Roller Coaster

Knuckles white, I grip the metallic cart with terrible excitement. Tick, tick, tick, tick — our cart moves higher and higher on these clown-red tracks. Higher and higher we go. I feel my stomach lifting up out of my chest. Whoosh! The fragrance of popcorn smashes into the cold air at top speed. At the peak of the Santa Monica pier — I look down, 10 stories up all the people look like a Monet painting — blurry paint brush pokes on the brown boards of the pier. Red hats, yellow shirts — the pier in a hot dog mood.

Neck cranked to the right, I try to lift my head up as we go through a turn. Wham, flipped, flopped, upside down and side to side. What a ride. My cheeks are sore from ear to ear, blinking with new eyes as the ride comes to a stop. Take a deep breath, open the door. Step out and take in the calm roar of the ocean.