Roller Coaster Photo

Illustration by Lorena Horng

I miss the sun rays piercing my skin and the stench of sweat in the great outdoors, but the roller coaster grinds my stomach like a blender. “This is our ride,” you always declare, hands flying in the air during an endless fall that whirls my head three-sixty. Maybe the weight imbalance from the seat beside me makes this ride even more nauseating. 

The horror train swivels to the left, dodging a bunch of dangling polyurethane Jupiters. Your fingers usually intertwine with the corner of my elbow like a puzzle piece. But all that’s left is the thrust of air scraping my arm. 

Now comes the dreaded perpendicular plunge, as you and I call it, and the coaster plummets faster than our stomachs. Right here, the camera’s flash blinds us and our hair sticks up like the trolls from the cartoon “Trolls”. This might be a new addition to the roller coaster photo collection on my nightstand.

The roller coaster nears the upside down. A paper mache spaceship hangs on a frail string from the ceiling. I always cling onto you this time, but when I reach out, all I can grasp is the barren whoosh of wind. I squeeze my eyes shut. It’s easier to imagine that we’re right side up even though we’re upside down. I guess it’s easier to remember you that way as well. 

My butt levitates as the train flips. The clacking noise from the train’s wheels prompts a cacophony of screams. Bodies leave sound waves behind, as we surge faster than the speed of light. 

I always let my hands fly freely during the ride except for this part. As the roller coaster exits the indoor portion of the tracks, the bones in my fingers protrude as the buzz bars become that one tree branch on the side of a cliff. 

But for the first time, I let go of the bars. Although you will never get to see this, if heaven exists, you’ll see the veins on my wrists and the lines on my palms as you gaze down at me. 

A rocket of wind makes my hair stick up as the roller coaster accelerates full speed ahead. Was that your congratulations?

I never got to hear it from your voice. 

I walk out the gates to the gift shop, anticipating laughs, hyperventilation and sighs of relief.

I gawk at the flat-screen TV, scanning for the rider who rides by herself. I don’t think I’ll pay for this picture anyway. Where’s the fun when there’s no one to laugh with?

The lady with the orange cap and blue-soda colored hair points at one of the pictures in the grid. 

Both our smiles, glistening on the coaster. This time, we don’t look stupid. This time, the drop didn’t render us quizzical. This time, our hair doesn’t stand up mouseless. This time, we don’t resemble Poppy and Branch. 

This time, I’m glancing sideways at you. The seat’s empty but there’s your threadbare silhouette. 

Maybe you saw my palms after all, studied the living pulse in my hands, wondering how it would feel to be right there on the adjacent seat. Maybe this two-minute ride isn’t the unfulfilled wish you made on your deathbed alone, after all. I’ll get to think of you every time the buzz bars beep and lock me onto the seat. I’ll get to raise my arms in the sky, knowing that you’ll be watching over me.  

This roller coaster photo, on my nightstand, is a reminder of us, the first thing I see every morning and the last thing I’ll see every night. It may be the last photo with the two of us together, but it’ll be one of the many. At least it’ll be a real end to our story.  

Thank you for coming to say goodbye.