So, I was minding my own business, having the time of my life at the carnival with my grandparents, sisters, and mother, the day my life changed forever. I was seven, way too young to be properly terrified of giant rides that put the human body through various stunts and horror. I remember it was hot and I was so sweaty that my two French braids were sticking to my back. The entire day, I firmly held my grandpa’s hand and skipped along, demanding he skip too. He complied. As an adult, I imagine it must have been annoying having a tiny, sweaty, excited little girl gripping his hand with a grubby, cotton candy coated one while demanding loudly that he skip along with me wherever we went. But skip away he did, listening (or ignoring) my constant exited chatter and vows of “never leaving this place, ever.” And then I saw the Zipper and lost my mind with excitement.
“That one Grandpa!” I screamed, jumping up and down, yanking his hand along with me, “that one! I want to go on that one!”
“Jess, that one might be scary,” my mom said, “I don’t think you’ll like it.”
“I’ll love it!” I shouted, “go with me Grandpa! I won’t be scared! I’ll love it so much! Please, please, please. Please go Grandpa!”
He eyeballed it and agreed. I have no idea if he was scared. At seven it would never have occurred to me that my Grandpa was scared of anything. It never occurred to me I be scared of that ride myself. He agreed and I was more excited than I had ever been, feeling so big and grown up and brave. We sat there for what seemed like an eternity, waiting for the ride to go. And when it started, it really started. Before my little seven year old brain could comprehend what was happening, the cage we were in was flipping around in circles while the ride itself flipped in circles and I was so terrified that I clawed at my grandpa, screaming, “I want off! I want off! Make it stop!”
It seemed to last forever. I screamed with sheer terror and panic as my grandpa struggled to hold onto me. I was so little that my feet didn’t touch the floor and the bar was so far out in front of me that I couldn’t really reach that either. Without him in there with me, my little body would have been tossed around like I was in a dryer. I started crying and continued screaming that I wanted the ride to be over, until I finally screamed,
“I want my Mommy! I want my Mommy!”
“I want my Mommy too!” he yelled.
When it was finally over, I was more shaken than I had ever been in my life and I don’t remember too much after that. I remember him grinning at me after it was done as I basically bawled into my mother’s legs and I said, “that was NOT funny!” I wasn’t interested in any more rides the rest of the day, and developed a very intense fear of pretty much any large ride. I’ll get on big scary rides, but I don’t really like them much. And not only do I refuse to ever get on the Zipper again, the sheer sight of that thing brings back that total fear and sends a shudder down my back. I wonder if Grandpa is terrified of that thing too?
No comments:
Post a Comment