Thrill Ride Terrors
I learned that courage was not the absence of fear, but the triumph over it. The brave man is not he who does not feel afraid, but he who conquers that fear.
- Nelson Mandela
The second I saw it, I almost fainted. My cap fell off my head. My face whitened and my legs shook like they were in the most violent massage chair of all time. Staring at the huge whirlwind of death was enough to knock the stuffing from any man. It was such a ride that if you fell, there was no getting up at all.
No way, I uttered silently. I can’t go on that.
“Come on, let’s go,” my dad said.
“Yah,” his friend Sujay Wasan agreed, “That looks like such a great ride.”
But I’m scared of huge roller coasters, and this counts!
Two families were staring at the massive ride in front of them. We were staring at The Hurricane.
The electronically operated machine faced the open sky. It simply had two rows of 20 seats that resembled a section from an auditorium, where the row at the back was higher. Two thick rods on either side held it in its place. On the other end of the rods were two massive weights that would potentially continue to give the benches momentum. The rods were connected to two large structures. The point where they connected had the ability to turn 365 degrees.
The shrieks of the people in the ride were deafening as the ride took its first full turn. I watched in horror as the benches themselves started spinning, making the larger 360 degree turn look like it had a rolling axis of doom. They went round and round so many times my head started hurting.
That’s what I was about to go on? However, the worst was still to come. The benches suddenly held their position and rose to the top. Then, ever so slowly, they started forward. The bench moved downwards, but did not spin so people in it were facing up. Down and down they went until they reached a 45 degree angle. They hovered there for 3 seconds. Ten jets of water streaked out from the ground and the benches were positioned just above it
“Oh my god,” I muttered under my breath. They were going to fall off and land face first into the fountain. But suddenly, the benches snapped back and they fell down safely to the starting point of the ride.
“I give you, The Hurricane,” my father shouted. “Okay, who wants to go?” His friend volunteered instantly, but I heard other cries
“No thank you,” my mother said firmly
“I’d like to keep my feet on the ground,” others agreed with her.
“I wanna go,” my sister said bravely, despite the looks her friend was giving her.
“Sorry,” my dad replied, “you’re too short.” Only he and Sujay Uncle (he wasn’t our uncle but in India, any older person out of your generation would be called Uncle/Auntie) would) were willing.
“Kayzad?” my father asked. All other noise fell into the background. An unspoken question lingered in the air.
I turned towards my father. He was looking at me intently, begging me to trust him and go with him on this one. He clearly believed that I would certainly have fun. I swerved my head towards the other group at the pace of a snail. I looked at all the faces there. My mom, my sister and her friend were all looking at me.
My mom and my sister’s friend were asking me if I really wanted to do this. But my sister was edging me on. Her expression was so wistful. She wanted me to go, to experience what she would be denied. My head split with the choice I had been given.
Do I really want to do this? Wait, do people fall off on roller coasters? And if I’m at the top...No! I don’t wanna die! And that was when I, unwillingly, fell into a whirlwind of time.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
My face screwed up in anticipation. We were in the red Honda CRV and driving on the highway. My heart was in my throat. I was only 6 years old. We were headed to the scariest place in the world. It was the place that saved lives and lost others. The one place I begged again and again never to be taken to, but we always seemed to end up there, one way or another. We were heading to the hospital.
There is no real problem with the hospital itself or the people there. There are really nice doctors and nurses. The place is clean and tidy, and I often receive sweets. But I still hated it. The suffering in the place was unbearable.
“Why are we going here? I don’t have a boo boo,” I asked.
“Nothing, just a check up. Don’t worry,” she replied biting her lip. Though the lip biting concerned me, I relaxed. My mom had never lied to me before, so I was content with her answer.
We pulled into the parking lot of the spotless white building in Cincinnati, Ohio and parked. I watched the red and orange leaves as we walked in. My mom went to the receptionist. I ran to the toy section for smaller children, and found my favorite one lying on a shelf. I grabbed it and ran to a chair. Sitting down, I worked my hands up and down the curvy plastic lines and pushed the various blocks of different shapes and colors to the end of the wooden boards. Some kids would find it boring to play with after a while, but to me, pushing little blocks along a line was sheer pleasure to me.
“Bharucha, Kayzad,” the receptionist at the front called.
“That’s us,” my mom replied. I had been so busy playing, I hadn’t realize my mom slide silently into the seat next to me. A doctor led us down a marble floor to a neat office. She took a seat behind a desk on one of those fluffy chairs that spin and roll around. My mom sat in an identical chair on the other side of the desk. There was also a small table for the person who was being inspected to lie down on. I inspected the multicolored plastic chairs for a minute before settling on a blue one. The doctor and my mom’s voices faded to the background as I looked at the picture on the walls. They were all about stuff like eating the right foods and running around.
I knew what was going to happen. The doctor would check the beating of my heart, my mouth would be inspected and my ears may be observed. The doctor left the room for a minute.
When she came back, she was holding a long needle. My mind was suddenly frantic, but one thought kept coming back.
Why? I asked my mom silently. My eyes did the talking. My mom lowered her eyes and helped me onto the table.
“Be brave,” she said softly. She got prepared to hold me down. My eyes flitted to the doctor, who was preparing the needle. Suddenly, all my courage failed. I jerked my legs upwards. My mom was startled with the sudden kick and she lost her grip. I jumped off the table and rushed to the chairs. I flung them behind me and crawled under the blue one I had been sitting on. Tears streamed down my face.
