Hang In There, America

Well, it happened again yesterday. We woke up to yet another neck-wrenching turn of this horrible roller coaster that has been the year 2020. All day yesterday, as my country tried to absorb this new, deadly plot twist, upending us once again with a hundred new challenges and terrifying possibilities, I found myself thinking of the worst roller coaster I ever rode: The Demon.

When I was in college, I spent one summer working in an amusement park. It's the kind of job only college students can handle, I guess: working for a pittance in polyester uniforms, spending long hours in the scorching sun, doing mindless, demeaning work. Pulling levers, tightening seat belts, cleaning up vomit, that sort of thing. And all day long, every day, the air was filled with the screams of people riding the Demon.

The Demon was the biggest, the highest and the wildest roller coaster in the park. It was death on two rails, huge and merciless. Oh, I know roller coasters have gotten a lot bigger since then, but in those days it was one of the most famous rides in the country. It was gigantic, with high, terrifying hills that dropped you almost into free-fall. It had switchbacks and U-turns tight enough to wrench your head off your shoulders, a long series of spine-crunching bumps, and even one of the first loop-the-loops, twisting the line of cars so tightly that you could look down on all the terrified (or exhilarated) faces of your fellow passengers screaming below you.

Now, the Demon wasn't exactly a safe ride, either. Even in just the few months I worked there, there were "incidents". One day the brakes on one of the cars failed as it finished the ride, and it crashed into another car waiting at the loading station. No one was killed, but no one walked away the same, that's for sure. And then there was the day an intoxicated rider wriggled out of his seat belt to try to stand up on the Big Drop - and lurched off the side on a long drop of his own.

Oh, they were quickly hushed up, of course. The ride would be shut for a few days with an innocent "Closed For Maintenance" sign, and there might be a story in the newspaper. But soon it would open up once more, and the screams of the riders would fill our days again. We all knew all about it; you only had to ask around in the break room. If the manager wasn't around, you could get every whispered detail.

I worked the ferris wheel across the way. It was a fancy, three-armed ride; one arm would lower to the ground, where we'd load passengers into the hanging seats, while the other two would rotate serenely above. It was calm and predictable, and we'd joke that passengers would stagger off the Demon to recover (and throw up) on the Sky Whirl. It was slow and boring, but at least no one died.

Every Saturday night for an employee reward the management would keep a few of the rides open after closing time, offer free snacks, and let you ride as many times as you wanted. And sometimes they'd let you ride the Demon.

I still can't believe I ever let my friends talk me into it.

Some people love roller coasters - the swoops and turns, the drop into free-fall, the adrenaline rush, the screams. They climb off, shout, "That was amazing!" and rush to get in line again. I was just glad to survive it.

I'll never forget that ride. First, the jerk forward as we set out, then the slow, ominous clanking of the gears as the car rose steadily up, up, higher and higher, until we were lying back in our seats, looking up at the night sky above us. At the top there was an awful pause as we inched forward, looking down at the lights of the park, and then we plunged over the edge and down into oblivion, all of us screaming at the top of our lungs. After that first drop, there were the switchbacks, jerking us back and forth against the restraints. Then the bone-crunching bumps hard enough to rattle your teeth loose. More hills, more screams, a long tunnel, another hill. Finally it was time for the loop-the-loop, and we began to spiral around, suspended upside down for what felt like an eternity. I had spent most of the ride with my eyes screwed shut, but I remember opening my eyes at that point, looking down into the wide eyes of a pale-faced kid who looked as terrified as I was.

But something happened at that moment that changed it all for me. Just then, when I thought I couldn't stand another second, I closed my eyes and thought, this won't last forever.

And, of course, it didn't. A few more turns, another awful hill, but finally, mercifully, we were gliding into the loading station. With a screech of brakes we came to a stop, and I could walk away on trembling legs to gratefully sit down somewhere quiet and recover.

And that is, I guess, my point. It's been an awful year, from the free fall into the pandemic and economic ruin to agonizing racial struggles. Wildfires at one side and hurricanes on the other, the loss of a beloved leader, huge uncertainties ahead, and now, our president ill with the virus and a mounting number of cases right in the seat of our country's power. The virus has breached our last defense.

We went to sleep one night in a country struggling to survive and at each other's throats. We woke up the next day to find our nation turned upside down, with the future even more uncertain than before. How we'll navigate the election now is anyone's guess.

But remember: no matter how awful the ride, there is an end in sight. It might feel like an eternity, but eventually we will glide finally, finally into some sort of resolution to this year. We'll climb shakily out and totter away, rubbing our necks, glad to be alive.

I have to believe that if we keep working and praying, we'll get through this and back to some calm and stability once again, even if we're on new ground and in a new world.

So hang in there, America. This is one more awful turn of an awful ride, but we'll make it. Until then, we still have work to do.