by Amy Piers
“Where should we go first?” she wonders, and I show her the list.
“It’s not in order,” I tell her, and we take a look at the map. Zoe says we should do the Under Sea Adventure first because it’s closest. We can even see it from where we are standing, and I want to run there, but I walk. Also, I am connected to Zoe like a dog and a human, and I get to be the dog, which is very fun.
The line is a little bit long, and Zoe pulls a granola bar out of her backpack for me. We eat a little picnic in line, and before too much longer, we are getting in the ride. It’s like a fake submarine, and there are no seatbelts. I don’t think I have ever been on a ride before, at least I can never remember, especially if it was before I was three. Nobody remembers baby memories, but I do remember Grey. He liked under the sea things; that’s why his bed sheets were blue like water. He had some goldfish, too, but they went down the toilet after he died at the pool.
[I see you.]
I really hyped up this ride for Dallas, and I’m glad we are doing it first. We’re completely enclosed in a fake submarine, so he can’t possibly run away, meaning less stress for all involved. I let the leash fall to the ground as we pile into the submarine, and just like that, he’s free. The cabin smells like diapers and kid farts, as well-meaning moms and dads speak condescendingly to their toddlers. If I had a dollar for every time, someone said, “Fishy!” I’d have enough money to buy an overpriced funnel cake. Jeez, I forgot that this ride was for babies and their stupid baby-talking parents. Kill me now.
Dallas is glued to the window, completely enamored by the fish swimming by. Some are real, some are fake, and I’m not sure he knows the difference. With his toothless grin and button nose pressed against the glass, I see this sweet, introspective boy enthralled by a baby ride. I see a wounded kindergartner experiencing the moments he missed as a preschooler. I see the gaps in his development closing like doors on a bullet train, zooming off into a new season. I suddenly feel embarrassed about the leash on his belt buckle. The parents on this ride must think I’m the worst.
[I see red.]
The clownfish was Grey’s best fish because he liked the movie with a clownfish family. He had a stuffed toy of a clownfish that he cuddled when he went to sleep. I see a hundred of them on this submarine adventure, and also a shark! The shark is smiling, and he looks like a cartoon, but most fish look like real in an aquarium. But this isn’t an aquarium; this is actually under the sea.
I am almost seven; I would know.
[I see you.]
When the submarine door opens at the end of the ride, I subtly pick up the leash and lead Dallas through the gift shop and outside. He hasn’t stopped smiling this whole time, and he even kept his agreement not to ask for toys. He wants to ride the submarine again, and I remind him that there are dozens of other rides here. We take another look at his list and choose the Rollercoaster Rex.
I’m a little concerned that we’ve gone from a baby ride to big kid ride, so we’ll see what he thinks once we see the coaster in person—plus—he’ll need to be tall enough to ride. There’s a giant fiberglass T-Rex reigning over a mildly scary rollercoaster, and frankly, I think the dinosaur gimmick might be the scariest part. The ride is fast, though—the kind where passengers legs dangle as they zip through an outdoor zigzag of sorts. Dallas’s face lights up even more, and I remember that I’ve never seen this child afraid of anything in his life—except maybe Jacob. He speeds up, pulling like a dog on a leash. (I’m getting some disapproving stares.)
[I see red.]
T-Rex looks really real, and it freaks me out for a second, but I can’t let my face know to look scared. I get measured to make sure I can ride safely, and I am zero inches bigger than I need to be. I didn’t tell anyone, but I standed on my toes for measuring, because I hate being little for my age. Zoe and I wait in line for fifteen minutes, and we play the hat game, and this is how you play:
Say a name of a kind of hat (e.g. Police hat, baseball hat, helmet, etc.)
Take turns and don’t repeat the same hat two times.
When it’s our turn, Zoe helps me onto the seat because my legs are a bit short for a six-year-old who is almost seven. She does the harness for me, checking it a hundred times so that I don’t fall off. She tucks the dog leash behind my butt and sits in the seat beside me. The people who work there check to make sure we don’t fall out, and I put my hand out for Zoe to hold. The people who work there tell me that I have to keep my hands to my own self, so they don’t get cut off. I listen to them because I want both of my hands forever.
