Marisol approached, one hand holding the tray, the other shielding it from any rogue seagulls eyeing our meal. She set down the food and took a seat on the other side of the picnic table bench, swiping a fry off the top of the pile and popping it into her mouth as she sat down.
“Okay, we got hot dogs, kraut, relish, a little mustard, and a little ketchup. And I couldn’t help myself, I grabbed two knishes for good measure. I mean, is it even a trip to Nathan’s if we don’t get knishes?!”
My mouth watered at the mention of the potato-filled, deep-fried snack. I reached for one and ripped open the crispy crust to allow the steam to pour out. I squeezed a glob of deli mustard from a packet onto the logo-emblazoned wax paper, plunked the corner of the knish into the condiment, and took a healthy bite. Swallowing it down with an ice-cold gulp of Coke, the sweet bubbly drink contrasted the salty food, creating the most perfect combination—like every other time.
“This was a good idea. I don’t think I’ve eaten an actual meal all week,” I said.
“Nerves?” she asked between chewing.
“Nerves . . . terror . . . dread. The audition is the best opportunity I’ve got. I can’t blow it. I’ve worked too hard.”
“You’re putting way too much stock in this one moment. You were an actress before this audition, and you’ll be one after. Don’t they say the road to success is paved in rejection?” Before I could give it another thought, Marisol slapped her hands on the table and changed the topic. “So, what do you think?” she asked. “Should we sit here and digest or live dangerously and go ride the Cyclone?”
“I think I need to digest,” I said, hoping to put off riding the coaster for as long as I could.
“Wimp. Fine, let’s hit the arcade, and then we can go scream our heads off on that old death trap.”
We let the Nathan’s settle in our stomachs while we played a few rounds of Whac-A-Mole followed by Skee-Ball and then ring toss. Marisol won a huge green stuffed animal she promptly named Elphabear, which she offered to me for good luck. I was having such a good time I’d almost forgotten about the audition and nerves.
Marisol checked her watch. “The Cyclone closes in a half hour. It’s now or never.”
“I’m good. We had Nathan’s, I kicked your ass in Whac-A-Mole, you got me out of my head for a while. All in all, I’d consider it a pretty successful day. Best friend mission accomplished.” I nudged her before wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “But seriously, I am feeling a lot less stressed about everything, so thank you. You always know just what I need.”
“Exactly, which is why I am insisting, no, demanding that we ride the Cyclone before we get out of here.”
“I hate roller coasters.”
“This is not a roller coaster. I mean, yes, it’s a roller coaster, but really it’s more of a spiritual experience.”
“Next time, I’ll ride. I promise.”
She cocked her head and eyed me skeptically. “You say that every time. Lawrence, have I ever steered you wrong?”
I thought about all the great advice she always gave, the millions of times she told me exactly what I needed to hear even though I didn’t want to listen, and the countless moments she’d been there for me like few others had. “Ugh, okay, let’s do it before I change my mind.”
Marisol took my change of heart as her cue to pull me toward the ticket booth and buy us each a ride. At the end of the day, with the park nearly closing, there was practically no wait, which left me no time to try to bail at the last minute. We handed our tickets to the barker and squeezed into the seat, a measly bar pressing down on our lap as its only safety measure.
“This?! This thing is what’s holding us in?!” I cried.
“Only like three people a year die on this coaster, so your odds are pretty decent,” Marisol joked as she took my hands from where they were clutching the handle for dear life, and raised them in the air along with her own, the safety check not even completed yet.
“Oh my God, I don’t know about this, Marisol. I think I need to get off.”
“You can’t get off now! Just breathe and enjoy the ride!”
My peripheral vision was starting to narrow, and the world was getting dark around me as panic set in. “No, seriously, I have to get off. Please let me off.” I used my hands that were still raised in the air with Marisol’s to wave furiously to the young man operating the ride.
“The guy is all the way at the front. Just relax, I promise you, it’ll be over before you even know it.”
“Sir! Sir!” I started screaming, my arms flailing to the point of looking like I was trying to fly away. “I need you to let me out. I need to get off the ride. Like right now!” Sweat was pouring off my forehead, and my hands, which had moved to gripping the bar, were now contorted into two birdlike claws I couldn’t unclench.
Marisol, seeing the color drain from my face and the sheer terror in my eyes, said, “Okay, okay. Let’s get some help. Sir! Sir!” she screamed along with me.
A different teenager in a red Cyclone shirt finally looked in our direction and raised a hand in the air to signal to the operator to halt the ride.
“She needs to get off, please ask them to lift the bar,” Marisol instructed, my hands still as rigid as the rest of my body.
The safety latch popped open, and the kid swung the metal bar up to allow us out. Marisol waited for me to get up, but I was still frozen, stuck in the seat.
“C’mon Avery, you’re okay. I got you.” Marisol tucked her hands under my armpits and hoisted me up, the worker extending his hands to steady me, and I climbed out with the help of Marisol’s guidance.
We exited the ride and I immediately plopped down on a wooden planter, beads of perspiration still pouring down my cheeks and back.
“I’m so sorry. I really didn’t mean to push. I swear, I thought you really had it this time. But, I mean, on a positive note, that’s the farthest you’ve made it like ever! Like the ride almost actually started this time,” she joked and leaned into me playfully.
“Silver lining.”
“Silver lining,” she repeated. “Well, either way, you’ll get that white whale someday, Ahab. I just hope that you still had a good time even though you may have PTSD forever.”
I looped my arm through hers and gave it a hard squeeze. “Of course I did. It was just what I needed, like always.”
Seven years had passed, almost a decade of heartbreaks and missteps later, and now I stood in front of the Cyclone by myself, wishing like hell that Marisol was beside me coaxing me back onto the ride. But she wasn’t. This time I’d need to do it alone, with only the memory of Marisol’s encouragement to push me to take the leap I’d always been too scared to take on my own. With a trembling hand, I pulled a ten-dollar bill from my pocket and shoved it into a ticket machine that had certainly been a new addition since the last time I’d been there. The contraption spit out a voucher for the ride, along with my change, and I snagged it before I could talk myself out of riding.
I handed the young kid my ticket and climbed into the seat, sliding all the way to the side as if to let someone in next to me, but the spot remained empty. It was like stepping back into a memory, the smell of the salty air and the worn red leather snapping me right back to that day with Marisol almost ten years ago. I could practically feel the weight of her body up against mine, smushed into the tight roller coaster car.