So, for now, I’ll remind myself that working this minimum wage job with a bunch of teenagers is less painful than the hell I endured before I was shaken out of the poisonous fog that kept me submissive and voiceless for far too long.
I guess I can’t forget about Vincent, the mid-to-late sixties cleaner whose tattoos and permanent scowl are older than any of us.
Not that I’ve carried on any conversations with the man or watched him clean, for that matter. There’s an aura about him that chills my skin and keeps me on high alert when he’s nearby. I know it's rude, but I usually rush away when I see him. However, our paths often cross, especially after my evening shifts when he’s starting his.
Sure, there are all the other employees at Lachlan Park, but this is the job they hired me for. Ishouldbe friendly, but I don’t enjoy spending more time here than is absolutely necessary. To further my case, that would mean wandering around to all the other booths and rides, or engaging in small talk after staff meetings.
Plus, this place could be temporary, and making friends seems pointless.
I’m not foolish enough to hope that this could eventually be my home.
As long as I’m running, nowhere is.
At least not in the way the Pacific Northwest was.
I traded one coast for another, hoping that it might feel similar, though it’s a whole country away.
Lachlan Harbor is approximately an hour’s drive from Portland, Maine, which is why it is a popular summer destination for Maine residents who want to escape without being too far from home. For being a place where tourists flood, it still feels quaint and quiet, giving you enough space to breathe and not feel like a sardine jammed in a tin can.
I lived in Portland, Oregon, before, but I'm starting to realize that even though it lacks the rugged mountains and babbling creeks of the West Coast, I might be turning into a small-town girl—and not just because it means fewer people to train my eye on and observe, like everyone is out to hurt me.
There was just something about it when I stepped off the bus. A comfort in the air settled in my lungs, giving me my first real breath, along with clarity that had eluded me everywhere else. It felt like the ideal place to barely penetrate the ground with some roots and plant myself in a place that appears off the map.
Nicole slaps a hand over her mouth, bursting into a fit of giggles. “The headless miner just popped out. It scared him so bad that he could’ve bitten her tongue off!”
Spinning around, I ignore her, helping a mom and her young daughter onto an empty cart that slows beside the loading platform. The mom gives me a kind, thankful smile that has warmth circulating through my veins, despite the cave-like interior. Imitation stone walls enclose the space, stalactites and stalagmites lifting from the floor and dropping from the ceiling to enhance the illusion. Whoever created this place went to great lengths to marble an opaque, gold-looking substance into the rock, using lights behind to make it appear as if it were shining. The soft, themed music accompanies the soothing crackle ofwater trickling down into a pool of water on the other side of the track from the loading area.
I used to love the musty smell of damp earth, but now I’ve grown so accustomed to it that it no longer hits me as strongly as it once did.
The excitement is palpable in her tone as she watches the security footage. “Oooh, we’re coming up on the backwards track.”
This part of the ride is a guest favorite. It’s where the surround sound and projection on the rock wall make it look like there's a cave in. Then the cart shoots backward to give more thrill to the experience.
I give the mom and daughter the same spiel as always and send them on their way, right before Nicole curses under her breath behind me from the control panel.
My smile is instant. I’m fifteen dollars richer and have one less mess to clean today.
Nicole makes her annoyance with me clear as day when she groans so loudly that it nearly echoes off the faux cavernous walls.
And since the line is all caught up for now, I walk over to her. “Who was it?”
“It was her—she threw up over the side. Dammit!” She anxiously pulls her fingers through her long, bleached blonde hair. “How did you know she was going to do that?”
Maybe it’s because I'm an eavesdropper and overheard her telling her boyfriend while they were waiting in line that she felt nauseous after the rollercoaster. The brief time I studied her, I noticed her pale features and the way she had her arms wrapped around her stomach before I loaded them into their cart. Motion blended with distraction never bodes well for most people, especially when the queasiness is already stirring below the surface.
Being perceptive has its perks.
I wish I could have learned to sharpen my awareness in a different way, rather than from a man who trained my ears as much as my body.
But I don’t tell her how I knew she would get sick on the ride. Instead, I shrug and mutter, “Just a lucky guess.”
Now that I’m right, it means I don’t have to stay an extra twenty minutes and clean up the mess. And as if my replacement heard me talking about him, Jeremy waltzes out of the employee area and joins us to take over the next part of the shift.
He stops beside Nicole, peering at her face with an inquisitive expression twisting his mouth. “What’s your problem?”
Her side-eye glower could burn him alive. It’s so terrifying that I contemplate stepping back. She pushes herself out of the chair to a standing position, smoothing out the dark gray overalls dusted with permanent dirt stains. We are required to wear them as part of our uniform to “sell” the ride more effectively. “I’ve got a mess to go clean up.”
“You lost a bet again?” he snickers, looking a little too amused. The three of us partner on shifts the most, so he knows how much Nicole enjoys making our workdays a little more interesting.
