It was the night before they tore the roller coaster down at Jantzen Beach. Remember the roller coaster? It used to be right by the freeway on Hayden Island between the Columbia and Willamette Rivers. There was a swimming pool, a fun house, a carnival--and the roller coaster. It's a shopping center now, with Barnes and Noble, Starbucks, and Old Navy.

My girlfriends and I swam at Jantzen Beach when we were kids, but I refused to ride the roller coaster. I was scared even to watch other people ride it. Now, years later, they were going to tear it down, and I never had ridden it.

My boyfriend, Harry, loved the roller coaster, and he talked me into sneaking out to meet him at Jantzen Beach. Mom and Dad didn't like Harry. He was an unemployed high school dropout. But I was seventeen and in love. Harry wanted his last ride on the roller coaster to be with me. If Harry had asked me to fly to the moon, I would've tried. He got tickets, and we stood in line, and I wasn't sure whether I had the nerve to actually do it.

In the dark, stars glistened like bright jewels in the midnight sky.

The operator said, in a husky almost tearful voice, "I'm gonna keep this baby rolling tonight till they come and haul me away. Boy, I'm gonna miss this little gal." He'd been operating the coaster for eight years.

A long line of people waited with Harry and I, wanting one last ride before they tore the coaster down. Harry kept his arm around me, like maybe he thought I'd chicken out if he didn't hang on.

We took our seats and got fastened in. Harry assured me I couldn't fall out. He grinned. "You'll love this."

Long before I was ready, the car started moving, and in seconds was chugging up the first slide. I hung on tightly. I held my breath as we neared the top. As we swooshed down the other side, Harry called out, "I love you" over the noise of the car. I thought I'd imagined it.

The first rise wasn't too scary, but after we plummeted downhill, we slowed to go up the second, steeper grade. Harry put his arm around my shoulders, and he nuzzled my neck. "I love you," he said again. This time I knew he said it.

Before I could get a word out, we went over the top and skyrocketed down the other side. I thought I might pee my pants, and I glued my hands to the safety bar. Harry hugged me tighter, and said, "You're safe. I won't let anything happen to you."

I couldn't breathe. The wind whipped at my face, and I was terrified. There were several more steep hills. I gasped for air. I was going to die. I knew it. Tears flooded my face. I've never been so frightened.

My nose was running, and I couldn't let go of the safety bar to wipe it. Snot ran down my face. I tried not to throw up. Harry pulled out his handkerchief and wiped my nose and blotted my tears.

"I'm sorry," I cried.

"It's okay," Harry said, "Listen. Watch me, and do what I do. When we reach the highest level, let go of the bar and reach for the stars. You'll be okay. I've done it a dozen times. You'll feel like you own the world."

When we reached the crest of that last rise, Harry threw his hands up in the air--and because I loved him, so did I. He was right, it was the most exhilarating feeling I'd ever had in my life. Let go, let life happen, don't be afraid.

Harry screamed, "I love you!" and I laughed out loud.

When we slowed to come in at the gate, I was almost in a trance. I stumbled off the platform, grateful to be down, glad to still be alive--and yet, with that roller coaster high still surging through my body. Harry steered me to the picnic area.

"I knew you'd enjoy it if you just let yourself," he said.

I shivered, and Harry wrapped me inside his long coat and hugged me tightly against his body. I could feel his warmth, his love, his passion, his silent begging me to let go, to feel, to respond.

"I wanted tonight to be special." he whispered. "I love you. I want to marry you. Please say yes."

He kissed me, his lips soft and feverish against mine--and I've never felt so safe, so protected, so alive. That kiss surged through my entire body, warm and pulsing. Somehow what we'd shared on the roller coaster sealed our lives together. I vowed I'd never let him go.

The next day they tore the roller coaster down.

Six months later, we had set the date for our wedding. I got a job at a pizza place and moved into my own apartment. Harry worked at a gas station.

Neither job offered a decent future, according to my dad. He said Harry was a womanizer and drank too much. He said Harry was irresponsible and would make a lousy husband. He said we were too young, and I would be miserable. "If you insist on marrying this bum," he said, "I will not come to the wedding, and neither will your mother."

Harry and I arranged to be married in the chapel of our small church. No music, no flowers, and no one invited except our parents and siblings, who probably wouldn't come. He went with me to buy a tea-length wedding dress with a tight bodice and full flowing skirt. I tried it on and twirled for him. He told me I was beautiful.

The morning of the wedding, I was ironing my dress, worried sick about my family. The last thing Dad had said was, "I won't be there." It was 9:00 a.m., time to leave for the church, and none of my family had arrived. I had expected Mom, at least.

"They're not coming." I thought. "They don't love me." I started to cry, swiped at my tears with a tissue, and realized that I had smeared black mascara down my face. I dashed to the mirror to see how bad it was.

Then I smelled smoke and realized I had set the iron flat and burned an iron-shaped hole completely through my wedding dress. I stared at it in horror. I unplugged the iron and threw myself on the bed, weeping.

Minutes later Mom knocked on the door. Lifesaver Mom. She saw the hole in my dress, grabbed a needle and thread from her purse, overlapped the material, and hand-stitched it. "It won't show," she said. "It's a very full skirt. No one will even know except you and me."

"I can't get married without Daddy. I can't."

Mom pursed her lips. "Your Dad is in the car, and he'll be nice or I'll kill him. Oh, yes, and we're having a wedding reception at home tonight for neighbors and friends." I felt like crying all over again--from joy.

Of course, in the long run, they were right. My marriage went up and down and around like a roller coaster. Harry was fun to live with, full of laughter and jokes. He was kind and would give anyone the shirt off his back. He was a loving father to our two little kids--when he was home.

The minute he got out of our sight, he forgot the kids and I existed. Harry was warm and loving and passionate, to me and to every other woman he met. I don't remember how many times he fell in love with someone else. Each time didn't last long, and Harry would return with remorse, begging forgiveness, but each time chipped away at my heart, and finally I couldn't ride that roller coaster anymore. I filed for divorce.

Eventually I married again, a marriage with less passion but more contentment. We've been married for 25 years. We like the same things--books, movies, quiet times. The kids are grown; Sam and I are alone. We're good friends. We like each other.

Each day going to and coming home from work, I drive past Jantzen Beach. Every once in awhile, when I least expect it, I remember---the wild exhilarating feeling of riding the wind at the top of the roller coaster, the fleeting sense that I could conquer the world, and the equally wild passion afterwards which left me quivering from head to toes. If I remember too vividly, I begin to cry. My present life seems like the shopping center that replaced the roller coaster--businesslike, goal-oriented and somehow sterile. Sometimes I ache clear to my bones for the passion of that long lost roller coaster.

But mostly I don't let myself think about it.

Copyright ©2001 Betty Lubinski.  All Rights Reserved