I’m sitting here. Waiting. Waiting. Never been so nervous in my life. The last time I felt this way, I was about 5 years old, waiting in line to go on the Whizzer at Six Flags. I was in line with my dad, and the line was moving forward at a snail’s pace. But every inch brought me closer to the moment of truth, the moment I was dreading and simultaneously desperately wishing would arrive.
5:54 p.m. Still waiting.
The line ripples forward a few centimeters. My heart is pounding out of my chest. I think I might wet my pants, or vomit. I want to ride this ride, to prove myself, to say I did it, and now it’s over. My palms are sweating. We’re at the gate. Now we’re stepping across the yellow line painted across the concrete. I look at the car, picturing myself stepping in. I can do this … I can do this …
But I bail. I step over the car to wait on the other side, while my dad will ride alone. I couldn’t do it that day.
Today will be different.
Still waiting …
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