Page 11 of Love at Full Tilt
Phoenix’s Landing, Fableland
Orlando, FL
[drafts][Fabler Fanatics’ Forums]
Fat Unfriendly Rides at the Parks
Date: June19
Forum Owner: LiaLuvsOliver
I feel like it might be useful to have a forum where we can warn fellow Fanatics about rides that may not be friendly to their bodies. I just had to get off a ride because the harness wouldn’t lock and it was pretty mortifying. No one else should have to go through that if we can help it.
I’ll get us started:
Squirt’s Wicked Whirl…
I’m still shaking as I sit down on a curb outside Squirt’s Wicked Whirl.
My phone is clutched so hard in my hands that my knuckles are white, but I keep typing, filling up paragraph after paragraph in a forum creation page on Fabler Fanatics.
I’ve been fat my entire life. I’m well acquainted with the realities of living in a world where average means half my size.
When I was in middle school, I stopped going places for fear I wouldn’t “fit.” I spent most of seventh grade missing parties and trips to the movies and into Boston, all my friends but Tess and Issy drifting away from me because I was never there.
Yet, for everything I lost, the world didn’t change.
Better to smile at myself in the mirror and give the world and its ridiculous notion of “average” the middle finger instead.
But none of that means I want to announce to a bunch of strangers that I’m too big for a safety harness.
There should be better protocols in place than a small warning sign that requires you to carry around a tape measure or a set of seats outside the ride you’d have to make a spectacle of yourself to use.
We should be able to determine, privately and without shame, if a ride will work for our bodies.
I hear footsteps but don’t look up until two beat-up running shoes stop in front of me.
Glancing up, I find Mason staring down at me. His hands fuss with the buttons on his shorts’ pockets, and his mouth and eyes are soft with what looks like worry. “I’m sorry you had to deal with that. That kid was probably new. I bet he has no idea what he’s doing.”
I shake my head. “It’s fine. It’s just physics.
” I don’t need anyone to make excuses for my body.
I’m not sorry I’m fat. I don’t want him to be.
I dig my hands into the hem of my shorts so I can’t fold my arms. Can’t try to disappear.
“Those cars are tiny, and they whip around fast. It makes sense that to be safe, they may not be able to accommodate every body shape.”
It wouldn’t kill parks like this to be more size inclusive, though. Surely the vehicles could be made bigger or there could be fewer seats in them.
Mason’s gaze is always intense, but it deepens as he peers at me. Like he’s staring at the ocean and can’t see the bottom. “Want to find that last clue?” he asks.
“Absolutely.” I climb to my feet. I’m so ready to put an end to this conversation. “Just give me a second to text my friends.” Dusting dirt off my ass with one hand, I use the other to open a group text with Tess and Issy.
Lia
Heading to clue three. I will be back by lunch. Feel free to ride Squirt as many times as you want.
(11:44 AM)
I barely have time to look away before I hear a ding. Then another and another and another.
Tess
That’s what she said.
(11:45 AM)
Issy
Lia, I just punched her in the arm.
(11:45 AM)
Are you okay?
(11:46 AM)
Tess
That was total bullshit. Want me to find a manager? Or have a word with that attendant when we get back to the front of the line? There is no reason why that harness shouldn’t have locked.
(11:46 AM)
Lia
I just want to get the next clue.
(11:47 AM)
Issy
We could come with you?
(11:47 AM)
Lia
No. Enjoy the ride. Exploit our FOTL passes for all they’re worth.
(11:48 AM)
Issy
I don’t want you to be stuck alone…
(11:48 AM)
Tess
She’s not alone. She’s got Mason.
(11:49 AM)
(11:49 AM)
(11:49 AM)
(11:49 AM)
My face ignites like a bonfire, and I quickly pivot so Mason can’t see our conversation.
While the string of emojis might look like nonsense to anyone else, it’s Tess’s shorthand for safe sex.
Whenever any of us goes out on a date, she fills our chat with some version of this (replacing the eggplant with another doughnut for her).
She’s the worst, I groan to myself, even as I’m laughing.
Lia
I’m doing whatever the text-message version of hanging up is.
(11:51 AM)
See you at the Dog Shack in a bit.
(11:51 AM)
I contemplate turning off my phone or throwing it in the nearest water feature as I shove it in my pocket. Rationally, I know Mason can’t have seen the texts, but worry still ropes my muscles into knots. My eyes avoid his face as I say, “Shall we?”
