Short Story // Emotional Rollercoaster (2011)

By M. Wobrak

Originally published in AEONS Literary Magazine, Norwin High School (2011)

Content Warning: Mention of suicide / themes of mental illness

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The amusement park gates jut from the ground like monstrous, primary-colored stalagmites. Frightening faces of clowns glare down at me from their place on a brightly-hued banner. The cheery carnival tune playing over and over again on the park’s loud speaker begins to take on a sickly, almost demented tone the longer I listen… Screams rip through the air as a rollercoaster speeds down a steep slope. It’s sickening me.

Many children would give up their allowances for a week for an opportunity to visit the amusement park. Such a thing is any normal child’s dream; spending the day riding wooden rollercoasters and eating sugary foods until they throw up, only to laugh it off and do it again. It’s very different for me. Amusement parks are simply a nightmare. They remind me of everything wrong in my life. Everything I don’t have.

A normal life. A mother. My sanity.

I’m just like my mother, I swear.

I haven’t been to an amusement park since I was nine years old, and for good reason. I’ve been haunted for the last eight years by thoughts of that experience. It’s like they’re a disease, plaguing my mind every day. Or maybe they’re more like a malevolent ghost—haunting, waiting to get revenge on some poor soul who had done him wrong in a past life.

I always knew my family was messed up. That was just the day when it all went to hell.

Shaking, I slowly approach the ticket seller with my $15 admission in hand, ready to run head on into the fearful darkness.

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Never before had it crossed my mind how my life could change in a heartbeat. After all, what did I have to worry about? I was just a nine year old boy; all I had to worry about was soccer and schoolwork, right? The worst that could happen to me was to break a leg tripping over the soccer ball (true story, it had happened before) or forget to do my math worksheet. But I loved math, and I was good at it; I wouldn’t forget. How could anything worse than that possibly happen?

The thing is, that day started just as any other day for me would, so I wasn’t expecting anything out of the ordinary. Wake up to dad screaming to get my butt out of bed, often using the more crude way to say it. Trudge downstairs after staying in bed another five minutes. Sneak a Hershey Kiss out of the pantry to eat after breakfast—never risking to take more than one for fear of getting caught by dad. I didn’t want to see what would happen with his temper. I’d spend an hour every Saturday morning reading the comics like mom used to, laughing even though I didn’t comprehend the political nature of the satire. I always wanted to be just like her, at least when she was happy.

Well, as it turns out, I’ve inherited the part I always feared I would from mom. Rather than getting the good mom genes—her wit or sarcastic sense of humor—I wound up with the same illness she had. Always going from up, to down, a little higher, then way down… Coasting at different altitudes on an emotional rollercoaster. I think that’s part of the reason why I’m so afraid of rollercoasters. They remind me too much of how I’m becoming my mother.

Really, she used to be a beautiful woman. She wasn’t always the manic depressive I knew. For much of her life, she was a moderately successful (and happy) poet and artist who really knew a lot about human psychology. Her poems and art reflected who she was—a beautiful soul, with her own share of quirks. Who knows why she ended up with my deadbeat dad, a no-nonsense laywer who was never home and had a drinking problem. They met at a Pink Floyd concert in the 70s as freshmen in college—the one thing that they actually shared a common love for. Mom was happy for awhile, but I think she always had a shadow of the illness lurking in the back of her mind. As dad drank more and more, she became unhappier and unhappier, to the point where the shadow materialized into something more, something deeper, something darker.

Reading through her leather-bound notebooks filled cover-to-cover with beautifully written poems, you can create a rough timeline of when the shadow eclipsed her mind. The earlier notebooks are full of poems telling of childhood and love, the little things in life that make it so incredibly beautiful. The later ones progressively morph into depressing things, the ramblings of a woman losing her grasp on her emotions. Dad didn’t help much either, I’ve been growing to realize…

Nine year old me had only just looked up from my comics when the hulking form of dad blocked out the light from the chandelier. “We’re going to the amusement park today,” he told me, unemotionally. ‘Stoic’ and ‘unemotional’ were generally his default attitudes.

I had looked past dad to see mom standing there with her arms crossed over her chest, her eyes puffy. Mom was out of bed; that was a good sign. She’s been in bed for at least a week. I noticed that a large red mark had appeared on her face. She tried to smile convincingly, like this was a good thing. Even nine year old me knew she was hurting. She was still down, I supposed. Maybe she hadn’t taken her medication again. She’d been that way for awhile. I thought to myself, There’s nothing to worry about. She’ll be fine as soon as she takes her meds. At least she’s out of bed.

We left as soon as I ran excitedly upstairs, throwing together a drawstring bag of essential things in record time: money for the arcade, sunscreen so I didn’t burn, and a change of clothes for the water rides. The three of us piled into dad’s old hippie van (the one he rarely took out of the house), staying silent for the entire forty-five minute ride. The silence didn’t faze me; I was practically bouncing up and down in my seat, tuning out the rest of the world in my enthusiasm.

