19
Anastasia's butter-soaked fingers venture threateningly close to my crisp baby blue shirt as I cast her a cautionary look.
"The operator is unable to reach you right now," my call goes unanswered. I slouch back into the comforter.
Some dude thought it would be super funny to drag race along a national highway. Now it is either closed or the traffic is moving at the pace of 1 km/hr.
It's a two hours drive to Philly, with the intensity of the delay the news is reporting, it will take us a good six hours. I had already called in and gotten us a place for the night but. There is always a but.
I am not sure Anastasia can take the journey, confined to that crouched passenger's seat space.
I watched her trying her best to hide her face while she bit down her lower lip letting herself down on the wheelchair this morning.
"What's up?", she asks.
"The helpline operator did not pick up."
"Maybe they are busy averting the traffic."
"Exactly. That is what leads me to think it is pretty bad," I say, "We can stay here for one more night."
"Check out is in half an hour."
I let out a frustrated sigh, "I know! I can't make up my mind. I don't want to screw things up and get stuck in traffic for hours."
She pushes the plate of overpriced breakfast toast towards me, "Hey, we'll be fine. Let's go around Jersey and kill some hours. By evening, the scene will be a bit better."
I look down at the plate of bread breaking apart from the excess oily butter and the broken sunnyside up, "Where do we go?"
"Good for you, my friend. I did some research. Adventure Aquarium. Wheelchair accessible. Good for kids and whatever. Also has sharks."
I check my watch. 20 minutes to check out.
"Let's go," I grab the bags from the bed.
Anastasia and I give each other a slight side-eye of 'We may have fucked up' as we roll through the entrance and a kid runs straight into Anastasia. The mom strides forward in an aggressive gait but assumes an air of softness at the sight of Ana in her wheelchair.
"Oh, I'm sorry, sweetie," she apologizes.
"It's okay," she grabs her wheels and moves forward by herself.
"Keep moving," she speaks through her clenched teeth after covering some distance.
She inhales sharply at the kids shoving their hands in and beating the water with their fists at the open stingray display. She waves at a distant stingray, "Hello. Hate to remind you but Steve Irwin was a cool dude, man."
I hold the giggles in.
"I have a feeling we are going to have to find a less crowded place," I tell her.
We come to a halt before the shark tank with hammerheads swimming around. Compared to the rest of the displays, this appears empty, downright empty.
"Nature does not attract anyone's attention until it's fucking you over," Anastasia whispers.
A volunteer helps carry the wheelchair as I help Anastasia down a flight of stairs to the first row, closest we can get to the tank.
Suddenly, "Don't move!"
She produces a polaroid camera from her backpack, "Hold it right there. I love the light."
She presses the shutter, seconds later a photograph slides out. She shakes it and flings it at me.
"I did not know you brought a camera over," I ask.
"I get only twenty or forty pictures out of this. So I save it for the very best."
I turn the picture around and see she was right. The blue light flooding from the sunlight passing through the tank water casts a happy glow across the room and setting shadows along my deep relaxed jawbones and becoming one with a union with my similarly colored shirt.
I go to give it back to her. "Keep it. It's yours," she smiles. I put the picture inside the shirt's pocket.
"Is that shark trying to-"
I turn around and before she can finish her sentence, the hammerhead shark grabs a smaller stingray by the wing. A scream cuts through the air.
"Mommy, it got it!"
A crowd of kids rushes in through the narrow flight of stairs. I grab and pull Anastasia to one side.
The kids put their faces against the glass and some bang on the glass. A volunteer runs in, "Excuse me, everyone! We request you to step away from the tank!", nervous and obviously with orders to quell the chaos. His request falls into deaf ears.
The stingray struggles to get away from the shark but the shark bites into more of its wing with every wiggle.
"What a genius idea to put hammerhead's favorite prey along with the hammerhead," Anastasia snaps at the volunteer.
"We-we didn't know," the volunteer croaks out.
I feel a sadistic pride as Anastasia condescendingly shakes her head at the cock-up.
Some kid starts squealing like a pig facing slaughter, "IT'S EATING IT!"
"Yeah, animals do that," Anastasia answers that kid. I understand it is time to walk away.
I grab the volunteer's forearm, "Need your help." He nods. I pick Anastasia up as she struggles to get me to let go and the volunteer grabs her wheelchair.
The shark finally lets go of the stingray as it retreats back into the sand.
"Well, that was one solid hour," I strap her seatbelt in.
"How is it that wherever we go, something goes wrong in epic proportions?", she asks.
"That wasn't our fault," I say.
"I know! But I'm still pissed."
"Why?"
"I don't fucking know! You run a fucking zoo with animals and yet you do not know a thing about their safety," she sulks, "I just don't like it when animals get hurt for others' stupidity."
She turns away and goes quiet. I feel Rule No. 1 coming into action. I put the car in the ignition and pull out of the parking lot.
She eventually asks, "Where are we going?"
"Six Flags," I answer back.
