already knew he hadn’t gone.
He looked at me. “I didn’t go, though.”
“And now you’re back here.” I wasn’t trying to be a smart-ass, just pointing out something interesting. A circle.
He laughed. “Yeah. But I still know there’s more to the world than this place. Sometimes it’s good to remember there’s home, though, too.”
“You still think of here as home?” We were heading toward what once had been the tallest, fastest and steepest roller coaster in the park, The Magnum XL-200. It was still an impressive structure. I liked to ride in the front.
“Someplace has to be, right?”
The queue wasn’t as long as it sometimes got in the height of summer, when wait times could be hours long. Still, we did have to wait, and the line moved along slowly enough to give us ample time for conversation.
“I got the feeling you weren’t a big fan, that’s all.” Without discussing it, we both moved toward the row of cattle chutes that would lead us to the front seat of the coaster.
“I have some good memories.” He shrugged. “Who said home’s the place where you go and they have to take you in?”
“Robert Frost?”
He laughed. “I guess that’s why Sandusky is still home. I came back and someone took me in.”
Someone had, but not his family.
The attendant waved us into the front car, where we sat knee against knee and buckled ourselves in tight. The Magnum might not be the fastest or the tallest anymore, and it might not have any loops, but it’s an impressive coaster just the same. Two hundred and five feet high with a one hundred-and-ninety-five-foot drop, it’s the most thrilling two minutes you’ll ever spend.
The ride to the top of the first hill takes forever, but once there, the view of the park is amazing. The breeze ruffled Alex’s hair, and the sun was bright enough to make me squint; I’d taken off my sunglasses in preparation for the plunge. We looked at each other, and when I saw the grin on his face I felt one on my own.
“Hands up,” he said.
We raised our hands.
Poised at the top of a roller coaster, I always have time to think, “why am I doing this?” I love them, the twists and drops, the stomach-sinking feeling and adrenaline rush. But at the top, with the world spread out below me, I always pause to wonder why I’m subjecting myself to the fear.
We seemed to hang over the edge for a long time before finally beginning the downward swoop. I was already bracing myself, already opening my mouth to scream.
Alex grabbed my hand.
We fell.
We flew.
I screamed, but with laughter and without breath. It was like being shot into space, twisting, turning and dropping. Soaring. And in two minutes it was all over, and the train pulled into the station with its passengers shaking and windblown. My teeth felt dry. Alex let go of my hand.
On vaguely trembling legs I got out of the car and followed him down the steps to the exit. He held open the small gate for me at the end and turned to walk backward, facing me, his face alight.
“The Magnum is the perfect fucking coaster,” he said. “They can make ‘em taller, but they don’t make ‘em sweeter.”
“James doesn’t like roller coasters.” It was true, but it suddenly sounded disloyal, and I wasn’t quite sure why. “He says he overdosed on them as a kid.”
“Nah. He never liked them.” Alex shook his head and made a circle in the air with a finger. “He’ll ride the Puke-a-Tron or the Barf-o-Rama twenty times in a row, but he won’t ride a coaster.”
“He’s got equilibrium.” James could go on those spinning rides without getting sick. “He’s good at turning in place.”
“But not so good at going up and down.” Alex’s hands swooped, following the curve of a coaster. “How about you, Anne?”
“I like both, I guess.” We were following another winding path, past food stands and games whose vendors implored us to take a chance on winning a stuffed toy. The scents of popcorn and fries tickled my nose, and my stomach rumbled.
He slanted me a look. “But you like coasters better.”
I gave him an equally sideways glance. “Sometimes.”
He laughed. “Me, too.”
Ahead of us was the sign for Paddlewheel Excursions, a ride the park designated Tranquil and which was in essence a staged boat ride through quirky, animated scenes and narrated by the boat’s “captains.” The last time I’d ridden it, the operators wore uniforms designed to look like old riverboat captains, complete with maroon vests and ruffled armbands. Now they wore regular park uniforms. I was disappointed.
“Wow. Paddlewheel Excursions. I haven’t been on this ride in forever.” I paused at the entrance.
“So, c’mon. Let’s go.”
“We don’t have to. There are plenty of other rides to go on.”
“So?” Alex held out a hand. “We have time.”
The ride was as hokey and charming as I remembered. The jokes were silly but made us laugh, anyway, and the ride itself was serene. We sat in the back, thigh to thigh on the narrow bench. The water in the canal was a murky green.
“I always thought they ran on a track,” I murmured as the captain of our boat revved the engine to avoid a sandbar.
“When I worked here, one of the guys almost sank one.”
“Did he?” I turned to look at Alex. “How could you do that?”
“Hit the dock hard enough, I guess you can put a hole in anything.” Alex nodded toward the dock where two other captains awaited to tie the boat in place so we could disembark.
I looked at Alex closely. “Was it you?”
For a moment he looked stunned, then started to laugh. “No. I cleaned toilets.”
My surprise must have shown on my face. “I always thought—”
America’s not a place comfortable with a class system. We’re all equal, even when we aren’t. Nobody would ever have admitted aloud that the restroom attendants tended to be not as … socially presentable … as the people they hired to operate the rides and serve the food.
“See what a bad attitude will get you?” He shrugged.
We got off the boat. I thanked the young captain, who still looked embarrassed about his close call with the sandbar. I heard his friends ribbing him as we left.
“So. You cleaned toilets. For how long?”
“Two seasons. Then I moved
