Young Writers Society

TEMPERATURE DROP ~

The temperature outside was falling quicker than ever, almost doubling the speed of the Cyclone’s descent. A chill dove through Harry Guy Traver’s back, but before it crashed to the ground it circled up again, resurfacing for a catch of breath. The near empty train aboard the Cyclone did the same, cutting through the quiet evening with its expression of rage. The roller coaster held a certain presence (an ego, really) that one could sense upon entering the park – you were on its turf. A wide-eyed guest would board, accepting a challenge, unaware of the proceeding shock. Guests on the train would all shriek together, a resounding surrender to the machine, all equal as its prey. A satisfied euphoria would follow (unless you required the in-station nurse) until you stand in line again. But the cold was coming in, and the calm that precedes it silenced the public. The Cyclone was to be torn down.

On this thought, Harry Traver sat from his vantage point on a park bench, the groups of romancing teens and gleeful children rushing past through Crystal Beach Park. Ignoring his ultimate creation, they appealed more to Lake Erie and the concession stands, an army of protesters tired of the Cyclone’s rule. The beachfront was closing up, and the ballroom was just opening – providing easier exclusion of the coaster, a fortress under the curtain of live music and flowing dresses. The crowds flocked to the party, leaving a mere handful of patrons to stroll the main park. The near silence brought Harry back to his thoughts, a quick stride back to his reality. He made the excursion up to Ontario for this final night, yet it was oddly unsatisfying seeing his masterpiece entertaining so few. He came to show respect for a fallen soldier, a final ode to his success, but the darker the sky fell the less he felt like riding. How could he ride it now?

Then, not far away from Harry, a man and his pregnant wife exited the Ballroom, carrying the kind of carefree expressions that brought a childlike giggle to the lone man. Their glee brought new questions to mind. What did they think of his coaster? Were they here to ride it? It seemed doubtful. Now one year after the endless Depression and War, everyone wanted simple lives: lives with children, lives where they could live comfortably without pushing their boundaries past known limits. The woman’s belly told him that was their intention as well, and a smirk crossed Harry’s features. Of course they wouldn’t be interested in his giant thrill ride – they were like the others at Revere Beach and Palisades Park who lost necessity for the same ride years ago. They must be.

“No Judy, I won’t let you ride. You’re soon to be a mother; you don’t want to hurt the baby, do you? Watch me from the ground.”

“I know, Walt! I’m more responsible than you seem to think.”

A flock of seagulls then landed near the woman, a shock, and the selfless husband protected her with gently waving arms, steady and even. It was seagulls that inspired Harry to enter the twisted amusement business: their rolling wavelengths were the spark of imagination that inspired a carnival ride, the ride that would later evolve new dimensions to the roller coaster. It initiated a sharp sense of closure for him to see the birds so near to the knotted mess of the Cyclone. The birds departed, unobstructing Harry's view.

Judy strode right for Harry’s bench, and as a suited gentleman he gave her room, but still wondered if she really felt how he did about tonight. Did they make the same pilgrimage? Did they see the newspaper adverts, the billboards, or the cinema promotions? Did they truly care for the Crystal Beach Cyclone?

“How’s it going, Hun’?” Judy’s dark, wide–curled hair bobbed as she spoke, a harsh tone to her voice, but not offensively so. She gave direct eye contact, a friendly smile, and a handshake – confident as no one Harry had met.

“I’m doing well, thank you, Miss.”

“Oh, aren’t you a sweetheart! You have a name?”

“The name’s Harry Traver, and I designed that roller coaster your husband is riding.”

Her face lifted up in a grin, the moonlight highlighting the temporary folds of her skin. Fixed in this position, she continued, saying ‘he was a true genius, then, for anyone who could design such a thrill must have incredible personal strength.’ Harry diverted his eyes, breaking their hold. He smiled, and hoped she wouldn't see his pleasure in the compliment.

“Hey, I mean it. When I first met my husband, Walt, we would march down the midway hand-in-hand, admiring the Cyclone. He wouldn't ride it but I finally convinced him, and we bonded so close, leaving our bodies and succumbing to the thrill together. He then left for the war, and I paused my life, waiting for him to return. I came back here alone, and rode the coaster to feel what he felt in war, to bridge us closer. Mine was a different kind of fear, though, for I knew I was safe. Well, to my surprise he came back, and - Oh how we celebrated! We decided to start a family, but before we could settle down we needed to return to our origin, where our love began: on your roller coaster."

A settling feeling rushed down his stomach, crashing over the turbulence like the waves of the nearby lake. Maybe his coaster wasn’t a complete disappointment, a failure, like he so often thought. Might the temperature rise again?

Judy rose up at the sight of Walt exiting the queue. He laid his arm around her shoulders, but she directed him back to Harry and introduced them to each other. Walt had short, neat blonde hair, and a rigid expression as if he covered a softer one behind. He stood tall and straight, but seemed relaxed in his disposition. He spoke.

“It’s very nice to meet you, sir. It’s good to see the man behind the creation.” He gestured behind him, but his eyes darkened. “I’ll tell you honestly that I can’t enjoy the ride anymore. After every thing I’ve felt, which I’m sure my wife told you of, I don’t want to feel so lightheaded and euphoric anymore, I want my mind to stay level. Not to mention my feet to stay level with the ground, too!” He laughed. “You've heard Herb Shmeck is re-profiling it into a gentler, safer coaster? I think it's for the best, to have something our family can ride together. I try not to be too bold or forward in saying this, but I think the Cyclone’s glory is over.”

“Walter! That ride might as well be this man’s birth child! Excuse me, but --”

Judy continued, but Harry beamed, thinking of what to say. He said what felt most right: ‘Thank you for the truth’. He couldn't ride it now, so he departed for the exit. His new friends were across the park now, apologetically holding each other and swaying in the moonlight, the way he once watched sea birds do. He was confident that the amusement industry would rise again, like he was that Walt and Judy would live a happy life. He knew he contributed to both.