Melora Griffis

The Comet  is a roller coaster at Crystal Beach situated directly next to the Lake Erie shoreline.  She is JUST tall enough to pass the height test - a horizontal red line on a sign - to be permitted to go on the dangerous ride.  Sets of cars with ten two seaters connect like a train taking turns zipping around the windy wooden tracks.  The amusement park workers guide her to quickly sit in one of the bucket seats - the first car the most coveted - before the cars take off without her.  A bar quickly comes down locking over her lap.  The cars make a loud rickety sound taking off from the loading station turning corners fast to arrive at the base of the initial interminable club - the most petrifying ascent of the coaster's hurl.  Thrown back in her seat, a view of the cast lake below is over her right shoulder- a body of water she swims in several times a day- yet from this elevated perspective, the white surf looms threatening- as if the tide might swallow the rollercoaster and her with it.  If she flew out or the string of cars derailed it would be a harrowing fall from this bird world altitude.  As the box cars go up and up the extraordinarily steep ramp the pace becomes sluggish, creeping even, evident in the decelerated rhythm of the clang and click of metal on wood.  The labored sound accentuates her anxiety of what is to come.  Hovering at the apex, all the fear feathers in her body are at full fluff- screaming, moaning, horror faced- she holds the bar tight with her two hands and braces for the inevitable terror as the heavy metal fun-chariot drops with a vengeance.  Her hips lift off the seat with the strength of the impact and she screams from her core- a full tilt, against the law, talented shriek.  She is exhilarated with primordial wonder at the force of gravity lifting her up and dangerously out.  The fierce comet takes her as it picks up speed.  Wind whips her long hair, eyes wide, tears flick back into the lake, her body is thrown left and right.  Moving bracingly fast like cooked spaghetti gone wild she is completely surrendered to the wicked turns, surprise dips and tilts, squealing and laughing the whole way as if on cue until all of a sudden the cars are shot back with abrupt violence into the covered loading zone where she boarded.  In a state of glee- loose limbed, alive, giddy, drunk on adrenaline- she disembarks.  Demonstrating prowess she glances over at the anticipatory victims waiting in line- brave and done, she saw the show.  A second ride might be in order if it didn't cost so many tickets.

-Melora Griffis, July 2021