It starts moving faster than I have ever been, and I feel like my face is melting off. The breeze in my hair is better than when cars rush by on the road. My body feels like I’m flying, and I wonder if we can go, just for a second, up to heaven to tell Grey about this. He would love everything about today.
[I see you.]
The ride slows down as I feel my hair fall completely on my face. Dallas is beaming, cheering like he’s at a football game. We come to a stop, as the staff member opens Dallas’s harness before mine. He jumps down while I’m still stuck in the seat—I immediately expect him to bolt, but instead I watch him wait patiently for me. He doesn’t even try to walk away, he just waits. I guess I have been overreacting a little today.
I take Dallas to get lunch and unclip the leash. I think we have well and truly gone beyond leash territory—especially since there’s a lanyard and GPS locator as backup. He chooses a hot dog with fries, and I eat the same so we can match. Today seems like an appropriate day for me to make peace with a hot dog, like a confident declaration that everything is going to be OK. Jeez, it’s been friggin’ years since I’ve eaten processed crap like this, and it lures me with its strange brand of deliciousness (I think it’s called MSG). After lunch, we take a break, and I let him use my phone to play a few games—after all, we don’t want to see our hot dogs again on the next ride.
While he plays games, I take a moment to look at the map and plan our next moves. The two remaining items on his list are Extreme Space and Log Nation. Extreme Space is closer to where we are now, but I’m not sure it’s a good idea straight after lunch. If we walk the other way, we can visit a petting zoo, then head to Log Nation.
#
We made our way through the petting zoo, with the goats being Dallas’s clear favorite animal of the day. He said they reminded him of Ramsay, and we took a bunch of photos together. He walked beside me the whole time, so I started to feel a little embarrassed that we’d begun the day on a leash.
Arriving at the Log Nation, we’re happy to realize that the line is almost non-existent. This ride is a childhood classic—one of those water amusements, where you float through different scenes inside a fake log. At the end there’s a drop and everyone gets soaked—and that’s the very moment they take a photo. When I was a kid, I loved to pretend that Log Nation was real. We were really in the Wild West, spectating from a log boat. We were really part of finding the outlaws and making the world a better place.
I hope Dallas likes it just as much.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Log Nation
[I see red.]
We get into this log that has been carved in the middle to become seats. I am sitting in front of Zoe, and there are no seatbelts like the Rollercoaster Rex. We start to float like the log is actually a boat, going into a scary, wet cave which I didn’t expect. It’s super dark in here.
“How are you doing with the dark, Buddy?” Zoe whispers from behind.
“I’m OK,” I say, which is kind of lying because I feel scared.
“You can hold my hand if you need to,” she says.
“I can do it. Let me do it by myself,” I tell her because I’m almost seven.
We float into this room, and BAM! There; that lightning and thunder! I let out a little scream, and Zoe lets me hold her hand. It’s raining, but we aren’t getting wet in the logs. A man with a big mustache comes out and explains that he’s looking for a ra
bbit who stole some gold. He has a long gun called a rifle, and I am super nervous that he might use it like Jacob said he was going to use his gun on me if I didn’t become a good boy. He didn’t have a gun, at least I never saw him have a gun, and he told me not to tell my Mom he said that. I never told her, even though I wanted to, just in case he shot me. I want to get off the ride, but I can’t tell Zoe or she’ll think that I’m a baby. I throw her hand away.
“Are you OK, Bud?” Zoe questions. “I’m sorry, I didn’t remember it being scary like this when I was a kid. It’ll be over soon—you’re going to love the ending.”
“Don’t touch me,” I grumble, “I’m almost seven, and I can do this by my own self.”
We keep floating, and now we are in a room that is very bright. Phew! I can see everything, and this nice bunny is hiding from the man with the gun. The bunny land is so colorful, and everyone is happy in this place, so I want to stay a while. I’m OK, and I’m not scared anymore. We float a little longer, into a darker room that the bunny ran inside. He’s a thief, which means a stealer.
