Personal Narrative

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Becoming Airborne

Lub-dub, inhale. Lub-dub, exhale. My heart was pounding as if I had been running on a treadmill for a straight hour. Sometimes it pounded through my brain, other times out my throat. My stomach was clenched and buried somewhere near my ankles. It was hard to breathe. It was hard to breathe because my biggest fear was standing right in front of me. And the stupid thing is, my fear stood still. “One ride on the Wild One, Monica. Just one ride and you’ll get the funnel cake you want.” My father said. Funnel cake, the best possible dessert in the whole amusement park. But I was so perplexed and antagonistic that I couldn’t even began to think of the bitter and simultaneously sweet smell of the strawberry and sugar-coated pie-shaped cake. The feeling of that taste that puts me in a serene mind state, all placed on a white styrofoam plate, was overwhelmed by the distress I shouldn’t had to be dealing with. Whatever, there is no compromising with my Dad, and I valued my cake too much. The three words came out with a bit of remorse, “Ok, Dad. Fine.”

The Wild One, Roller Coaster. Linked cars that move together in turns, flips, and drops, supported by wood or steel. Each car holds two, passengers are strapped down in the seat, holding on to a safety harness. What!? How on earth can you rely on a one-inch wide “safety harness” to separate you from a total disaster? It was insanity. It was death-defying. It was surreal. “What’s wrong with your face?! There’s nothing to be scared of, I’m riding with you.” To my brother, roller coasters were the most exciting things in the Amusement Park. The three of us walked closer to the ride, gazing up at the bleary passengers going up the inclined rails. Drop. Screams and hands were high up. Intensely high up. Everyone on this ride was being tossed around with such brutality and severity, like fruits in a blender. Seemingly, this excited them.

The line was exceptionally long. Signs read, “10 minutes from...
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