A Girl by the Bridge

Roller Coasters and Rum Runners

Posted on March 17, 2014     2 Comments

In our house on North 6th Street in Newark, there was a narrow space between my parents’ bed and the wall – better known to me as the Crocodile River. The dark green carpeting only served to enhance the feelings of murk and dread it spawned. That, and the fact that the windows on the eastern bank of the Crocodile River overlooked North 5th Street, where a multi-level apartment building housed some of the rottenest kids alive, who threw rocks at us while we swam in our above-ground pool, and the LaRuleta Tavern, an establishment which prompted me to sleep with my toes pointed downward, lest they be shot off unexpectedly during the night.

In the Crocodile River, all my fears were born.

Peeking down into the imagined misty gloom, dangling my feet ever so closely to the water beneath, and then quickly drawing them to my knees to bounce off the other side of the bed, I trained myself in the art of fear. As my stomach sank, my heart raced, and I caught my breath in flushed cheeks, I mastered it. From then on, I wore a progressive pall of trepidation.

In any group, I was invariably the one to urge caution. To discourage spontaneous stupidity. To follow the rules. Fireworks? No way. Back flips on concrete? No, thank you. I even remember watching, horrified, as my cousin hung upside down from a swing set, fell directly on her head, then promptly walked away laughing. Horrified. I spent most of 1979 waiting for Skylab, a defunct space station doomed to fall back to earth, to crash into my house. I’ve always held hands with apprehension and anxiety. And I’m fine with that. They’ve probably saved me from some really dumb decisions.

But they’ve also prevented me from ever stepping out of my comfort zone – not only for fear of the crocodiles and sea monsters lurking in the Crocodile River, but the more grown-up and realistic fears. That is, failure, rejection, loss, embarrassment, injury, and death. Instead of being the master of fear I thought I was through my extreme caution and care, fear was the master of me.

I realized that after my 11 year-old son died, and it has been one of the ongoing lessons of his passing. You can be cautious and careful, follow all the rules, be consumed with vigilance and watchfulness. Regardless, bad things will still happen. You’re not in control. For all of your wariness, you don’t call the shots.

The earth is a single organism. Maybe even the universe, too. Everything is constantly interacting in our ongoing reality, influencing how things occur. Our decisions affect others. Our behavior affects – and effects – outcomes. Yes, the really, really thoughtless and idiotic things we do can certainly bring about predictable results. For the most part, though, we don’t pull the switch to bring about whatever happens in life. It’s just life. And we have to live it to get through it.

So, this past summer, at 43, I went on a roller coaster for the first time with my 9 year-old son and his friend. Went to Disney World for the first time – even flew there (also for the first time). When I got to Disney, I went on every single ride – even the spinning teacups, a longtime feared nemesis. I conquered water slides and ski lifts and virtual space flight. Space Mountain. Rock ‘n’ Roller Coaster. Tower of Terror. Got stuck in the dark on the Pirates of the Caribbean ride.

And I didn’t die.

My heart raced, I held my breath, and I was afraid. But I didn’t die. One day, I will. But I hope it’s not before I get to do more of all of the things I’ve irrationally feared all this time. The Crocodile River was simply a swath of green carpet.

I hear my son’s spirit cheering, “Go, Mom!”