Life's Golden Ticket (14 page)

“Worry about what?” Linda asked.

“I know the money would be good, but I worry he wouldn't like it. I want him to be happy.”

“Oh, hon, he's a big boy. He's not going to take a job he doesn't like. He's a smart guy and can do anything he wants. I'm sure he's excited about this job because it'll really set you two up to have a good life together. Like I said: a house, some kids, stability.”

“Yeah, but what's all that if he's not happy? I don't want him coming home from work every day miserable like Dad used to. Remember? Remember how miserable Dad was at the bank? Remember how happy he was when he started his own business? I just don't want my husband to ever have to go through that. I don't care if he makes a dollar.”

“Honey, I don't think he'd put himself through that,” Linda said. “I don't think he'd put
both
of you through that. Besides, you two are good communicators with each other, right? He loves you, and he would talk to you about this more if he were worried about it, right? He's obviously made his decision, and you should support him.”

Mary smiled. “I guess you're right. I should be more supportive. He'd tell me if he had doubts.”

I stopped walking alongside them and felt as if I were drowning. I looked down and kicked the sand. My heart ached.
Four years wasted. . . .

When I looked up again, Mary and her mother had disappeared.

I was on the beach alone.

I turned and started walking back down the beach. Then I heard someone in the water calling out to me.

“Honey! Honey! C'mon out and play with me!”

I looked to my left. It was Mary.

“C'mon, honey! Come out here!”

I turned around, expecting to see myself lying on a beach blanket.

“Honey-y-y,” Mary pouted, “come play!”

I pointed at myself as if to say,
Are you talking to me?

Mary laughed. “Yes, you, cutie! C'mere.”

Tears formed in my eyes. I walked into the water and waded out to her.

As I got within inches I looked at her as if she were a miracle.

“You . . . you can see me?” I asked.

“Of course,” she said, laughing. “Now, come play with me; I'm a damsel in distress.”

I reached for her, expecting my arms to pass through her body as if she were a ghost. But they didn't. I felt her. I squeezed her tight and cried uncontrollably. “Honey, oh, how I missed you.”

Mary didn't seem to notice that I was crying. She just squeezed me back and giggled playfully. She said, “Remember how much fun we used to have together? Before you took that job? Do you remember how fun life used to be? We always had fun, didn't we?”

“Yeah, honey,” I cried. “We always had fun . . . we always did.” I squeezed her as hard as I could.

Again Mary laughed as if she hadn't heard me.

“Uh-oh,” she cooed as she pulled away and kicked water at me. “I'm drowning. Will you come save me, you big, strong man?” She smiled and dunked herself under the water.

I laughed and swam toward her. I could see her underwater, smiling up at me.

I took a breath and submerged.

Everything went black again.

I
awoke lying on my stomach on the deck surrounding the bumper-boat pool. I coughed up some water and rolled onto my back, sucking in air. I was soaking wet and cold. I heard the muffled sounds of men arguing. I shook the water out of my ears.

Across the pool, Squirt and a tall man with big arms and a bulging belly were screaming at each other. Squirt's clothes were still dripping. The big guy hollered and pointed furiously to the exit steps. Squirt bowed his head and walked down them. A few seconds later a wave of kids came up onto the platform and hopped into the boats. They looked at me angrily, as if I had delayed their ride.

The tall man walked toward me so fast that the tools hanging from his tool belt clanged together. I tried to get up, but my body felt exhausted.

He knelt beside me. “You okay?”

“Yeah. What happened?”

The man pursed his lips and glared at Squirt, who was now on the other side of the pool, unmooring the boats. “Ah, you were just a
victim of Squirt's short-man complex. Let's get you up and get you dried off before you catch cold.”

He offered his hand to help me up. I looked at him hesitantly.

“It's okay. You can trust me. Henry asked me to meet up with you. They call me Crank.” He offered his hand again, and I noticed the grease under his fingernails.

He helped me to my feet. I felt dizzy and had to put my arm around him to keep from falling back to the ground.