“Rats! He’s back!” the bunny says, with his words not matching how his mouth moves. He's a bit like a robot. The bunny jumps into the river to hide from the man with a gun, and his body goes totally under the water. My heart is beating extra fast because maybe the bunny doesn’t know how to swim? All the other kids in the logs are laughing and yelling, “He’s in the water!” I’m not yelling; I’m only worried the bunny can’t swim. If he can’t swim, and we keep floating in this log, he might stay under the water. I keep thinking about this, as we sail into another super dark area.
Bunny is totally under the water in here, and his ears are poking up above the surface like a submarine’s periscope. The kids in other logs are laughing at him, telling the gun guy where to find him because he’s a thief. I don’t care that he stole something, I care that he can’t swim. It’s completely dark now, so I climb out onto the huge, slimy rocks beside the water. I have to help the bunny, or he’ll be dead like Grey.
[I see you.]
It’s pitch black right now, and I’m a little worried about how Dallas is handling this ride. He seems tense, but I am trying not to touch him since he asked for some space. There’s something beautifully relaxing about floating along a river in the dark, so I enjoy the weightless sensation of buoyancy, coupled with momentary blindness. I revel in the part of the ride where you can only hear the characters, where you get to imagine the hilariously cartoony situation when the gold thief is finally put in jail. From memory, it stays dark for a while, then comes the drop.
“Get ready for the drop, buddy! We’re gonna get so wet!” I laugh, trying to warn him. Dallas is going to lose his mind when he experiences the freefall—food for his sweet, daredevil soul. I can’t wait to see the picture at the end! As the daylight emerges at the end of the tunnel, I feel my heart skip a beat. The blood drains from my face. The seat in front of me is empty, and I have no idea where the hell Dallas has gone. The moment is caught in suspension: frozen and hanging in the air, waiting for me to solve the problem. I can’t look at my phone because it will be ruined by the splash as we drop. If my phone dies, I can’t see where he is on the GPS, and now I realize, that stupid dog “watch” just paid for itself. I try to call for help, but nobody hears—my screams join a chorus of everyone else in this God-forsaken amusement park.
The log pauses on the precipice, taunting me with the undeniable reality of my situation. Dallas could be in any of these one hundred and thirty five acres of land if he hasn’t found the gates to the parking lot yet. The mechanism releases, as I fall alone and terrified: screaming with everything that is within me.
[I see red.]
It is hard to find my way back to the bunny in the dark, but I am not letting him get away from me. He can run from the hunter, but he won’t run from me. I am the winner: I will save him from the water, and I will save him from all the kids laughing at him. I want to tell the bunny that kids laughed at me too, and one time I punched a kid in the face for doing that. His tooth came out, and he had to go to the dentist with a lot of blood in his mouth. I was never allowed back at that preschool ever again.
The bunny can’t die today. I will find him, I will rescue him from the water and I will keep him safe until his Mommy comes and hugs him tight. His Daddy will stay at the house, and they will still be a family tomorrow. That is how it works when you’re a winner—winners save the day.
[I see you.]
I jump over the line partitions, sprinting back to the staff piling people into logs.
“Help me!” I scream. “Help! I lost a six-year-old boy in the ride. He was right there, and then—”
The pimple-faced ride attendant interrupts me, “Where did you lose him?”
I fumble through my bag for my phone, opening the GPS app. A geotagged dot pulsates at a point inside Log Nation. I hand the phone to the attendant.
“He’s wearing a GPS tracker,” I confidently report, knowing that I’m more prepared than most people faced with this situation.
The attendant grimaces sympathetically, “Ma’am, with all due respect, we’ve never had this happen before.”
Shit. You mean I am the first person in the history of Discovery Country who has lost their kid on the inside of a ride? You mean to say, since 1982, nobody’s child has ever climbed out of a ride in the dark and ran away into oblivion? Dallas, you win this time. I’ll make you a trophy, I’ll give you a medal, I’ll bake you a cake—just come back to me.
