I was searching in your "box" and came across this paper you had written. I am not sure exactly when, but one clue in the story leads me to believe it was when you owned your silver VW Beatle. You were late teens at the time. (I copied it precisely how it was written).
I wish we could find out how the story ends......in more ways than one.
By Monica Fowler
Yelling and laughing children scurry past us while I uncertainly track the progress of the next line of victims clicking their way up the steep incline, definitely I'm sure, towards certain death. My mind is temporarily taken off their perilous situation as I wonder out loud to my best friend Trey, "Where are these kids parents? It's a good thing I'm not a serial killer or some creepy kidnapper with a fetish for loud smelly kids or anything, because if I was this is where I would hang out." He giggled under his breath as another one of the sticky handed ones in question bounced off of his calf and almost knocked him down. "Hey get a job!" Trey called at him as the little boy ran off with his cotton candy and without an apology to Trey. "Or tell your mom to do hers..." I mumbled as my attention drifted back to the object of my extreme terror. Funny how I can give great advice on things I know nothing about first hand, like say, raising a child but I can't seem to take my own advice about there being nothing about a stupid roller coaster that should provoke such intense fear. (Still, I don't think I would let my 5 year old run free in an amusement park but hey, who's an enormous baby like myself one to judge?) Trey's interest in the pin balling little boy has waned, and he's now back to grinning like the Cheshire cat at me and looking very much like a five year old himself. Actually, in the state that I'm in, his expression makes him look incredibly evil, not cute and mischievous which is what I'm sure he's going for. "Come on baby......I'll hold your hand." He drags out the word hand as if his is something I really want to touch right now. "Your hand is the last thing that I want to hold at this moment, I'm much more comfortable holding on to this fence" I tell him matter of factly. I glanced at the wrought iron bars under my sweaty palms, safely holding me, (may I add, where I belong) firmly on the ground. "Jacks, you promised, this is the whole reason we came!" His five year old persona was really showing its pouty face at the moment and I decided that I like Trey's 29 year old self much better. "That was before I realized that I really don't like roller coasters. Now I know, and we can have a funnel cake and go home." "No way, no way, no way," he sing-songed shaking his head back and forth before I had even finished my sentence. There's that five year old rearing it's ugly head again. I guess I had to give him just a little wiggle room since we were at an amusement park and that does sort of give everyone permission to act as if we're under ten. Well fine, if he wanted to act like a kid than I would just act like your mom. "Don't interrupt me, you weren't even listening," I scolded, "I said I don't like roller coasters." Shaking his head and repeating his "No way" mantra, Trey proceeded to grab both my arms and wrench me away from the relative safety of the entry way gate. Trey who was almost a foot taller than me, and could possibly bench press my Volkswagen. I was apparently not going to be lingering at the entryway any longer according to this overgrown child. With his arm firmly around my shoulders, Trey marched me very obviously reluctant, to the end of the line. I scanned the winding line of brave people who were anxiously (but make sure I clarify, willingly) waiting to ride this death train as the procession disappeared around a corner. Who are these people? I thought to myself, why in the world would they put themselves through this torture? I looked at my captor who was now almost trembling from excitement (or maybe just shaking from the reverberation of me trembling with fear) and remembered. They're people like Trey, people who skydive, bungee jump and like to watch extreme fighting when they go home to their parents house that's equipped with cable. Are they nuts, suicidal? I don't get it. Why did I let myself even get talked into coming here? Okay, can't change the past, deep breaths an deal with the situation, our wait in line was definitely long enough for me to talk my way back to my nice safe fence again. Maybe I'll try the mom approach again...."How about I watch you from down here and when you go down that first pitching nose-dive, without of course coming off the track and crashing to a fiery death, you can wave at me?" His chant, the only thing I'd heard from him in the past five minutes which I might add I was very sick of, cut off the end of my sentence and began again. Rationally speaking to this sorry excuse of a best friend of mine was clearly out of the picture. I decided to try to work on his selfish instinct and told him in a sly voice, "Hey if you're alone some hottie might sit next to you and then she'll grab your big, sexy man muscles in terror and you can get her number and have someone to go out with this Valentine's Day!" My sly voice had sort of turned into a hysterical rant of panic since this line we were in seemed to be moving much more quickly than I had anticipated. "Never, it would be a huge fat man who hasn't showered in a week." Was promptly inserted between "no ways". His Cheshire cat grin that I did not like at all was back on his face and I decided our relationship was definitely toxic.
* To the readers of this blog...please feel free to leave me comments, I would love to know how you feel about this blog. Thanks!
|These were pictures you made in rehab where you open the page and theres another creation inside. You had made 2 of them. (Kinda random, but I thought I would throw these in with this post.)|
miss you, always......m