Coaster ~ personal narrative

Roller coasters can be an extreme thrill. Standing in a mile long line, chattering enthusiastically to your friends, waiting impatiently for what seems like hours, until finally it's your turn to make that ever important decision, where to sit for the ride of a life time?

 The back, where the boring, less adventurous people go; the front, where the junkies go, wanting once again to fill their heads with that sweet, heavenly feeling of adrenaline they can't seem to live without. You turn; start to bolt to the front, to beat the kids with the crazy look in their eyes when your friends pull you to the middle; the middle where the smart, sensible people sit, the ones looking for the rush without the high.

Strapping in, you patiently wait for the workers to come by and check the bars holding you in, wait for them to give the thumbs up, and you hear the hissing of the brake release as the coaster lurches forward on the tracks. The cars start their slow climb to the top the anticipation builds, fear grips your insides in a strangle tight grip. All of a sudden the clicking of the emergency brake stops, you look down one last time, see the ground miles below, and hold your breath as your car approaches the peak and down you go catching your rush as the wind whips past you, hair flying wildly behind you. The ups and downs, twists and turns, flips and flops make the entire wait totally worth it. The rush of all the air going past your face and upper body as only a tiny bar holds you in from a fall hundreds of feet to the ground beneath you.

Relationships can almost parallel a roller coaster ride, the waiting, turning, twisting, anticipating, and fearing. They can be the best things and the worst things in the world, scary or extremely fun and full of excitement. For most people thousands of miles don’t separate a happy couple when their relationship is still in its infancy, if ever. There are those select few who are separated by oceans, continents, millions of miles, lifetimes. Compared to that one summer a part is a cake walk. However, when you’re the one in the situation it definitely doesn’t seem like a cake walk, more like a lonely walk across an eight lane highway, not impossible but not easy by any means. Being a soldier isn’t just a job; it’s a commitment for not only the person, but their family too.

I woke with a start covered in a cold sweat from another all too real nightmare of Michael leaving on a plane and never coming back. Staring through the semi darkness of my room at the white pop corned ceiling my heart rate start to slow. Turning to my left to get a glimpse at my alarm clock I realize it’s only 5 am. Groaning I push back my heavy black comforter and slide slowly out of bed. I stagger across the soft white carpet to my dresser. Flipping on the light switch just to the left of my dresser, my ceiling light comes on filling the room with a soft yellow glow. Sleepily I stare at the pale, worried face I see there. Quietly I pad down the short hallway from my room in the back of the basement to the open living room. Looking out the windows I can see the black of last night starting to lighten in the early morning rays. Sighing I continue up the two flights of steps to the upper level of my house.

Reaching the top of the steps I run into a wall of coffee, standing there I let the familiar smell fill my nostrils and calm my stomach.  I continue my quiet journey to the shower after making sure I hadn’t woken anyone. As I tip toe down the hallway a symphony of morning noises accompany me; the cat jumping around, my parents snoring, and the soft mumblings of my brother. Silently opening my parent’s bedroom door I pad across the grey plush carpet and into the small bathroom just off their bedroom. Closing the door behind me, I flip on the lights filling the room with a warm yellow glow. After pulling a crisp, white towel off the door hanger I start the shower, cranking the water temperature to scalding. Stepping into the cascading, hot water, steam rolling out of the small white shower stall, I can feel the tenseness and stress falling away and swirling down the drain like the water. After what seems like Nano seconds I step out of the warm shower and into the frigid air of the bathroom, the weight of the day settling yet again on my already heavy shoulders. Grabbing my purple pointers sweats and faded black blink 182 shirt, I grudgingly pull open the bathroom door and bolt for my bedroom.

After traversing my now active home I find myself locked quietly in my bedroom once again. Flopping on my squishy full sized bed decked out with black sheets and pillows I close my eyes trying to sort out all the feelings stomping and yelling in my head. Rolling over and staring at the ceiling I try to focus my tired brain on the hundreds of thoughts swimming around my head.

 Fear of the unknown had been strangling me lately. Fear has so many forms it’s almost better to ask what fear can’t reach out to than what it can reach out to. Well, saying goodbye to someone who is basically your other half is something fear sinks its teeth into and won’t let go of, no matter how many promises you make, or how many times you say it’s nothing, or that nothing is going to change. Frankly because change happens, bad things happen to good people, and people make their own decisions especially when they’re miles away on some god forsaken Army base with zero contact to their families.

