A Healthy Dose of Fear-Be-Gone!

It was a beautiful Florida day, sunny, not overly humid, perfect. The shimmering sun shone on the mighty metal frames and bright beams of the amusement park rides on that joyous day in early June. My family walked down the wide entryway towards the gate at Universal Studios Orlando. I was filled with sheer anxiety and the sight of those tall roller coasters, those sleek, serpentine steel monsters that had haunted me for nearly ten years. Yet intertwined with that fear was utmost excitement; I was here! In mere moments I would be at the Wizarding World of Harry Potter, the theme park based on my favorite childhood book series! I was like a young eagle, scared of the sun but excited to be flying.

“Tickets please,” the cashier said as we at long last arrived. My mom took the tickets out of her purse. My second-youngest sister, Juliet, wasn’t feeling well.

“Do we need to buy any more?” my dad inquired.

“No, that’s okay, Juliet and I are going to go shopping!” my mom said, trying her best to make poor Juliet feel a bit better about not getting to go.

We entered the gate, found the nearest person that looked official, and asked how long the Wizarding World would be opening. Considering the park had not officially opened yet, this was a major concern.

“They are thinking of closing it at eleven,” the man softly replied.

It was 10:15. Within seconds, I was off like a rocket at Cape Canaveral, as fast as my sixteen-year-old legs, made fast by years of running on the cross-country team, would carry me, the stupendousness and sheen of Hogwarts Castle acting as a guide as I ran. I reached a bridge, across which and around the bend, I was sure the place of my dream lay hidden…that is until I was stopped by a park worker.

“Slow down!” He reprimanded. I then explained my situation, how I had to get to the Wizarding World before it closed.

“Oh, they’re thinking of keeping it open until 12:30 today.” He stated. Relieved at my luck, I slowed down and, with the tension of a pulled rubber band, waited for my dad and two younger sisters.

When we were finally there, it felt like a dream! I was in Hogsmeade! We went inside Honeydukes, surrounded by screaming, excited people, to look for souvenirs, hearing an announcer announce loudly with each “adopted” Pygmy Puff. Completely in awe, we bought Butterbeers and Chocolate Frogs. It was wonderful, all I could have asked for, except one thing lingered; the Wizarding World of Harry Potter had a roller coaster, a big one called Dueling Dragons, that went upside-down and in loop-de-loops. We then went on Homing Hippogriffs, a thrill ride but not scary enough to deter me. Then it was decision time: to wait for minutes that felt like hours as I had many times before while my sisters and dad went on the behemoth or do something crazy and join them. The deciding seconds were agonizing.
“Vic, you gonna join us?” My dad, knowing my fear, patiently asked.

Filled with nervousness and feeling like I might faint, I stammered something along the lines of “Well, I guess, considering the circumstances, it would be a waste if I didn’t.” We put our souvenirs in a locker and got in line. Within five minutes, I was about to do it. I was about to get on a roller coaster, reassured by the fact that, if I hated it, I would never have to again. The ride started, zooming, up the huge first hill, and was off! The adrenaline was almost a safety net, drowning my inhibitions in a sea of heart-pumping excitement. For a second, I saw my legs dangle above the street over a hundred feet below.
And then it was done. And it wasn’t too bad. For the next few hours we continued going on rides, including one with an 85 foot straight drop. Then came the other roller coaster at the park, a roller coaster both taller and faster than Dueling Dragons. My confidence lured me in line but, seeing other coaster riders, my old fear quickly reappeared. As we boarded I muttered to my sister, “Yeah, I’ll go on it but I probably won’t like it.”

Needless to say, I did. Very much.

Nearly two years later, we arrived at that first park, the first park where I remember seeing a roller coaster, the park where I nearly ran out when I was seven because I was so scared of ROAR!, the park’s beastly wooden death-trap, or that was what I had once considered it. This time, when the anxiety returned, it was quickly vanquished; as I got of that roller coaster, I felt completely, totally alive, devoid of old fears. In fact, I went on it again. Twice.

One might think (I certainly would) that this could only apply to adrenaline-seeking activities. I guess I was wrong because two months after I got off that wooden ride, I was knocking on the door of an apartment where inside dwelt a girl that I thought was beautiful. I was scared to death. The difference? Well, the difference was that that fear no longer mattered. Victor had become the victor.