After several instances of quickly circulating gossip, pointing and laughing from my classmates, and repulsive looks of condescendence, it had been established within my classrooms and throughout family visitations that I was a dull and wimpy kid. These thoughts were particularly attributed to the fact that I had never given a bunch of steel cars, elevating to peaks so formidable to my naïve mind, the opportunity to deprive me of life. Growing increasingly tired and repulsed by the habitual remarks regarding my ever-present cowardliness, and to satisfy my yearning for a brave status, I signed a private treaty with my mind that I shall go on the highest roller coaster in all of Europe.

That summer, whilst in Barcelona, my family and I decided to take a day trip to a steel coaster and petty carousel galore, just a one hour drive from the city. It was the first time I had ever bothered to visit such locations, for previously my fear of adrenaline-inducing rides got the better of me. The moment I set foot on the vast premises of the park, my body immediately suffered a wave of remorse and acute apprehensiveness, which sent my stomach into an uncountable set of aerobic stunts and my conscience into a frightened yet scornful tone of scolding remarks.

Soon, after waiting an ice age and a half for tickets no larger than the width of my three middle fingers, we were granted access to the park with amiable smiles on behalf of the park operators. Despite the scalding hot sun, which was no match for my country back home, kids from every age and gender were screaming gleefully on a multitude of rides, forcing my ears to ring in agonizing pain. I shove my index fingers abruptly into both ears, blemishing my earlobe with cold blood.

“Mom.” I yelled. “Mom”
“What is it?” She was engaged in her conversation with my father.
“I’m going on that roller coaster I told you about.”
“The really big one?” She had a puzzled face painted on her pink complexion. My mom’s skin was sensitive. The sun was not being especially kind today.
“Yes, mom. That one. I’ll call you guys when I’m done.”
“You do that.” She turned to my father and giggled, gossiping about me in our native language. What’s so funny? I thought. Dismissing my thought, I turned, continuing my journey of meandering between a plethora of queues for rides and stands for county fair foods, which comprised mainly of calorie-rich, sugar-filled, fried delicacies which seemed to attract the most corpulent and obese of visitors. In pursuit of finding the object of high veneration, enduring several frowns and “No hablo ingles”’s, I finally found the Shambhala: Expedición al Himalaya, with the help of a fair-looking park operator with delicately sculpted cheekbones and mahogany colored hair that cascaded down to her shoulder blades. Had she not used her lanky hands to guide me with almost unfathomable hand gestures, constituting primarily of terse waving and brisk pointing, I would still be on my aimless journey, trying to locate the attraction.

It was poised on the far end of the park, majestically reigning over the rest of the attractions that seemed dwarfed in size, trivial in importance, and lacking thrill-factor (something I was not particularly excited by). The steel tracks were meticulously embellished with sharp, straight lines of white and pale turquoise. The tracks proliferated in altitude as I approach them with an apprehensive gaze. Looking down, I notice my hands trembling involuntarily. Mesmerized at the fear-inducing ride, I was doomed by my thoughts to carry me back to a time in which my trepidation overcame my not-so-gallant attitude.

I stood two people away from the gates to an indoor rollercoaster with two of my adrenaline-junkie friends. They were chatting endlessly at the event to succeed our wait at the queue.

The tall one from my friends was especially ecstatic about this endeavor. “Remember that time? The first time we went on this thing?”

“Oh, yeah! That was something.” The stout one replied. “I bet he would never go on this one.” He jerked his head in my direction.
“This old thing?” I asked. “I could do this shut eyed. It’s not even that big.”

“Look up.” He pointed his finger upwards. My eyes shifted towards the imaginary line carrying the tip of his finger to the above invention, carrying the weight of my skull in the direction of the coaster and pulling the muscles of my neck taut. The massive gadget, painted a flamboyant tone of orange dipped and rushed, separating the air molecules, creating an obstreperous noise. I clenched my jaw and fixed my fingers inside my ears. Swiftly spinning around in the direction of the “EXIT” sign, I gallop with my fingers still planted in their much-needed locations.