“Go ahead, lean on me,” he said.

We walked slowly to the exit and started down the stairs.

“Hey, Spinner!” Squirt called from behind me.

I turned, and Squirt threw me a towel. “Now you know what I was sayin'. You gave up on doing what you wanted because you assumed there would be too many waves. Then you sat spinning and blocked both you and Mary from your goal: a good life together.” He smiled smugly, then turned and untied another boat.

C
rank and I sat at the base of the Cyclone. The carts roared past, circling the single-loop track over and over again. The circular metal frame of the ride vibrated and rattled noisily.

“I've been maintaining this ride for a long time,” Crank said, gazing at the speeding carts. “I've never understood why people love it so much. They get in the coaster carts, and the carts back halfway up the circle, fall forward, and make it halfway up the other side, fall backwards with more momentum up the other side, then fall forward again, this time with just enough momentum to make it to the top of the loop. The carts sit at the top for a few seconds, then fall back down the loop, then up, then over the hump, then back down. The cycle continues over and over again until people feel numb or queasy. They just can't get enough of it. . . . I don't get it.”

We watched in silence until the ride came to an end.

Crank stood up. “Maybe you can explain it to me.”

He hopped off the base of the ride and walked over to the operator. He pointed at me and then at the ride. The operator pointed to the
line of kids waiting their turn. They spoke a minute more, and the operator nodded. Then he turned to the kids waiting in line and said something. They booed him as he hung a sign:
RIDE TEMPORARILY CLOSED FOR MAINTENANCE
.

Crank walked back toward me with a grin.

“What's going on?” I asked.

“Are your clothes still wet?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

His grin widened. “Get ready to be blow-dried.”

I
climbed into the front cart, and Crank lowered the safety bar and cage over me.

“Now, I just want you to enjoy the ride. No tricks here. You'll get dry, and I'll get my information. Pay attention to what you feel. I want you to describe it to me later. Ready?”

“Yeah.”

Crank turned toward the operator and waved his hand in a circle. “Giddyap!” he said.

The operator pushed a button, and I heard a buzzing noise below. The ride started backing up, and I sensed the carts behind me climbing up the right side of the loop. I had just begun to feel the pull of gravity when there was another buzz; then the carts plummeted forward. I went back and forth several more times until I was poised about halfway up the right side of the loop, looking down toward its base. The carts let loose, and I felt the wind rush in my face. The ride surged upward and slowed just as it reached the top of the loop. I was upside down, weightless, the safety bar holding me in place. Blood rushed to my head. Then the ride dropped down the other side, then back up, then over the hump, where I was upside down, then back down the other side. The first few loops made me feel energized as I felt the pull of gravity and the fear of falling and the wind against my face and the surge of momentum. The ride went on for several minutes. Up one side, over the hump upside down, then back down the other side. Up, over, down. Up, over, down.
Then suddenly, the energy turned into numbness. Then queasiness. Then numbness again. Up, over, down.

Finally, the ride slowed, and I heard the sound of brakes. The ride was over.

Crank lifted the safety cage. I could barely stand. He chuckled and helped me out.

F
or several minutes I paced back and forth across the walkway from the ride, just trying to get my bearings back. Crank walked with me, saying nothing but chuckling to himself every time the ride looped and the kids on board squealed with delight. He kept looking at me expectantly.

“I don't know what to tell you, Crank,” I said. “Why
do
people like that ride? I don't know—I hated it.”

He let out a hearty laugh. “Me too! Why'd you hate it?”

I told him about the numbness and queasiness.

“Yeah. That'll make for a miserable experience.” He paused and motioned for us to sit on a nearby bench. When we sat, he looked at me in a way that said it was time to get serious. “Shouldn't be a big problem for you, though. Henry said you were used to being on a miserable ride.”

I pretended I hadn't heard the comment. “So . . . where is Henry?”

Crank watched the carts loop around the top. “He's looking into some things. Handling some business. Shouldn't be long.” He gave me a reassuring look. “Henry told me about you and updated me on your situation. Thought it would be good for us to talk.”

