Return | Rollercoaster Highs

Rollercoaster Highs

Written by Esther Besson | Edited by Yashvi Grover | Layout by Seyun Om

“Rollercoaster Highs” is the exciting remembrance of a rollercoaster ride from Esther’s childhood memories, a breathtaking ride she still remembers even as 10 years have passed by. Reminding us to pause and reminisce on the simple moments that brought us joy in childhood, take this piece as an opportunity to reach back into your past and relearn what fills you with joy.

You could see her from miles away, a towering titan of pine overtaking the sky. Like a latticed fortress, the Twister was all carved slopes and curves, a bundle of twists and turns, without a single space to breathe. Her height made my neck crane all the way up as my ears caught the screams she relinquished from the riders above. Her screeching cars and the gusts of wind left behind startled all the other passersby. Face after face turning ice cold, avoiding eye contact with her as they swore to never ride the Twister. But while others saw her as a painful reminder, I saw her as a beautiful challenge. As a devotee of speed, the Twister felt like a fantasy, and a breaker of bounds that I didn’t even know I had. The tallest and fastest rollercoaster I had ever seen stood right in front of me, daring me to take her on. So I did. As the sun set out in the sky, I dove into what would be the ride of a lifetime.

The air surrounding me buzzed with the chatter and excitement of potential riders in line as we moved along. With a smile stretched across my face, the satisfaction was sweeter than a soda when the ride attendant told me I was just the right height to face the Twister. I was trembling from head to toe; my anticipation multiplied with every step I took closer to the ride itself. But as I approached her gate, my hunger to ride the Twister only grew stronger as the roars only got louder. As our roller coaster cars climbed up to the first peak, my stomach could barely contain the hurricane of countless butterflies – butterflies of nervousness and eagerness – stirring inside me. With one clammy hand clutching my best friend’s, and the other grasping the safety bar, I took one last breath, in an attempt to soothe my pounding heart.

And then came the drop.

As my stomach dropped to my knees, my tiny smile transformed into the widest grin as we descended. She was pure speed and adrenaline from start to end. Each loop and curve welcomed screams of pure delight. As my arms stayed permanently affixed in the air, my whole body became addicted to cutting through the swift wind. Nothing could compare to the joy I felt soaring through the air. I couldn’t care about how my hair looked, how loud I was, or how I was fighting to keep my flip flops from falling off my feet and into the sky. I only cared about how I was having the best time of my ten-year-old life.

Esther Besson (she/her) is a Haitian-American poet, model, and artist from Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. She is a junior majoring in Political Science with a minor in Architectural History. Outside of her studies, Esther loves spending time with her friends, holding photoshoots, and watching *good* documentaries. She thanks Charcoal Magazine for continuing to provide a safe and welcoming space for her creative expressions, and she aspires to release her own poetry book in the future.