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It's Not the Fall That Kills You
Oct. 29th, 2012 12:38 pmI'm not a kid person.
Which is a very odd way to start this story, and that will be clear in a moment, but it's the only way for me to do this right now. I'm still working it out in my head.
I grew up in the South, but my family is Midwestern. As a kid I thought they were Northern, because where I came from that's what they were called. I've been corrected on that. When it came time to pick a grad school I chose one near my family, because they're a tight knit group and I only ever saw them in the summers and for funerals. A part of me liked it that way. They're close, affectionate, and I have to work for that sort of closeness. Now I am trying to be more like that, and I want to see them often. This is my attempt to do that.
Where I come from Halloween is a thing, a thing, and Haunted Houses are an institution all their own. They build reputations, they have charities, and they get a special edge from the knowledge you're riding very far out into the woods with strangers. Ever seen Deliverance? Yeah. That's what makes it really scary if you can get past the booms and the costumes. Anyway, I have these two friends and they are incredible people. Married couple, met them through my useless ex, and they have two children. When I first met them the oldest had just turned four, and she was the first child to ever take to me. Whether I wanted her to or not. After that I was her Aunt, and that was that, and I had better learn to deal with it. She gets it from her mother. Who is the sort of out-going and charming I often wish I was with strangers. Also the lady is stupidly talented in everything she tries her hand at. Except baking. I have her beat there. The husband is a lot more like me. Quiet around strangers, lively with friends, bookish. That sort of thing. Very mild-mannered, another important detail for this story, and very smart. I've always looked up to him. They're actually the people that got me into Supernatural. So now, six years later, their oldest turns ten and this is the first year I'm not around for it, and the first year I'm not around for the three of us to do our annual Haunted House trips. Which is how the oldest (from here on out called Niece, because I used to work for lawyers and that's enough of that) figured out she wanted her birthday present to be going to a haunted house for the first time, and it would not work unless her Auntie was there to punch monsters and protect her. I'm not a kid person. She made puppy-dog eyes. I drove twelve hours, started out Friday at 3 AM, with a paper due tomorrow and just enough money for gas and road snacks. I'm not a kid person, but she owns me, and that's that.
Friday I go out with my friends to the big time houses, and we have a grand old time. Sleep deprivation aside it's just like old times, and I love them a lot. We talk about Monkeyspheres. It's this theory about the number of people the average person can care about. The husband (we'll designate him Will because calling him husband would be weird, and his wife will be Rea) explains it to me, and we agree we both have really small Monkeyspheres. Turns out I'm in his. Which is awesomely exclusive, considering the only other people listed are his wife and his kids. I thought Rea was just being nice when she said this. You know the nice white lies we tell each other. I was really very wrong.
Saturday we load Niece up and ride out to this family friendly haunted house near where they live. The plan is to go through the hayride and the house, and then we're going to work one of the scenes with one of our friends and a lot of people I don't know. I'm nervous, but stoked, because I've been going to these things since I was Niece's age and I've never worked one. The house is great, the hayride is great, it's all for charity, and we have a fine time. Niece gets a little scared, and I carry her though the maze at the end and then walk with Will to our scene while Niece rides back to the front with Rea. She needed the full experience after all. We get into costume, I get instructions, and the night begins. Niece and Rea ride back, suit up, and get started. My Niece, brilliant little thing that she is, scares the crap out of a number of adults. It is hilarious. I'm so proud of her I'm bursting, and she's bouncing in place talking all the while, and just generally stoked beyond reason. Which is what we wanted for her. A bit after 11 the ATV comes through telling us the last trailer is on its way, and all the monsters at our scene are discussing where we'll go for food afterwards because we've been there eight hours and everybody is hungry. The last trailer comes. Here's where the story turns.
We don't have a system of walkies at the house, so nobody knows that there's a teenager on the cart that's been causing trouble. Dropping profanities and generally being a pain. He's been lectured more than once, and this thing is being run by paramedics and EMTs, so there's more than a cop or two on the premises. The point is, we don't know there's a guy causing trouble. At this point in the night everyone is talking about breaking down the scene, and what we're going to do, and the only two people with the energy to still chase the carts as they take off are Will and myself. The trailer begins to leave, I haven't seen the kid insisting on hugging Rea a lot, and then I start chasing the cart. I don't know if Will was behind me when I started or not. I didn't see. The teenager is holding his arms out, I've shaken a lot of hands that night with people I scared, and the cart's not really moving yet so I brush my fingers against his hand. Which is when he catches hold of my wrist.
I don't know why I didn't immediately strike out. I've been in fights. I kind of know my way around them. I guess it was a combination of shock and exhaustion, but who knows right? What happens next is sort of blurry, but I'll give it to you in a mixture of what I know and what I was told. I tried to get my arm free and the guy wouldn't let go. The tractor picked up speed and I ran to keep up while pulling my arm. The guy started saying, "Come on baby get in my lap" and I couldn't get loose. He jerked me forward, my feet went out from under me, and I hit the ground. He still didn't let go. I was being dragged through the dirt as the tractor picked up speed, and then suddenly he let go and I hit the ground fully and tried to get to my feet. When I looked up I saw Will. Wherever he was, he saw what happened and then he got there. He grabbed the kid's arm, made him let go, and then dragged him off the trailer by his collar and had him held there. Will, my mild-mannered and quiet friend, was screaming in the guy's face. "You hurt her motherfucker", just over and over again. The teenager was trying to act tough, but I can tell you objectively that Will was terrifying in that moment. I got to my feet, pulled Will off him, and then Will half-carried me back to the scene.