As we pulled into the park’s parking lot, I stared, starry-eyed, at the childish wonders around me. How tall the rollercoasters were! Those bright lights! I couldn’t wait to get out of the van to see the rest of the park. Maybe, for even a short while, I could’ve been like a normal child. The tall, multi-colored pillars that stood just out front of the entrance were welcoming. They seemed to call to me, inviting me inside their great wrought-iron gates. A banner announcing “Welcome to Funland!“ in large, colorful print greeted me with a jolly-looking pair of clowns, smiling down on me. I couldn’t have been more excited for anything.

I had the time of my life going on rides, shoving handfuls of sugary sweets in my mouth, gaping at the pure amazement of the place. I had nearly forgotten about all my problems with all my fascination. Well, that’s a lie. I had completely forgotten, until mom and dad started fighting.

We were in line for the Comet Coaster, and mom was starting to get down again, depression seeping through her façade and dripping in her voice. Something snapped inside dad then. He always did have a fiery temper, but never before had I seen him so terrifyingly angry. His face looked like a tomato as he screamed at mom, making a scene in front of a line of disoriented park guests.

“I can’t put up with this rollercoaster anymore, Lillian!” Even as young as I was at the time, I knew he wasn’t referring to the Comet Coaster. I could feel my world crumbling around me with every word he spat. I began to hate anything having to do with that park. How could it be such a good thing when this was happening here? Would it happen again if we ever returned? Surely this wasn’t a place I’d care to come back to.

The rest of that day had consisted of a blur of tears, depression, and angry arguments in the car ride home. Mom was crying, dad was yelling. He had never cooled down from before. Words like “divorce” were thrown around. It’s actually pretty funny, mom seemed to be forced into her rollercoaster life partly by dad, and then there he sat in the driver’s seat, acting like he was the one suffering. How had things gone so wrong in such little time? Had it been going on all this time and I didn’t realize? Maybe that’s why mom was crying earlier…

My mind was assaulted with too much information to comprehend that night.

That’s probably a big reason why I could barely function and comprehend anything the morning after when I tramped down the stairs and saw dad sitting at the breakfast table with his head cradled in his hands facing the tabletop, elbows on the edge of the table. His shoulders were rising and falling erratically, almost like he was crying… wait, he was crying. I had never seen him cry before, and that was also the last time I ever saw him emotional in that sense. Slowly I tiptoed towards him, afraid he would be angry if he heard me. My young mind didn’t realize the severity of the situation, nor could I fathom what could possibly make my father cry. Hesitantly, I inquired, “Where’s mom?”

Without looking up from the table, dad choked out between tears, “Your mom is gone, son… She… she… she killed herself last night. I know we both loved her…” his voice trailed off, strangled by tears. He pushed a note towards me. His shoulders shook even more violently as the sobbing grew worse. I grabbed the note, stuffing it into my pocket and raced upstairs, tears welling in my eyes.

Now looking back at that, I think to myself, Yeah, sure you did, dad. Is that why you slapped her around? I didn’t know they called that “love” nowadays.

It was around then that the shadow began to manifest in my mind, dark tendrils entwining around my emotions, just as it did my mother.

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Now, eight years later, I know I have to face this on my own. After all, who do I really have in life? I wouldn’t even bother kidding myself by saying dad. He’s still too busy drinking his problems away and hitting me to actually care at all. I have no one. And this isn’t just my depression talking either. I’m up at the moment. If I was down, there’s no way I would ever be able to do what I’m doing. I wouldn’t be able to even get out of bed, let alone drive forty-five minutes in the car. Chances are dad won’t even notice it’s gone.

Maybe I should turn back now, leave while I can… No, I can’t. I can’t leave. I have to do this. I can’t spend my entire life running from my fears. That’s what mom did. Fear will not have free reign over my life as it did hers.

I may be like her in the aspect we’re both ill, but I will not follow in her footsteps here. It’s funny—I used to idolize mom when she was happy. I tried to be just like her. Well, now that couldn’t be farther down my list of desires.

I pull the note that dad pushed towards me at breakfast eight years ago out of the pocket. The one that mom wrote. I had kept it all this time. My eyes run over the short lines of graphite scrawled on the page. It is another of mom’s poems—this one doubling as her final goodbye. I fold it back up and shove it into my pocket again, determined not to allow the same fate to take me. The shadow illness will not overtake me.

Inside the park, I’m still shaking. Everything looks so different from how I remembered it. Maybe my perception has been skewed from years of fearing this place, I don’t know. I’ve made a promise to myself, however, that I will face this. I’m not going to run and hide. My shaking is beginning to subside, finally. It takes much more courage for me to walk up to the man selling the tickets to the Comet Coaster than it probably should, but at least I do it. I walk up the long pathway, until I reach the end of the line.

In some ways, I’m growing somewhat impatient. However, I still can’t get past the fact that this still terrifies me. Until I am tightly buckled into the ride, I know I’ll still feel a desire to run away. Even then, the feeling probably won’t go away. I will not run. I will not hide. I will face this.

The line gradually gets shorter, until it’s finally my turn to get on the ride. I clamber into the very front car, ready to feel something, whether it be utter fear or exhilaration. The cars begin to pull out of the station, rattling against the wooden tracks, slowing gaining speed…

And you know what? I loved it.

I feel like I am almost home; the illness’s grip is still strong, but the confidence to face dad has manifested itself as a slowly expanding light in the darkness.