Motion: A Short Story

I wrote the following short story for a contest that the Bay Area Rapid Transit, or BART--the local transit system--put on to celebrate its 50th anniversary. The contest was called Bart Lines. Up to 400 submissions were accepted between June 1 and June 30, 2022, from residents of the counties that BART passes through. Thirty finalists were selected based on a review from five Bay Area "literary icons". Each finalist won a $200 prize, and their short stories were dispensed at BART's Short Story Dispensers at a handful of stations. Winners were announced the week of September 5, 2022, which is why I hadn't posted the story until now.

Submitted short stories was limited to no more than 7,500 characters. The prompt for the short stories was "motion":

What does “motion” mean to you? How does it change you? Impact narrative? Transform? Whether it’s a BART ride that made a lasting impact or an (e)motion(al) tale of struggle and triumph, we want to read your interpretation of “motion” across genres, themes, and settings.

I was not selected as a finalist. So, now for public consumption, here is the short story I wrote and submitted.

 

 

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“Please keep your hands, arms, feet, and legs inside the vehicle while the ride is in motion.” The announcement sends a chill down my spine. My lunch churns in my stomach. My hands are ferociously clasped to the lap bar.

I haven’t ridden a roller coaster in 15 years. The first—and last—time I did was the reason for my hiatus.

That ride was called Demon Twist. I was at the county fair with five middle school friends. To 12-year-old me, the track that towered above me looked formidable as the cars roared along and the riders screamed. I could feel the ground beneath me shake as the cars flew past. I did not want to ride it.

The other five boys consolidated their remaining tickets to see if they had enough for all of us to ride Demon Twist. I stood a few feet back, quiet, the corn dog from 30 minutes ago turning over in my stomach. Only when they came up short did they realize I hadn’t offered my tickets to the pool.

“How many tickets do you have? We need four more.”

I put my left hand into my pocket and felt my strip of remaining tickets. One, two, three, four, five. I would have to lie to get out of this. I pulled my hand out of my pocket, holding only two tickets.

“Uh, I only have two. But that’s okay—you guys can go without me.”

“No, let’s go buy two more!” my best friend suggested.

My stomach dropped.

“Uh, no, that’s okay, don’t worry about it. Don’t spend your money on me.”

My best friend glared at me.

“Why? Are you a sissy?”

“Yeah, Jack, are you a sissy?”

My face went cold, then it went hot. “I…I…no!” I protested.

“Sissy…sissy…sissy…” another boy started chanting in a low voice. The other four quickly caught on, the volume growing louder with every taunt. Two of the boys pointed at me.

Panicked, I looked around. Passers-by started to take notice as the sound of the boys’ jeers reached them. My face grew hotter. “Stop!” I shouted, before the scene drew too much attention. “I’ll do it!”

As we stood in line at the ticket booth, my lower lip began to quiver. I wanted to run out of the line, out of the fair, all the way home. But then the boys would make even more fun of me on Monday at school. So I watched helplessly as one of my friends handed the dollar bill to the booth worker and received two tickets in exchange. He slapped them into my palm.

“Come on, let’s go!...unless you’re too much of a girl to go on it!”

“No,” I mumbled.

My friends ran to the entrance of Demon Twist. I plodded along reluctantly to keep up. There were only two people in the queue ahead of us, so we were guaranteed to get on the next train. There was no going back. My heart raced.

I opened my left fist and looked at the tickets clutched in my hand. Maybe one got lost on the way and I only had three. But no, in my hand were four slightly crumpled tickets, damp from all the sweat my hands were producing. I hoped the wind would gust and blow the tickets out of my hand. No such luck.

As I approached the gate, I handed my four tickets to the ride operator, a surly teenager who had serious they-don’t-pay-me-enough-to-do-this-job vibes. I boarded the car, taking the open seat to the right of my best friend. I slowly pulled down the shoulder restraint until it locked in place. Starting from the back of the cars, Surly Teen walked toward the front, pulling on the restraints to check that they held. When he got to mine, he pushed it further down deep into my ribcage and brusquely moved to the next car. “Ow!” I yelped. My friends laughed. I felt like I could barely breathe.

Surly Teen took his position behind the controls near the front of the cars. The PA system roared to life with an evil cackle. “Welcome to the DEEEEEMON TWISSSSST, where you will descend into the foulest depths OF HELL!” a voice shrieked.

A softer female voice came over the PA:

“Please keep your hands, arms, feet, and legs inside the vehicle while the ride is in motion.”

And with that, the cars started to roll forward.

I clenched the shoulder restraint until my knuckles were white. I shifted in my seat. Suddenly, I heard a loud snap by my left ear. My restraint had become unhinged and came loose on the left side. Horrified, I jiggled it back and forth; the restraint wobbled, held in place only on its right side.

“Stop the ride!” I cried to Surly Teen as my car passed him. He gruffed, “It’ll be over soon.”

The cars ascended the hill while I frantically tried to figure out how to keep myself secure. “My seat harness broke!” I called to my best friend. He laughed, but then stopped once he saw my restraint wobbling. “Uh, push into the seat. Grab onto my harness,” he said. I grabbed his restraint with my left hand while my right hand held onto the stable side of my restraint. I closed my eyes as we crested the hill.

The other riders started to scream. I felt a tightness in the pit of my stomach. The wind blew against my face as we picked up speed, the cars rattling and shaking. I was thrown to the right as we made a sharp left turn. I opened my eyes as the track winded into a maelstrom of corkscrews and helices. My restraint wobbled every time my chest bumped against it. Was it coming looser? I couldn’t tell. I gripped my best friend’s restraint harder. With every bend and twist, I was sure my restraint would fly off and I would be left holding onto my best friend’s restraint for dear life.

At last, the cars came upon a straightaway and the ride’s brakes engaged. Inertia shoved my body into my shoulder restraint, from which came a loud creak. But it held.

I looked left at my best friend. Sometime during the ride, he had put his hand on top of mine that held onto his restraint. A bolt of electricity shot from my left arm through my body, followed by a warm sensation. Our eyes met; he did not move his hand.

The cars slid into the station and came to a stop. As the restraints automatically lifted, he abruptly let go of my hand. My restraint rose at an awkward angle, hitting my left ear in the process. “Ouch,” I whimpered quietly.

The 6 of us regrouped outside the ride exit. “So, how was that, sissy?” my best friend asked me.

Now, 15 years later, another guy sits to my right. He loves roller coasters. It was his idea to have our fourth date here at the park. I told him I didn’t do roller coasters; he didn’t mind. He said there were plenty of other things to do here, and he would be happy spending time with me wherever we went. So how did I get talked into this ride?

Earlier, I told him about what happened 15 years ago. “Some friends they were,” he remarked. “Well, if you want to try again,” he offered when we arrived at the park, “we can do the Diamond Mine Train. It’s a smaller one, and it doesn’t go upside-down.”

I'd spent all morning deciding, demons of self-doubt tormenting me. If you don’t go on it, he’ll think you’re a sissy. Maybe he just wants to see you get scared and make fun of you. He’ll like you less if you don’t share this interest of his.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to. You don’t have to go on it,” he'd said at lunch.

After a long silence, I said quietly, “I’ll do it.” He beamed.

I really like him. And I want to spend as much time as I can with him. And I want to join him in the things he likes to do.

The mine cart rolls forward into the dark tunnel. I turn my head to look at him. He smiles at me. “I’m glad to be riding this with you,” he says.

“Me too,” I reply weakly. I loosen my grip on the lap bar and slide my right hand toward his. His hand meets mine. A bolt of electricity shoots from my right arm through my body. The cart’s forward motion continues.