“No! No! No vaccination, please” I begged hysterically. Bravery abandoned me. I kicked and failed behind my fort of chairs, doing everything I possibly could to avoid the hands reaching out to me. No matter how hard I struggled, they got a grip, and pulled me gently from underneath the chairs I was hiding.
“Waaaaaa” I shrieked in my mad frenzy. It was a marvel how they managed to keep me down. They hoisted me up on the table and the doctor quickly prepared the injection. Suddenly, the needle was jabbed in to me but I fell silent. The sheer lack of pain I felt shocked the very thought of fear from my mind. I was stunned. My mother’s face didn’t hold anger but disappointment. Disappointment that I couldn’t control myself. Disappointment that big boy like me couldn’t help but cry. Disappointment in my lack of bravery.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
I was looked at my sister’s face. I sighed.
“Sorry,” I told her with my eyes. “Sorry I’m not brave enough to do go on The Hurricane.” I took a step in my mom’s direction. She just wanted me to do what I wanted.
I guess I don’t want to go. I took another step, but it was a lot harder. After the next three steps, it felt like I was sinking in quicksand. It was impossible to move. My face was sweating. I panicked a bit.
What was stopping me from moving? Then I realized it was myself. I looked back at my dad. His face held the one expression I could never forget. The one expression I hated the most. I saw disappointment written all over my dad’s face in large black marker. He was disappointed that I didn’t trust him enough to let him take me on this ride. Disappointed that I was going to back away. Disappointment at my lack of bravery.
I remembered all those times I wasn’t brave. What had happened when I had become hysterical at the Mummy Ride in Universal Studios? I had ended up going for the ride a year later and begging to be taken again. What about the time I was frightened by what lived under my bed and not getting out of bed for anything. I had realized there was only a mattress under my bed, and nothing would have enough space besides that. What about my fear of darkness, or bugs or losing. They all prevented me from doing what I wanted. Every single deprivation in my life came not from lack of opportunity, but from no bravery on my part.
And I made my decision. I continued to walk to my mom. When I looked back at my dad, all hope that had appeared on his face had vanished. I turned back to my mom, took something off my head, and gave it to her.
“Take care of my cap,” I told her. “I don’t want it to fall off when I ride The Hurricane.” I ran back to my dad and we hurried to the line. His face shone with pleasure in being able to take me on a joyride of fun. His face mirrored my sister’s happiness that at least her big brother would ride the ride she wanted to but couldn’t go on. And I felt a warm glow in my chest as we raced for seats. I decided that I was feeling the one of the best feelings in the world. That was bravery. And that was a greater reward than any amusement ride.
There were so many seats, we managed to get on the second round after we saw the hurricane for the first time. As we watched the people before us swing wildly, I found myself a little nervous. Nevertheless, I ran as fast as I could to get seats in the first row. The rest was one heck of a ride with so many loops, my tummy felt like it would burst open. But I was whooping with glee. The only downside was that it was all over far too soon.
As we walked back down the stairs to the exit, my sister ran up to me.
“How was it?” she asked. When I didn’t tell her, she pressed “Well?”
“All I can say,” I replied, “is that I’m glad I was brave enough to go on such an awesome ride
Birbal, the greatest courtier to ever serve Akbar The Great once said, “Courage is the most important trait one can have. If one has the ability, but no courage, how can he achieve anything?” I undoubtedly agree with him. And what is courage but another word for bravery. Bravery is everything in the world of academics, sports, finance, and even life. In all of those, taking chances is everything. They might or might not pay off, but eventually, with bravery, you will strike gold.
Author’s Note
I always have difficulty with the very first part of writing. I can never find a good idea to write about. In all my previous years, I have dreaded the small moment part of writing. However, for some reason, this year, I created four entirely separate memoirs. I don’t know why but I felt the urge to write, to make up for all the years of sad small moments. I have linked my first memoir, second memoir and third memoir here. Each time I felt that I needed to start over until I finally settled on this one. It was painful and slow because each memoir was from 1,600 to 2,100 words! This story was essentially to be about fear, though I changed it to bravery.
I was not inspired. I just felt it was the strongest characteristic trait you can have. Some people say love or kindness is the strongest, but they are all wrong! This might sound silly, but if you don’t have the courage to love someone, even if they are off limits, how can you love at all? If you don’t have the courage to be kind to someone who is a nobody or something like that, how can you call that kindness? Fairness and equality both need people to stand up against unfairness or inequality. Standing up to something takes bravery, and if you can’t, how is that fair or equal. These are all important characteristics, but surely bravery is the strongest.
The one thing I was really proud about was that when I thought I had finished my memoir, before I had changed from fear to bravery, my memoir was only a page and a bit. Conciseness was, and still is, a huge problem for me. I would write three pages jam packed with words. I actually had Mr. Buxton in fifth grade, and he, my parents, and I had all agreed to make that my goal at student lead conferences. However, if you look at it now, I have over 2,000 in my writing, and that was after I had deleted half of my original story! Actually, my Hurricane experience happened over spring break, just a week before the due date of October 31. Monday, as I was looking at it, I decided I didn’t like it and changed it all to what you see right now.
One thing I can do better, is to keep it concise. That would mean following the lecture Derek is giving me now and end it now. I feel like if I can keep it concise, I can really make it count. Thank you.
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