Greetings WYMOP fans!
Yes, this week it's part 2 of my last ride ever on a Tilt-A-Whirl.
Part 2. That means there's a Part 1.
That means if you haven't read Part 1, this week's post will make no sense whatsoever!
But do they ever? Really? Do they?
Come on, do the work. Go back and read The Tilt-A-Whirl Part 1. Don't worry... we'll wait.
For those of you who did read last week, we last saw our hero (Hey, that's me!) gloating quietly over getting a second free ride on the Tilt-A-Whirl off the same ride voucher, and...
~ ~ * * ~ ~
About half-way through that second time around in what I had begun thinking of as ‘my lucky seat’, something within me began to voice the idea that this may have not been such a good thing after all. I think it was the hot dog, though it may have been the popcorn. Or the soda. Okay, I’m not sure exactly what it was, but it was poking me a bit more strenuously than before — enough to distract me from the joy of double-riding.
I told whatever it was in there to just shut up, this was possibly the greatest moment of my young life and they weren’t going to spoil it. The prodding persisted, however, possibly growing stronger. The smooth, whipping motion of the Tilt-A-Whirl began to seem not as smooth, and each change of direction the car made seemed to be just a hair too quick for my stomach to keep up.
I began to get a little ‘whoops’ feeling in the pit of my stomach. As the ride went on the feeling spread to all of my stomach. I stopped waving victoriously at the other children on the ride, trying instinctively to hold as still as possible: an im-possibility on a herky-jerky ride like this. I’d started feeling that little ‘whoops’ rising up my chest toward my throat on every snappy reversal ‘my lucky seat’ made, and I was seriously starting to worry about the integrity of the happy ending to this story… when the ride began to slow.
Oh, thank God, I thought. All I had to do was keep it together long enough to get off the ride and I could have a seat for a while to let my stomach relax and recover. I could go sit on the grass near the rides, or even take a walk over to the wall by the beach and take a little break in the sun. My double-free ride would remain unspoiled and my day would remain awesome!
My car came to rest facing out at the trees again. I listened to the boots walk around the platform, listened to the creaks and bangs of people being released from their cars all around me, heard the trickle of people getting off the ride, then the stampede of kids getting on. There were the sounds of kids, chattering happily, pulling their safety bars down, shouting to each other. There came the boots again, I could feel them through my seat, threading their way through the cars to secure the lap-bars.
And there I was, realizing just a bit late that he was skipping right by my car again. There was my voice, shouting ‘hey, over here, let me out!’, lost amidst the other voices shouting ‘hey, over here, look at me!’.
And there were the boots, walking away once more, heading off in the direction of the Tilt-A-Whirl’s control booth.
|Nothing to do with the story again,|
this photo just cracks me up!
I slid down as far as I could in my seat, squeezing my unhappy stomach under the safety bar locked into my lap. I stretched, I strained, extending one leg just as far as I could, my sneakered foot flailing desperately at the locking lever for my lap-bar. I just wanted to kick it, to flick it, to somehow knock it loose and allow me the chance to fling off the bar holding me prisoner and make a leap for freedom before the ride could spin my stomach into oblivion.
The Tilt-A-Whirl lurched into motion.
I slumped back into my seat with a whimper that tasted of hot dog, popcorn and soda on their second time around. It wasn’t pretty.
My chest jerked with a hiccuppy sound and a belch rolled up my throat, exploding into my mouth with the taste of hot dog dipped in acid. Strangely cola-flavored acid.
Satan himself, had he gotten a whiff of the rank gasses washing past my tonsils, would have waved a hand by his face with a “Damn! That’s foul!”
I started panting, breathing rapidly with my mouth hanging open. I seem to recall I had the crazy idea that it would all get better if I could somehow cool off my superheated tongue; you would have thought it would have been cool enough the way the saliva was filling my mouth to overflowing, but that was hot too.
I know: Eeww.
The Tilt-A-Whirl picked up speed, my car pitching and yawing, each change in direction no longer a fun little bump but a bone-jarring jerk. The world whipped by in a sickening blur as I swallowed again and again, my mouth refilling with hot saliva just as fast as I could empty it. With each jerk my stomach climbed another notch higher, rising into my chest on it’s way up my throat. The hot dog pointed out that swallowing like that was only showing my stomach that my throat was functioning properly, encouraging my gut to turn it into a two-way street.
“I can’t spit,” I said to the hot dog. “I might hit someone else on the ride.”
“Do you know those people?” said the soda.
“I don’t think so,” I said.
I spat. Copiously. I didn’t know where it went, and I didn’t care. I spat and panted, still trying to cool my tongue and mouth, while the world spun by and I tried to swallow my stomach. I tipped my head forward. It didn’t help. I tipped it back. It didn’t help. I closed my eyes.
Big mistake! My stomach took that little ‘holy @#$%!’ moment leap up my throat to the top of my neck, the hot dog and popcorn jostling for position, each trying to be the one to kick open the door barring my throat and burst out into the world. More foul stomach gasses seeped out between my clenched teeth as I opened my eyes and fought to keep that door closed. I focused on my breathing, in and out, deep, like some sort of meditation. I tried to ignore the white knuckles wrapped around the bar beneath my chin. I tried not to see the world flying by without closing my eyes, without even blinking because I didn’t dare. I breathed in…. and out…. and in….
...and the ride started to slow.