I felt embarrassment. “What did he tell you about me?”

Crank shrugged. “Everything. Nothing. Enough so that I might be able to help you. I'm pretty good in these matters.”

“What matters?”

“The matters you're facing. The reason you're so off track in life right now.”

“What reason is that?”

Crank pointed to the Cyclone. “You're stuck in a negative cycle. You haven't been able to break free. It's making you numb and queasy.”

I blinked in confusion. “I'm sorry, I'm not following. What are we talking about here? What cycle?”

Crank looked at me as if I should know. “The cycle of silence.”

“Silence?” I asked.

“That's it.” Crank nodded authoritatively. “The cycle of silence. It has more to do with your present than your past, that's for sure.
Silence.
It's a cycle, a patterned behavior . . . a loop-de-loop of suffering. And you're stuck in it, bad. Since I'm the mechanic for this ride,” he said, motioning to the carts whirring around the loop, “Henry thought I could help you. Is it okay if we talk?”

I nodded.

“You know, there are a lot of ways to explain this to you. I'm not as good as Henry or some of the other guides you've met, so you'll have to forgive me.”

“Other guides?”

Crank looked at me again as if I should understand what he was saying. “Yeah, the other guides. The people you've met here in the park. The wizard, Harsh, Gus, Willie, Squirt, me. We all have something to teach; we're all here to help. It might not always seem that way,” he said, nodding toward the bumper boats, “but we're here to help.”

I looked at the bumper-boat pool. “Yeah. Squirt wasn't exactly the counselor type.”

Crank frowned. “I know. Believe me, I gave him hell for what he did. See, we can all teach you in any way we think will be effective. A lot of these new guys are rough, though. Henry is going to be pissed. There's just two rules we don't break, and Squirt took it too far.”

“Two rules?” I asked.

“We don't kill you, and we don't kill love in your life. That's it. Squirt nearly drowned you to get a point across. Henry will think he went too far. I guess Henry and I are from simpler times. We'd both rather talk it through.”

Crank shook his head as if he had revealed too much. “Back to you. Let's talk about your cycle and how to break it. Do you know what I mean when I talk about the cycle of silence?”

I thought about Mary and Linda talking on the beach. “You mean that I didn't talk to Mary about my doubts?”

“That's an example. But it goes beyond that. Let me ask you some quick questions. Did you ever tell anyone about your dad hitting you?”

A dark feeling stirred in my gut. “No.”

“Did you ever talk to anyone about your grandpa's death?”

“Uh, no.”

“Did you ever talk to anyone about being laid off?”

“Not really.”

“Did you ever express your doubts to Mary about taking the new job?”

“No.”

“Did you ever tell your co-workers at your new job about your innovative product ideas?”

“No.”

“Did you ever talk to anyone about Mary's leaving?”

I shook my head.

“Well, now you have a better idea of what I'm talking about. It's a cycle of silence. You've lived your whole life holding in your feelings, your thoughts, your concerns, your dreams, your nightmares. You're looping the same old story: ‘I don't want to impose my world on anyone. . . . I don't want to be a pest.'

“Here's the truth. If you stay in this cycle, if you don't start telling the world how you feel and what you want, then you'll be forever stuck on the same life track you're on now—a track that makes you feel numb and queasy. And the only way to break the cycle is to understand how it began in the first place and then slow it down and stop it.”

“I'm not sure I know how to do that.”

Crank smiled. “That's why I'm here. I'm the mechanic. I'm here to get you on track. Let me talk shop with you for a second, and I think I
can help you. You remember the ride?” he said, pointing again to the Cyclone. “Well, let me tell you how it works. It's all about momentum. A jolt of energy gets the carts moving—that's the buzzing you heard—then momentum takes it from there. The carts go around the track because of bursts of energy, momentum, and the path of least resistance. You get something moving on the path of least resistance, and it will go forever.”

Crank looked at me intently. “Do you know what the energy source was that started your cycle of silence?”

“My dad.”

“The abuse?” he asked.