A Longer Ride

We went to the beach for my birthday. It’s a family tradition, where we go through the same well-worn steps, year after year. We almost didn’t go because of poor air quality, but the numbers looked okay when we woke up, so we set out for reading on the sand, French fries for lunch, and carnival rides to cap the day.

Over the years, we’ve narrowed it down to two rides. The first is the Haunted Mansion, which is a low-budget version… a much much lower-budget version… of the Disney ride. I love it, mainly because it hasn’t changed since I was a little kid. There’s a point where the vehicle takes you outside to a balcony overlooking the teacup ride. I always think about when my father got the operator to stop the ride when I got scared, and he ran on as it slowed down and scooped me out of the teacup where I was screaming. And then there are years of memories in the park with the twins. Squeezing into the children’s Ferris wheel with them, the mermaid boat ride, and too much money wasted on the horse-race-water-squirting game. Eras pass before my eyes every time the wooden ride doors open, and you jerk onto the balcony for five seconds before you disappear inside again.

The other ride we always go on is the carousel. We’ve had different riding formations over the years, but I usually get an outside horse. If possible, a dark brown one. The twins took two horses right behind us.

Round and round, the park spinning by. There is the helicopter ride — the first big kid ride the twins went on without us. And the swings that the ChickieNob wanted to ride non-stop when she was little. And the bumper cars that the Wolvog measured himself against the sign each year, waiting for the time he could drive in the car with us. Waiting for the time he could operate the car without us.

And then, like always, the ride started slowing down. And I started sobbing. We slowly spun by one man with a look of horror on his face at the masked, grey-haired woman sobbing on the merry-go-round. But I didn’t want the ride to end. I never want the ride to end; I always hope something will happen and we’ll get an extra long turn. But it never does. Two minutes is what you get. Eighteen years is what you get. Management doesn’t accept requests for extra time, even from crying women.

I think one of the reasons I love the Magicians trilogy so much is that Lev Grossman clearly shares my feeling that the worst part of adventure books like the Chronicles of Narnia is the time when the adventure comes to an end, and the children are booted from the magical land a la Alice in Wonderland. I’ve loved this adventure so much. It hurts my heart to feel it slowing down, knowing that we’ll be asked soon to give up our space and make room for the next riders.