“Come back!” The screams of my friends persisted, fading into a sea of obscurity as I make my way down the escalator. My heavy panting halted, and I sighed in relief.

The rollercoaster was designed by the renowned roller coaster designing and manufacturing company, Bolliger & Mabillard. It was the tallest rollercoaster in Europe (standing 256 ft. high) and the fastest (83 m/h), with a g-force of 3.8 and a maximum vertical angle of 86°. Simply recalling these facts in my mind inscribe a fearful grimace on my sun-scorched face. I was not amused.

When our predecessors exited the roller coaster with dilated pupils and wind blown hair, my heart plummeted to the core of my body. Anxiously waiting, I could not tell whether or not I was eager to take part in the following event or too apprehensive to know what I was feeling.

I inched slowly behind the pear-shaped man in front of me in the queue. I was three people away from the railing that was separating me from what would soon determine my bravery.

One step, two steps. The line was moving rapidly. The gates to my fate had opened and we were now boarding the coaster. The man in front of me, Eric (whose name I had learned from hearing his wife call from the end of the queue) lowered himself instinctively on the blue seats. I stick my foot out to board the ride, attempting to follow suit. My foot, however, is surreally planted in mid-air. Just as I turned to escape the haunting gaze of every coaster enthusiast’s and every ride operator’s, a firm arm elbows me tersely, prompting me to either take a seat or trip and fall head-first. I collapse, abruptly, while forcing a smile at Eric who snorts in attempt to stifle a laugh. I shift my body to face the river of steel on which the coaster was floating above. Seconds later, a foot of metal that branches out into two descends from above, encompassing the width of my waist and my sides. Just as I hear the click, the coaster embarks on its seemingly haunting journey, as it roars to life. I gulp violently, clench my moist fists around the metal until they turn white, and seal my eyes shut
Not long was it before we reached the most elevated peak of our journey. I part my tightly sealed eyelids, only to find the glistening Balearic Sea, Passeig de Jaume I, and the entire PortAventura theme park staring back. With my mind completely focused on the yachts and divers and swimmers and parasailers before me, my head thrusts downwards with no prior notice. The wind screams with such fury I clench my jaw so hard my head vibrates. The only thing I can see from behind sealed eyes is a blotchy masterpiece (a not-so pleasant consequence of clenching my jaw), constituting of patches of the colors of the rainbow. A gust of air rushes into my airways, halting my breathing as we make our rapid descent before ascending once more. I open my eyes this time, indulging them at the scenery passing before my eyes, magnifying and enlarging in size by the millisecond. People, grass, mountains, oceans, rides pass before me all at once. The coaster jolts up once more, this time completing a full loop before continuing its journey. The ground, the people below me, the rest of the park, and the surrounding region flips vertically by 180°, and I scream so loud, unanimously with the rest of the riders who were screaming tumultuously the entire duration of the ride it was unnoticeable to my preoccupied mind. I shoot my hands up, but only for a split-second as we descend close to a pond of water, fearing that I would meet my doom if I continued doing so any longer.

After an abundance of adrenaline-inducing twists, turns, loops ascendings, and descendings, the coaster comes to a complete stop. A series of claps erupt in unison, accompanied by multiple cheerful remarks. I look down at my hands, still clapping vigorously long after the celebrations had faded away. I hop off the car, immediately after the metal bar had relaxed its tight grip. I race to the stairs adjacent to the platform of the coaster. As I walk out of the building, the coaster begins yet again another journey. The screams of the riders compel a beaming grin etched on my face. The looming coaster, with its discernible vibrations sends a wave of excitement down my spine, in my stomach, and virtually the entire biological mass of my body. I continue my jog around ¾ of the perimeter of the platform, with the view of the line becoming more distinct. I join the queue to the ride, tapping my foot in anticipation for Round Two.