Faster Towards Ecstasy

I shut my eyes and breathed in the sticky sweet smells of hot ice cream waffles and freshly cooked mini donuts. 

When I opened them again we were starting to move. The lights of the midway twinkled and then streaked past as we picked up speed. A strand of hair blew into my face and I beamed in anticipation. 

I got all five of us ride passes on a whim this year. I had a coupon code and an inkling I might not get many more chances. Even though the kids haven’t needed us on the rides with them for years. Even though my thrill-seeking days are over.

The Polar Express was picking up speed now and a voice called out, “Do you want to go FASTER?!?” Axl Rose’s falsetto in Paradise City was cranked up louder until we hit the fever pitch of a siren screaming out as we were whipped backwards and around so fast that tears of joy snaked down my face. I was laughing as the centrifugal force pressed one of my daughters into her brother and my other daughter into her father in the cars ahead of me.

I mouthed a prayer of fervent gratitude for this moment. I may even have spoken it out loud, the words instantly absorbed into the energy of the midway.  

I don’t have answers to the mysteries of our world. But I can feel how moments like these transcend our everyday existence. The magic of life and the fierceness of love hitting just right so that we get to experience something divine right here on earth.

The ride slowed down and then lurched to a stop, and we staggered down the rickety steps to see what was next. 

We were skipping the long lines, waiting for the Sunday evening crowd to thin out as the night went on. 

That’s when the rain started, light at first and then steady and holding. That rain flushed out the last of the crowds and closed down some rides. But we held on, darting from ride to ride getting ever wetter until it didn’t matter any more.  

There was the face-sucking trip of the Gravitron’s space-age dance party, the exhilarating freedom of the swings and the stomach-churning thrill of the pirate ship ride. There were fun houses and Ferris wheels and Polar Express copy-cat rides. The Tilt-a-Whirl, the Euro Slide, the Scrambler.

And then—of course—the Polar Express again. And again.

We always like to save the iconic ice cream waffle for the end of the night, just before the midway shuts down. We like to find a seat near the edge of the strip of games and revel in how something so simple can be so good. The soft, still-warm waffles sandwiching cold vanilla ice cream is utter perfection.

But this year the Conklin booth shut down early because of the rain. So we found another place selling ice cream cones instead and said that’s too bad but it’s ok.

Next time, we said.

As we walked toward the Prince’s (“princess”, we always say) Gate with three nearly grown kids on the cusps of their own adventures, I wasn’t thinking about what next time may or may not bring.

I held onto the gift that was that very moment and every moment like it that has come before. Riding high on my own dad’s shoulders, traipsing along with a group of friends, pushing strollers, and hoisting sleepy heads into my arms. 

A lifetime of summers ending in just this most perfect way.