He crosses his arms. “Lead the way.”
I head in the opposite direction of Casterman’s Carousel, curious if he’ll stop me. I keep my face trained forward so he can’t spot my grin.
I don’t know why I’m being so stubborn. He was the one who confirmed the last clue was Smokey. It shouldn’t be a big deal for me to admit what I think the third one is. Plus, we’re supposed to be working together.
But it’s kind of fun, seeing who will give first. Like a game within the game.
Mason only lets me walk a few feet before he says, “You know the carousel’s in the middle of the park, right?”
A little thrill fizzes through me. Not just because he caved first, but because I was right. Again. I raise an eyebrow. “I was checking to make sure you knew that.”
He huffs a laugh as he walks away, forcing me to scurry to catch up.
It’s a short walk from Dudley’s metropolis to the center of the park.
Here, the streetlamps lining the road give way to trees frosted with twinkle lights.
Behind wrought iron fences, flowers bloom in every color, some real, some glass sculptures fixed with LEDs to make them glow.
The grass under my feet seems greener, the sky over my head bluer, the sun’s rays gentler, like I’ve stepped out of the real world and into a fairy-tale forest.
“Do you come here a lot?” I ask him as we weave through the crowds. There seem to be three times as many people in the park today.
Mason shakes his head. “Not anymore.”
Every time a family with screaming toddlers streams by us, Mason veers toward me.
The closer he gets, the more his scent—something wintry like mint or eucalyptus—fills my nose, and it’s too much like he’s a part of this fairy-tale setting.
Part of the park’s magic. I study the flowers intently, using them as an excuse to widen the gap between us.
“I almost got a job here with Carter, but…” He pauses, like he’s considering how much more to share. I get the sense he’s not used to talking about himself this much. “I get paid more doing construction.”
“Do you like it?” I ask.
“I like working with my hands, I guess. But it’s hot and tiring.” He shrugs. “It’s a job.”
I understand that apathy more than he knows.
It’s how I feel every day about working for my parents.
I clear my throat. “You have this,” I say, flourishing my hands to indicate the park, “in your backyard, though. It has to be amazing to come here whenever you want.” So many questions bubble up to my tongue.
What has surprised him most? What is the most magical moment he’s had?
What’s his favorite thing to do here? But his expression hardens, and he shrugs again, popping the words before they leave my lips.
Ahead of us, the trees part to expose the umbrella-shaped canopy of the carousel and then the team of horses dancing beneath it.
The sides of the roof gleam with bright-white lights that are dotted among gilded mirrors framed with gems. Beneath the mirrors scalloped panels painted the blue of a clear summer sky and decorated with white-and-gold scrollwork throw shadows across the horses.
Each of the dappled creatures appears frozen in movement as a new set of riders climb on.
Polished-gold rods lock the steeds to the floor, and around them chariots and carriages fill the gaps.
My legs itch to run toward the carousel, lured by the joyful organ music and the way its lights dance toward the sky as it begins to turn.
For years, I’ve studied pictures of this ride, every time I couldn’t sleep, every time my mother’s anxiety turned my muscles to knotted ropes, every time I felt like my world might crush me with its smallness.
Now here it is, sprung off my phone screen, larger than life. Overwhelming all my senses.
“Seriously, how can you shrug about this ?” I wave toward thecarousel.
Mason replies with another lift of his shoulders. “They’re plastic.”
Irritation rises in me, and I spin away from him and hurry toward the attraction. Some people would give anything to be able to come here whenever they want. Yet he’s taking it for granted.
He has no idea how lucky he is.
When I reach the fence that separates the carousel from the park’s thoroughfare, I take out my phone. For a minute, I’m alone, but then Mason fills my vision again. He leans back against the fence to observe as I fuss with my camera.
“I don’t understand how you can know so much about Fableland if you don’t care about it,” I say softly.
He’s quiet for a long time. When he does speak again, it’s hesitantly. “When I was younger, I was obsessed with these parks. Carter and I practically lived here. But then I grew up and saw them for what they are. Just places. No different from or more special than any others.”
My muscles stiffen. Every one of his words is wrong. Wrong. Wrong. “You really are just here for the money.”
“It would change my life. And I know enough about the parks and movies to have a chance.”
I cross my arms over my chest. This scavenger hunt isn’t supposed to be some means to an end, like getting a loan from the bank. It’s meant to be another slice of Fableland magic. A chance to make our dreams come true.