“I need you to stop wasting time, and start finding my child,” I assert, zooming in on the real-time geotag. The dot doesn’t seem to be moving, and I’m concerned that we’ve lost connection. “Please!”
“I’ve got to be honest, that’s not a very accurate location. I mean, there are multiple levels in Log Nation. You see above and below, but there’s underground and ladders everywhere,” he mumbles. An older staff member steps up to the plate, overhearing the tail-end of the conversation.
“We have a 920C inside Log Nation. Code two—I repeat—Code two,” he calmly announces through his walkie-talkie. “Ma’am, I assure you, we’ll find your child as soon as possible.”
Three extra staff members run to Log Nation, and the older attendant directs them to the places that may match the GPS.
“We need a description of the child—do you have a photo?” he requests.
As I find the picture, I mumble, “He’s six and a half, sand colored hair—longer on top, he’s wearing cargo shorts, a black t-shirt… OK, here’s a photo of him from this morning.”
Staff members run off into the distance. I stare at the wall, praying that God will protect Dallas again this time. I think of everything that could hurt him—the mechanics, the pyrotechnics, the water…
What if he drowned?
[I see red.]
I find the bunny with his ears sticking out of the water. He hasn’t come up for breath yet, and I am really worried that I’ve found him too late. I jump into the water—even though it’s dark, even though it’s scary, I have to make sure he breathes. I always have a plan, and today I need to do what I couldn’t do with Grey, which means today I will save a life. I will pull him to safety, I will put the breath back inside of him, and I will stop him from leaving to heaven.
The water is cold, cold cold, and smells like a pool. I put my arms around the bunny, so I can try to get him out—but he’s too heavy. He’s bigger than I thought, and I’m really scared I won’t be strong enough to get him to safety. I feel his ears and head, but below, where I expect him to have a body—he just has a stick. The plan suddenly falls apart, because he’s supposed to be real. If he’s not a whole bunny, can I still save him? I’m scared to death, and I scream as loud as I can go.
A log is coming, with a Mom and two kids inside. They are pointing and laughing at the bunny, yelling, “HERE HE IS! CATCH HIM!” but I won’t let him be a loser. I jump out of the water and onto the rocky land, where I pick up a fake
rock and throw it at the kids. They didn’t see that coming! The stupid lady screams for help so loudly, about a hundred times, and nobody helps her at all.
See? Losers don’t get help. Who’s the loser now?
[I see you.]
The attendant’s walkie talkie amplifies an almost incoherent mumble, “...920C Found, ahh…. we also have a 240...same guy…”
“What do those codes mean?” I plead, the younger attendant looks awkwardly at, the older staff member. “Please! You have to tell me what’s going on!”
“We’ve reported a lost child, asking staff to look for him ASAP,” the older attendant volunteers with hesitation. “But, your child’s just been reported for assaulting passengers inside the ride. We’re not 100% on details, but it appears he’s been throwing rocks at people and messing with the animatronics.”
Taking Dallas on this ride was the most ridiculous idea I’ve ever had. No—actually—bringing Dallas to a theme park was the most ridiculous idea I’ve ever had. I want to crawl into a hole and die—please Lord, let the Earth swallow me. Take me home on wings like eagles. If I start running now, I can start my life over in some place new. I’ll lay low, assume a new identity, marry a bricklayer from the suburbs and spend my days making meals in a crockpot. I swear I’ll never leave the house—and God knows—I won’t have children because I’m really shitty at taking care of them. I’ll live a quiet, simple life if I start running now and don’t stop until Mexico.
The walkie talkie mumbles again, “10-97…. 920C found….ah, there’s no code for this.”
The older attendant walks away to a more private location, and I overhear only two words—run and ladder. I look at my app, and the pulsating GPS dot is moving again. The younger attendant urgently runs to the front of the ride, while oblivious passengers queue for Nightmare Nation. He places a hand on his forehead, shading his eyes from the sun. He looks atop the gigantic barn-like structure that houses the water ride, and runs back to his supervisor.