It has been four years of loss and renewal and I am dizzy from the ride. Yesterday, I drove by a tinny carnival. It consisted of two rides in a parking lot: a Ferris Wheel and the Zipper. A couple of hawkers feebly attempted to wave people down as they drove by on the causeway. Nobody gives a shit about carnivals anymore. Life is enough of a hair-raising adventure ride. But as I sped by, I had to look back at the Zipper. It was my favorite ride as a child. It filled me with fear and delight. It tossed me upside down and made me lose all the change in my pockets. I loved the way the Zipper would suspend me so I could see what everybody else lost on the ground far below: coins, gum, wallets, ticket stubs.
Now, I ride the Zipper almost every day. I have lost my change, my home, and people I love. Yesterday, I got a phone call from the Zipper. In an instant I was rocking crazily in my little metal cage. The bucket flipped upside down and I saw pieces of my heart scatter far below on the ground like wild red confetti. I could barely catch my breath from the sheer pull of gravity on my being. The thin straps that secured me to the cracked vinyl seat strained against my chest begging to be ripped free of me.
Suddenly, the bucket flipped again and headed straight for terra firma. For a minute I thought I would smash into the ground and that would be it. The thing about the Zipper is just when you think a crash is inevitable, it flips you up and over and you can’t help but laugh from the sheer terror of the ride.
I have been sitting in this metal bucket for years. The bright neon paint has faded and the gears are rusty. The chains need oiling and I can hear the creaking of the pulleys as I go up for another spin. I don’t know how much longer this antique ride can flip and toss my aging body, but I am strapped in and there is nothing I can do about the mechanisms that surround me.
Someday the ride will end. My little carnival bucket will roll off the chain and keep on rolling. I can only imagine what I will see as I flip and flop towards Nirvana in that weird elliptical carriage: a bit of ocean and sky; tuna sandwiches at the beach; patches of joy; dancing to scratchy records; the first time I held you in my arms; the last time I said goodbye. My faded rusty bucket will roll until I reach that light I saw so long ago; that light that turns people into angels. If I’m lucky I will land into that perfect moment where you are eating green beans in a sun-lit room.