                Sighing and with a heavy heart I slowly get ready for the grueling trip to the airport. Glancing in my giant mirror I still see that worried, pale face staring back. Running my hand absent mindedly through my long brown locks I exit my room and make my way back up the steps to the main floor of the house. Glancing out the giant windows over the front door I watch the dark blue Expedition creep up the driveway. As the vehicle comes to a stop Michael slides out of the passenger seat. Shuffling down the steps into the foyer I slip on my black flip flops just as he pushes open the front door. Straightening up our eyes lock, dark brown on amber, both filled with tears and longing. Grabbing my purse off the oak bench against the far wall and linking arms Michael we exit my house for the last time together that summer.

                As we both shamble back to the waiting Expedition, Michael grasps my hand in his with a vise like grip. We climb into the tank like vehicle and slide in side by side. Pulling out of the driveway we start the all too short journey to the airport. After what seems like only minutes we stop in Hudson at the Army Recruiting station where our guide is dressed in nothing but his army best. The camo clad figure ushers us inside to wait for the other boy who is being sent to the same prison sentence. The office is cold, uninviting. The stark white walls and grey cubicles decorated with Army propaganda showing the pride and courage it takes to really be a solider.

                Standing there in the silence it hits me that none of the kids who they send off know what they’re getting into. They don’t realize how hard it’s going to be on them, on their family. Shaking my head I kick at the standard grey workplace carpet trying to ignore all the false promises made by the office. The bell on the door rings, signaling that others are entering. Glancing up at the white aluminum door as the camo boogeyman walks in as the other boy follows like an obedient puppy.

                “Time to go everyone,” he says briskly as he grabs the keys to a silver minivan. He pushes past everyone and back out the door, the other boy shuffling out behind him. Michael and I climb back into the Expedition, his mom hopping in behind the wheel again. Back on the highway we start the second leg of our short journey to the airport. We sit in silence for the duration of the ride no one wanting to actually talk about the fact that one of us would be gone for the entire summer with barely any contact with the outside world.

                Scrambling inside the hectic airport we meet up with Michael’s dad. Glancing around for the right gate fear grips my insides, throwing my mind and stomach into a hail storm. Finding the gate we all start in that direction meandering down the long hallways to the far gate that will be the last place I will see Michael until September.

                Reaching the gate we all settle in for the short wait as the current passengers exit the plane. Sitting in the small plastic chairs it finally hits me, this is the last time I will see him all summer, three horribly long months. The summer all of a sudden seems like a long, dark tunnel with only a small pin prick of light signaling the end.

                “Carole,” Michael whispers, “listen, I know I’m gonna be gone for months but remember how much I really, honestly, truly care about you. I never want this to end.” Reaching into his pocket he pulls out a small black velvet box. “I promise I will come back to you no matter where I go. I love you,” he says opening the box and showing me the small silver ring inlaid with a blue and purple heart.

                Smiling and with tears rolling down my face I slip on the ring. Wiping away the tears from his face I give him a quick kiss. Grabbing his bags he runs off the catch the plane saying a quick bye to his parents as he goes. Reaching the door to the jet bridge he looks back over his should and I give him a huge, gleaming, all teeth out smile. He smiles back and rushes through the door.

                Watching out the window as the plane accelerates down the jet way and takes off I feel hollow inside. Half of me gone off on an adventure of a life time while the other half sits at home waiting around. At the plane disappears from view I wipe away the rivers of tears rolling down my cheeks. Turning around I shuffle over to his parents and we all meander back to the car and I realize I’m not alone, not hollow. Smiling to myself I have an overwhelming feeling of relief. My stomach unknots slightly as we walk back to the Expedition and I know it’s all going to be okay.

                I realize that much like a roller coaster this is just one of those twists that make the ride that much more entertaining. My head echoes with his last words to me and I realize I am once again smiling from ear to ear. The rush inside my head is much like the one you get when you ride that roller coaster down its first hill. Sense tells me we will be okay and he will come back to me with nothing but open arms. Sitting in the Expedition as it speeds back towards Somerset I decide to let go and see where the ride takes me. All while I sit comfortably in the sensible middle of the coaster.

               

72 days.