One More Thing: Stories and Other Stories(30)

“No!” shouted 2, 6, 7, 8, 10, 3, 4, 11, and 12.

“A lot of the time I thought, ‘This should be moving a lot faster,’ ” said 11. “But then at the end I realized, ‘Wow, I can’t believe how fast that was!’ ”

“Yeah, great job, man!” said 7.

“I didn’t design the ride,” Tom reminded the group. “I am from an independently hired research company.”

Thank you, mouthed Christo.

“I thought about jumping off when it got scary,” said 1—softly, but to be heard.

“That’s crazy,” said 8, turning to 1. “Why would you ever do such a thing?”

“Yeah,” agreed 2. “It’s going to end soon enough anyway. Why not just try to enjoy it?”

“Because it was pointless, and I didn’t like it. So why not?”

“What about the other people in the car with you?” asked 9. “We’re supposed to be doing this ride together or it’s not as much fun.”

“ ‘Supposed to’?” exploded 1. “Were there rules to this ride that I missed? What do I owe to any of you? Sorry, but I never asked to be on a ride with you. I just showed up and you were here. Who says I have to like it? You liked it, and that’s great. But I didn’t. So what? Can’t you respect that?”

None of them understood this attitude, except 6, who understood but kept it to himself.

“That doesn’t make any sense,” said 6.


“Can we see a picture of the ride?” asked 2, and Tom handed them each the result of a bright flash they all remembered vaguely now that they were reminded of it, and more vividly each second as the photograph carved its lines into the blur of their memories.

The photograph was from the last moment of the first part of the ride, right when the fear of what was about to happen was inseparable from the wonder of what would come next. Everyone who worked on roller coasters knew that this was the part of the ride where all the best pictures are taken, where everyone looks most foolish and beautiful and fearful and true, and where no one, no matter how brave or wise or vain or camera-conscious, can hide a look that reveals that they truly don’t know what’s going to happen next.

“See,” said 2. “Look. You enjoyed it. Look at your face!”

Tears gathered in the corners of 1’s eyes as he stared at the picture.

“That was so long ago,” said 1. “So much happened after that.”


“What should we call this roller coaster?” asked Tom.

“Life,” said 2.

Everyone got quiet.

“Yeah. Life,” said 8.

“Life,” agreed 1.

“Life,” said 6.

People nodded in silence.

Christo, watching behind the glass, nodded.

“ ‘Monster,’ ” said 5.

“ ‘Monster’?” asked the focus group leader.

“Yeah. Monster!”

“How about The Monster?” suggested 10.

“No,” said 5. “All caps. MONSTER: The Roller Coaster.”

“ ‘Monster’ sounds cool,” said 4.

No! thought Christo.

“I like The Monster,” repeated 10.

“Me too,” said 11.

No, no, no! thought Christo.

“I still like Life,” said 2. “Always will.”

“Let’s take a vote,” said the focus group leader.

Five people raised their hands for MONSTER, three for Life, four for The Monster, and one person (1) said he didn’t have a preference.

“ ‘MONSTER’ it is. Thanks again, and everyone be sure you fill out your paperwork before you leave. Oh, and did everyone get their refreshment-discount coupons to the park?”


Christo was angry almost beyond the borders of the much-surveyed powers of his own comprehension.

MONSTER?!

He did not spend the last nineteen years of his career dreaming that one day he might be remembered primarily as the designer of an amusement park roller-coaster ride called “MONSTER”! Or “The Monster”! Or whatever the hell they were going to call it now.

But his dream was dead now, murdered by idiot whims, and there was nothing he could do about it anymore.

Oh well, thought Christo. That’s life.





Kellogg’s (or: The Last Wholesome Fantasy of the Middle-School Boy)





It wasn’t like this boy to throw a tantrum in the cereal aisle of the supermarket, and it wasn’t like his mother to give in to one, but here they were, for some reason, both making an exception.

“Okay,” she said, and threw the box deep into the far corner of the main part of the shopping cart. “Okay. Don’t let your father see it.”

The family never bought sugar cereals and never bought name-brand cereals, so this split-second sight of his mother’s wrist flicking an official name-brand sugar cereal into the cart was something he had to keep replaying in his head for the next several minutes until he was literally dizzy on the image of the impossible. The sensation of seeing and reseeing that wrist snap was something he couldn’t make sense of, something that would be best described by words he didn’t know yet: surreal, pornographic.