints on my upper body deeply perturbed me as only a mere bar on my legs protected me from falling off the high-velocity coaster. The neon worker talking on the intercom probably said something supportive and reassuring; however, my heart’s drumming in my chest drowned out his staticky voice. Suddenly, I lurched forward as the coaster came to life and embarked on its ascent.
A gentle climb up the 208-foot hill offered a panoramic view of the amusement park; however, I only saw an ebony abyss as nerves glued my eyelids shut. I tried imagining being in a car or bus instead of a cart heading toward heaven, but the clunky noise and movement of the rollercoaster prevented me. As the rollercoaster started slowing and the light chatter faded into silence, I knew we were creeping up to the edge of the chain hill. My stomach churned as my butterflies rapidly materialized, fluttering all around. I asked myself about the infinite what-if possibilities: What if I fell off? What if my sunglasses fell out of my hand’s clutch? What if I became paralyzed with fear? What if my friends judge me for looking like a chicken? Once the rollercoaster came to a complete stop, I knew I reached the top of the coaster. My curiosity got the best of me, yanking my eyes open. My senses heightened as I felt the vibrations of the car beneath me, the hum of the mechanisms, and the subtle swaying of the cart, all contributing to my uneasiness. I looked at the vast track in this tortuous ride and transformed into a pale ghost; everyone could see right through me. The track entailed lethal loops, detrimental drops, and tranquilizing turns without end. I did not feel like a raging bull but a tortoise, wanting to relinquish back into my shell. After what felt like a century, the train suddenly accelerated in a downward plunge.
My body jerked forward as the ride started, and it petrified me. I was so frightened that as the train started, a high-velocity atomic bomb dropped from my butthole. I unleashed a thunderous brrrrppp sound, along with a rotten egg-like fetor. I felt a moist substance smear all over my underwear as if Edvard Munch was painting The Scream using my panties as a canvas. As the poop left my body, so did my dignity. Unlike my heart, the ride did not stop; it kept going faster and faster. I no longer focused on the intense sensation of shame that recently washed over me; the ride distracted me from all of my qualms and humiliation. Thus, a new sensation glossed over my disgrace as the ride embarked on its colossal drop. I felt the wind whipping against my face and a sense of weightlessness pulling me from my seat. Adrenaline surged through my veins as if it were an electrical current. Previously, I associated adrenaline with fear and anxiety; this time, it aroused every sense in my body and electrified every fiber of my being. The epinephrine drove my fear into courage, calming every unease I formerly possessed.
For the rest of the ride, I screamed, not from fear but from the thrill and adventure of the attraction. The coaster pushed me to my limits, roaring through loops and curves, clattering on the tracks. Pure exhilaration washed over me with each rise, fall, inversion, and corkscrew. The ride ended as suddenly as it began, gliding to a gentle stop and leaving me with my heart racing, ears ringing, heavy breaths, and a disastrous hairdo.
After my friends and I got off the ride, my friends smelled my tiny accident. All the enjoyment abandoned my body. I apprehensively informed them about my defecation, and they started chuckling. Initially, I believed they were laughing at me, but I soon realized they were laughing with me.
“Are you all not embarrassed around me after finding out I am a wuss?” I questioned.
“We all knew you were terrified of heights, Luke. It was obvious,” admitted Abbie. “We just wanted a fun day with you!”
“And you all do not care that I took a fat one?” I asked.
“Nope, but go and clean up,” exclaimed Abbie. “We have many more rides to go on!”