The gargantuan amusement park is bursting at the seams with people. Maybe we weren't the only geniuses to come up with a 'Let's Kill Time' plan.
The famous EI Toro's head peaks out over the metal carnival.
On the ride to Six Flags, I convinced Anastasia to try the Big Wheel and she does not look too thrilled. She leans back, both her arms clutching the side support of our capsule, eyes squeezed shut. Her face is flushed red.
"You okay there?", I ask.
"No. I'm scared I will throw up," she squeaks out.
"It is beautiful on the top. You should look around," I say.
"Brooklyn, if I loved heights, I would have never suggested the road tri-", She tosses her head further back.
"Look at me."
She shakes her head.
"Trust me. Look at me."
"No," she says, agitated, "I let you talk me into this. If I open my eyes, I will throw up."
"If you keep thinking about it, you will. Open your eyes and look at me. You do not have to look up, you don't have to look down or around. Just straight at me."
She exhales defeatedly and takes my advice.
Her glazing eyes flutter open, the veins in her neck pop out as she holds her breath in, an attempt to keep the gag reflex under her control. Her nose flushes red.
"It's okay," I tell her.
In an act of defiance, she gingerly looks to her left. An ocean of human heads greets our line of vision as far as it stretches.
Her chest heaves as she slowly grants herself the luxury to breathe, through her parted lips.
"Do you know why it is called Six Flags?", she asks. I sense the urgency to change the topic. I shake my head.
"The first Six Flags was made in Texas. Six Flags for the six flags the state existed under. France, Spain, Mexico, the Republic of Texas, the Confederate States of America and finally, the United States. Eventually, it just became a corporate title."
"Ironic."
She raises her eyebrows, confused.
"Ironic how something that caused so much bloodshed and hatred, later on, becomes a tribute from an amusement park. Maybe on the very grounds that the blood was spilled on."
She nods, a faint smile tugging at her lips, "Yes."
"Let's go on the rollercoaster next," I say after a moment of quiet.
"What?"
"Let's ride the rollercoaster."
She laughs, "Sure. Let's fly while we're at it too."
She stops when I do not join in on her joke, "Brooklyn, you are not serious."
"I am."
"Brooklyn, I cannot fucking do it."
"How do you know that?"
"I have never done it before. And I will never be able to do it now."
"Who told you that?"
She throws her arms about, "No one needs to, you idiot! There are things you figure out when you are paralyzed."
"What if I tell you you can do it?", I say.
"Well, as much as I hate it, you'd be wrong."
"No. They strap you in and you sit. That's all. I'll help you in. I'll be by your side the whole way."
"Brooklyn," she looks away, blinking back tears, "I can't do it. There is no way I can."
"A month from now you did not start out on a road trip or ride a Ferris wheel. But here you are," I say, "Try. I will never let you get hurt. Never. Trust me and take the plunge."
Her eyes focus on the rollercoaster a couple of feet away from us.
"Ana."
She peels her eyes away to me.
"I meant it. I meant it when I said I won't ever let you get hurt."
She just nods.
She passes the upper body strength and tension requirement like it was a child's play for her.
They strap her in, "Ma'am, do you feel uncomfortable in any way?"
She shakes her head. Her pinky finger trembles. I take the seat beside her.
"Hold my hand," she begs almost, "Please."
Our fingers weave together.
"Ma'am, it is advised that you do not stiffen your neck in case of whiplash. Lay your head back."
She immediately follows the instructions.
The wheels groan under our feet. She clutches on to my hand harder. The train of cars begins on its ascent.
"Talk to me," Anastasia shouts over the screeching metal.
"About what?"
"Anything, you moron!"
The cars stop at the very peak of the climb, the screeching and grinding immediately halts. I feel the center of gravity move forward and my head gets sucked back into the headrest.
I shout over the cacophony of air beating against my ears. Anastasia joins in too.
It rolls into a spiral and slows down over a patch of the track.
The steep drop next to it tightens Anastasia's grip on my arm. The air forces tears out of my eyes and I laugh.
Anastasia screams something at me but I can hardly hear my own racing heart.
The ride gyrates to a stop. The volunteers rush in to undo the straps. I wait for my ears to finally stop ringing and look over at Anastasia, her head thrown back and chest heaving.
"Are you okay?", I shake her arm.
She erupts into a fit of laughter. She laughs and laughs until she snorts and laughs some more at that.
"Oh man. Fuck me, I'm going to be sick."
"You did it!", she finally lets go of my hand and I miss her warmth.
She moves the hair away from her face, "We did it. We did it, Brooklyn."
The setting sun lights the sky up in a red and violet vista. I insisted Anastasia lay down on the backseat until we cross over to our hotel at Philly. She has a tiny red blanket pulled up to her tear-streaked cheeks she never bothered to wipe away after our ride. The yellow headlights come alive along the highway. The traffic has relatively diluted down to a minute halt at toll booths and checkpoints.
Two and a half hours later, I catch 'Welcome to Philadelphia' in my headlights and ease into the drive.