At the time I had two concerns. The first was that admitting injury or fear would only enrage Will more, and I'd been half-afraid he was going to snap the guy's neck. The first thing I got out coherently was, "This shit happens in the movies." Then I started shaking and I couldn't stop. My second concern wasn't any of that though. It was that when we got back and my goggles were off I could clearly see my ten year old niece sobbing. She'd watched the whole damn thing. So aching and shaky I grabbed her up and started talking. Told her it was a freak incident, had never happened before and wouldn't again, that I was fine. Just fine. Made it back to the car and narrowly avoided being forced to sit with an EMT and get checked out. Will talked me into going to Rea's car and getting my cigarettes. He then collected a group of Firemen and a SLED agent and waited for the guy to ride up from the house. They confronted him, and he told them I deserved it for touching his hand. So they forcefully ejected him from the grounds when I refused to press charges.
I kept it together the rest of the night. Kept it together when Rea took pictures of the damage, thankfully minimal, and then kept it together when I scrubbed dirt and grit out of my skin and hair and went to bed. Kept it together until I was far out of their sight. Crazy thing is now I can't stop thinking about how that must have been for her. First time ever at a haunted house, riding the high of such a good night, and then watching her aunt get dragged through the dirt until her father saved me. I need to be working on that paper, and a thousand other things, but this is where I'm at. My husband was so angry when I told him I left out the part where I find myself shaking even now. It's weird, because I have an eye for detail but I can't see the guy's face. I see Will there, and I'm so grateful it hurts, but not the guy. It's just a shadowy shape that won't let go of my arm. It's a laugh and a rough voice and that's it.
I like making stories funny. I like funny stories. I write angst with happy endings because that's what I enjoy. Stephen King once said it's easy to write a tragedy because at their heart they're all stupid. It's easy to build something up just to knock it down, but it's hard to make a comedy. I can't find a way to make this funny. I've tried and tried but it's all messed up somewhere. Instead I'm here and it's scary to remember even when I blow it off to everybody that asks as not a big deal. So here it is. Plain and simple, and as clear as possible. It needs to get out of my head so I can write evocriticism about Mrs. Dalloway.
Which is a very odd way to start this story, and that will be clear in a moment, but it's the only way for me to do this right now. I'm still working it out in my head.
I grew up in the South, but my family is Midwestern. As a kid I thought they were Northern, because where I came from that's what they were called. I've been corrected on that. When it came time to pick a grad school I chose one near my family, because they're a tight knit group and I only ever saw them in the summers and for funerals. A part of me liked it that way. They're close, affectionate, and I have to work for that sort of closeness. Now I am trying to be more like that, and I want to see them often. This is my attempt to do that.
Where I come from Halloween is a thing, a thing, and Haunted Houses are an institution all their own. They build reputations, they have charities, and they get a special edge from the knowledge you're riding very far out into the woods with strangers. Ever seen Deliverance? Yeah. That's what makes it really scary if you can get past the booms and the costumes. Anyway, I have these two friends and they are incredible people. Married couple, met them through my useless ex, and they have two children. When I first met them the oldest had just turned four, and she was the first child to ever take to me. Whether I wanted her to or not. After that I was her Aunt, and that was that, and I had better learn to deal with it. She gets it from her mother. Who is the sort of out-going and charming I often wish I was with strangers. Also the lady is stupidly talented in everything she tries her hand at. Except baking. I have her beat there. The husband is a lot more like me. Quiet around strangers, lively with friends, bookish. That sort of thing. Very mild-mannered, another important detail for this story, and very smart. I've always looked up to him. They're actually the people that got me into Supernatural. So now, six years later, their oldest turns ten and this is the first year I'm not around for it, and the first year I'm not around for the three of us to do our annual Haunted House trips. Which is how the oldest (from here on out called Niece, because I used to work for lawyers and that's enough of that) figured out she wanted her birthday present to be going to a haunted house for the first time, and it would not work unless her Auntie was there to punch monsters and protect her. I'm not a kid person. She made puppy-dog eyes. I drove twelve hours, started out Friday at 3 AM, with a paper due tomorrow and just enough money for gas and road snacks. I'm not a kid person, but she owns me, and that's that.
Friday I go out with my friends to the big time houses, and we have a grand old time. Sleep deprivation aside it's just like old times, and I love them a lot. We talk about Monkeyspheres. It's this theory about the number of people the average person can care about. The husband (we'll designate him Will because calling him husband would be weird, and his wife will be Rea) explains it to me, and we agree we both have really small Monkeyspheres. Turns out I'm in his. Which is awesomely exclusive, considering the only other people listed are his wife and his kids. I thought Rea was just being nice when she said this. You know the nice white lies we tell each other. I was really very wrong.
