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| I remember the sides being muuuuch lower; this may not be the same slide. |
Florida is known for its beautiful beaches, boys, and bikini
babes. Well, my story contains none of those. It’s about the time my slightly
pudgy seventeen-year-old self allowed two classmates to pressure her into
boldly (foolishly) donning her first bikini and climbing up the tallest water
slide located in one of Orlando’s water parks.
As I transcended the Babylonian stairs, I saw disapproval in the
birds’ eyes as they flew by me. Shame draped my body and, once at the top, fear
congealed my blood. My feet rooted to the platform; my ears heard only the muffled
instructions from the ride attendant.
Instruction one: cross your arms, cross your legs. Two: you will
feel nothing beneath you for four seconds. Three: do not uncross your arms or
legs. There were no guardrails attached to this slide; a wrong move could mean
death.
I lay down, crossed my legs and my arms, closed my eyes and sent
up frantic prayers, “Dear God, make me a bird so I could fly far, far away…”
Rough hands pushed against my shoulders. I felt the slide give
away to…nothing. Panicked, my arms flailed; my legs uncrossed. After what
seemed like eons, my back crashed onto the hard wet surface of the slide and I
jetted down the watery chute, water painfully shooting up the exit orifice of
my body.
At the bottom, I opened my eyes to the sight of my girls out of
my bikini top and a tourist’s camcorder in my face.
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