pulling an imaginary shoulder restraint down over me.
“There is no shoulder restraint,” Duncan said.
I felt a tightening of alarm. “Just—waist? A ‘waist restraint’? That’s not a thing.”
“It works,” he said. “It’s fine.”
But I shook my head. “So the top half of your body is just loose?”
“Well, yeah. That’s part of the fun.”
“Oh, my God,” I said. “We’re going to die.” As I said those words, I looked straight in front of me and saw—really saw, for the first time—the vertical wall of tracks ahead.
A black hole of fear opened up in my stomach. This was happening.
“You okay?” Duncan asked.
I had a clear view of the tracks: They eased out about thirty feet from the loading dock and then curved in a right angle straight up. And up. And up.
“This maybe wasn’t a good idea,” I said.
“Oh, yeah,” Duncan said. “It’s a terrible idea.” He said it with relish—as if the fact that it was a bad idea made it awesome.
“I think I need to get off,” I said, tugging at the waist restraint—which, of course, didn’t budge—just as another coaster car whooshed over our heads and muffled my words.
I turned to look for someone to signal on the platform …
But that’s when we started moving.
“No turning back now,” Duncan said
He wasn’t wrong. We were in motion. This was happening. How long did this ride last, again? Three minutes? Four? I felt my fingers get cold and then a sandpapery tingle of fear spread through my body.
How had I let myself wind up here? My heart rate had doubled—or possibly tripled—like it was not just beating, but more like convulsing in my chest.
I squeezed my eyes closed, but that was worse. I opened them again just as we tilted back and back on the tracks until we were fully sideways, and gravity pulled every unharnessed part of me back against the seat. It felt so vertical it seemed like we were tilting backward, and I decided to argue with the fear. All you have to do, I said to myself, is wait for it to be over. Just sit tight, and wait, and don’t die of a heart attack.
I’ll say this: they really draw out the anticipation during that ten-story climb.
“Are you okay?” Duncan asked.
But I couldn’t answer.
The anticipation was the worst part, I told myself.
But, actually, no.
The worst part was yet to come.
Because just as we reached the tippy-top of the ten-story-high scaffolding, just as we were barely starting to tip up to start the U-turn that would send us plunging back toward the earth … the coaster car stopped.
Like, stopped moving entirely.
Just went dead.
After a second, I said, “Is this part of the ride?” Maybe they were trying to intensify the anticipation.
“No,” Duncan said.
Not what I wanted him to say.
“What’s going on?” I said, my voice sounding like it was somebody else’s.
But next, a voice sounded through a speaker between our seats.
“Nothing to worry about, folks,” the voice said pleasantly.
“What the hell is going on!” I yelled at the speaker, as if it could hear me.
“We’re experiencing a normal pause of the system. The system is not broken, and there is no reason for alarm. Our computer sensors are highly calibrated to detect the presence of any foreign objects on the tracks. If the sensors detect an impediment, they immediately stop all rides until our technicians can resolve the issue.”
I met Duncan’s eyes. “What kind of foreign objects?”
The loudspeaker barreled on. “Foreign objects include, but are not limited to, newspapers, kites, beer cans, and pelicans.”
Duncan shrugged at me.
“Please sit tight and enjoy the view until the situation is resolved.”
The loudspeaker shut off, and for a second, there was only wind.
Wind, and nothingness. Because there was nothing at all around us. We were at the tip-top, perched at a slight angle like a jaunty hat, with nothing but sky in every direction.
That’s when the panic really hit.
“Duncan?” I said then.
“Yeah?”
“I’m freaking out.”
Duncan angled his head so he could stare at me. “You look fine. Great, even.”
“I am not fine. Or great.”
Then, forcing a chuckle, he said, “Why? Because there’s a pelican on the tracks?”
But that’s when I started hyperventilating.
“Hey,” he said, leaning closer. “What’s going on?”
“I want to get down,” I told him—and saying the words made it worse.
“Hey. This is a modern roller coaster—it’s not like there’s some old geezer in a choo-choo hat pulling a rickety old lever.”
“That’s not helping.”
“I’m right here,” he said, his voice now all business. “I’m right here with you, and we are safe.