Saturday we load Niece up and ride out to this family friendly haunted house near where they live. The plan is to go through the hayride and the house, and then we're going to work one of the scenes with one of our friends and a lot of people I don't know. I'm nervous, but stoked, because I've been going to these things since I was Niece's age and I've never worked one. The house is great, the hayride is great, it's all for charity, and we have a fine time. Niece gets a little scared, and I carry her though the maze at the end and then walk with Will to our scene while Niece rides back to the front with Rea. She needed the full experience after all. We get into costume, I get instructions, and the night begins. Niece and Rea ride back, suit up, and get started. My Niece, brilliant little thing that she is, scares the crap out of a number of adults. It is hilarious. I'm so proud of her I'm bursting, and she's bouncing in place talking all the while, and just generally stoked beyond reason. Which is what we wanted for her. A bit after 11 the ATV comes through telling us the last trailer is on its way, and all the monsters at our scene are discussing where we'll go for food afterwards because we've been there eight hours and everybody is hungry. The last trailer comes. Here's where the story turns.
We don't have a system of walkies at the house, so nobody knows that there's a teenager on the cart that's been causing trouble. Dropping profanities and generally being a pain. He's been lectured more than once, and this thing is being run by paramedics and EMTs, so there's more than a cop or two on the premises. The point is, we don't know there's a guy causing trouble. At this point in the night everyone is talking about breaking down the scene, and what we're going to do, and the only two people with the energy to still chase the carts as they take off are Will and myself. The trailer begins to leave, I haven't seen the kid insisting on hugging Rea a lot, and then I start chasing the cart. I don't know if Will was behind me when I started or not. I didn't see. The teenager is holding his arms out, I've shaken a lot of hands that night with people I scared, and the cart's not really moving yet so I brush my fingers against his hand. Which is when he catches hold of my wrist.
I don't know why I didn't immediately strike out. I've been in fights. I kind of know my way around them. I guess it was a combination of shock and exhaustion, but who knows right? What happens next is sort of blurry, but I'll give it to you in a mixture of what I know and what I was told. I tried to get my arm free and the guy wouldn't let go. The tractor picked up speed and I ran to keep up while pulling my arm. The guy started saying, "Come on baby get in my lap" and I couldn't get loose. He jerked me forward, my feet went out from under me, and I hit the ground. He still didn't let go. I was being dragged through the dirt as the tractor picked up speed, and then suddenly he let go and I hit the ground fully and tried to get to my feet. When I looked up I saw Will. Wherever he was, he saw what happened and then he got there. He grabbed the kid's arm, made him let go, and then dragged him off the trailer by his collar and had him held there. Will, my mild-mannered and quiet friend, was screaming in the guy's face. "You hurt her motherfucker", just over and over again. The teenager was trying to act tough, but I can tell you objectively that Will was terrifying in that moment. I got to my feet, pulled Will off him, and then Will half-carried me back to the scene.
At the time I had two concerns. The first was that admitting injury or fear would only enrage Will more, and I'd been half-afraid he was going to snap the guy's neck. The first thing I got out coherently was, "This shit happens in the movies." Then I started shaking and I couldn't stop. My second concern wasn't any of that though. It was that when we got back and my goggles were off I could clearly see my ten year old niece sobbing. She'd watched the whole damn thing. So aching and shaky I grabbed her up and started talking. Told her it was a freak incident, had never happened before and wouldn't again, that I was fine. Just fine. Made it back to the car and narrowly avoided being forced to sit with an EMT and get checked out. Will talked me into going to Rea's car and getting my cigarettes. He then collected a group of Firemen and a SLED agent and waited for the guy to ride up from the house. They confronted him, and he told them I deserved it for touching his hand. So they forcefully ejected him from the grounds when I refused to press charges.
I kept it together the rest of the night. Kept it together when Rea took pictures of the damage, thankfully minimal, and then kept it together when I scrubbed dirt and grit out of my skin and hair and went to bed. Kept it together until I was far out of their sight. Crazy thing is now I can't stop thinking about how that must have been for her. First time ever at a haunted house, riding the high of such a good night, and then watching her aunt get dragged through the dirt until her father saved me. I need to be working on that paper, and a thousand other things, but this is where I'm at. My husband was so angry when I told him I left out the part where I find myself shaking even now. It's weird, because I have an eye for detail but I can't see the guy's face. I see Will there, and I'm so grateful it hurts, but not the guy. It's just a shadowy shape that won't let go of my arm. It's a laugh and a rough voice and that's it.
I like making stories funny. I like funny stories. I write angst with happy endings because that's what I enjoy. Stephen King once said it's easy to write a tragedy because at their heart they're all stupid. It's easy to build something up just to knock it down, but it's hard to make a comedy. I can't find a way to make this funny. I've tried and tried but it's all messed up somewhere. Instead I'm here and it's scary to remember even when I blow it off to everybody that asks as not a big deal. So here it is. Plain and simple, and as clear as possible. It needs to get out of my head so I can write evocriticism about Mrs. Dalloway.
