Face That Fear

I walked alongside him, hands in my pockets, as he shared some insight into a President's responsibilities. "Completely not for me," he laughed, and I smiled back at him, trying not to betray the race of my heart. Ahead of us loomed the dark shadow of a rocky mountain, the echoes of thrill-seekers' screams and the sandpaper-scrape of plastic against concrete. I straightened my shoulders, taking in a deep breath against this impending doom, an age-old nemesis. And then there it was, a fuzzy picture in the dark night light only by the muddy yellow of street lamps.

The Alpine Slide.

J turned back to where I had stopped dead in my tracks, a questioning smile on his lips waiting for an explanation. "Um," I started with a smile, "the, um, the last time I did this, the last time I was here, I was seven." He nodded. "And, well, I cried. Sobbed, actually. The entire way down." His smile, though still there, turned instantly sympathetic. "Oh, Liz. C'mon, we don't have to do this. We really don't have to do this." I raised and eyebrow, knowing too well that he as all for the challenge the mountain held, ready to assure him that I'd do it, no matter what, but my assurance was cut short. Turns out we didn't have to do it at all, because by then an entirely new terror had been offered us.

The Alpine Coaster.

We'd followed the rest of the group to the ticket counter, where a bored-looking ticket girl was explaining to Parker the difference between the two tracks running down the mountain. "With the Slide, of course, you run the risk of flying off the track at the turns--" I looked to J with a triumphant grin "--whereas with the Coaster*, you reach even faster speeds but are on a track so don't fall out." (Good. Great. Faster?) "You have completely control of the brakes on the Slide, however, which you don't have with the Coaster." Parker turned to the group. "Yay? Nay? Slide, Coaster, both? What d'you say?" J curled an arm around me, drawing me close. "You really, really don't have to do this."

I'm . . . cautious, to sat the least. Nineteen years with a Doctor Dad will do that to you, I guess; those last minute safety reminders as you run out the door, dinner table conversations about the latest ER adventures, etc. Speed, heights, any potentially fatal activity and I'm hardly functioning at the thought of it. Yet in spite of all my fears being rolled into one and waiting patiently right ahead of me, some internal bravado pushed me to action.

"I'm going to do it," I declared as I turned back to face him.

"Liz, really. I am not making you do this." J watched me as I swallowed slowly.

"No. This is good. Facing fears. You know, Beach Games, coal walk." I looked at him with a teasing smile. "Let's do this."

And we did.

You guys! This "coaster" is anything buy---at speeds past 45 miles per hour, the verb "coast" isn't entirely accurate. I stepped into the sled tentatively, strapping the seat belt across my lap as J settled in behind me. "The brakes are to be used only twice the entire ride," an instructor said ahead of us. "You should have them down right now, until you reach the top departure point, and then again once you pass the red ribbons at the finish. Please do NOT use the brakes at any time during your descent." My stomach somersaulted as I turned my head around to J's laughing eyes. "I might hate you, " I muttered as the starting line grew nearer. The towrope jerked the sled into action, snapping my head back to the front and the track winding into the dark.

To Be Continued . . . (License to Wed calls)

*do not be fooled by these happy faces and smiling children. The Terror is yet to come.