Roller Coasters and Clay
7/31/05
by Diane Sprague
I used to be terrified by roller coasters or any other contraptions that would take a person more than eight feet above the ground. I would only go on the low rides at amusements parks. Heights held that unknown threat of letting go and falling and I wanted to stand in the place that was made me feel safe and in control. I would look at the roller coasters and swear to myself that nothing would get me on those horrifying monsters. Nothing. I did not understand the power of a seven year old child. When we at Darien Lake some years ago, my son, Brian, decided he wanted to ride the Viper, a black dark fiend that not only brings the riders up high but makes them be upside down briefly as they rotate through the loops. He did go on with someone else and I was told his words on the ride were, "I am going to die." I wanted to hug him and comfort him after his torturous adventure, but instead, he stood back and told me he would go on again if I went on with him. I was baffled and shocked but I realized when I looked at his sweet face that I was going to say yes. I had to. So shaking beyond my control, with hands that were doing a Niagara Falls imitation, and with thoughts of death and the unknown racing through my head, I climbed into my seat next to Brian and froze completely as we made that ascent of terror to the top of the first hill. At the top, I looked down at the park that was further down below me that anything had the right to be and prayed that I could get out of this somehow. As we started that descent down the first hill and I realized control was completely gone and I had no choice but to let go and let out a piercing scream that would last throughout the entire ride. We raced through the loops and twisted around the turns with a relentless intensity. I felt like repeating Brian's words that I was going to die because this was crazy. At the end of the ride, I turned to Brian and said what any sane person would say after going through that racking experience: "That was fun!"
That was the beginning of our love affair with roller coasters. We bought season passes and spent the rest of the summer going on the different rollers coaster in the park. We even tried other roller coaster in other parks. The delicious terror and thrill never disappeared. Brian would walk around making hand gestures indicating the up and down pattern of a roller coaster. He even wrote a story making the roller coasters into characters that had an adventure with each other.
The next summer was the same. We bought the season passes and went from roller coaster to roller coaster to experience the strange blend of terror, the letting go of control, and the sensation of conquering the fears that these strange metal and wooden structures held.
New roller coasters were built. On the Superman, the fall on that first hill took forever. A person could write a essay in that long stretch of weightlessness. The Boomerang brought us up high and held us for few seconds and then let us drop backwards to go through the loops again. It was still incredibly fun but we did not go as often.
After that, a sad thought began to creep in. It was still enjoyable, but we could sense a little bit of boredom looming in the background. We realized that waiting through longs lines for a few minutes of exhilaration was kind of silly.
The next summer we went to the park once. Sadly we began to understand that our obsession for riding the roller coasters had faded. It was time to move on.
When Clay came to sing at Darien Lake, the same sad thought lurked in the background. My daughter, Elizabeth, and I went on the rides but the big thrill was gone. Just little ones remained. We enjoyed our time together but I knew that the fun was a bit forced and the fascination was faded.
As we walked to the other end of the park to see Clay's performance, the fear I didn't want to face began to creep into my thoughts. Would this end too? The word's from an old Neil Young song played quietly in the back of my mind: "Don't let it bring you down. It's only castles burning."
I have seen a lot of castles burn in my life and I have learned to let them go. Except this castle was a particularly beautiful one. I built it during a time when there was nothing there, absolutely nothing, just the darkness of a failed life and love that seeped away into a vicious cruelty that I could not understand. I used the beauty of Clay's voice and built soaring towers that held rooms full of treasures and hidden secrets and it made me strong. With this castle nobody could hurt me and life became liveable again. How could I possibly let it go?
As soon as the music started, I realized that my fears were safe for now. The show was brilliant. During this long period of waiting for Clay, the little stinker was learning how to dance. As I watched him, I was thoroughly in awe as I watched his every movement. He channeled the spirit of Elvis and remained completely himself the whole time. He gracefully worked his way into the songs of the different decades and sang them far better than anything I have ever heard. His dancing through the songs was smooth and captivating. Clay still held that wonderful mixture of everything that awakens our imagination: his pureness when he sings the beginning of When Doves Cry in his choir robe, his wicked teasing when he rips the robe off and becomes deliciously sexual, and then that smile at the end because he knows intuitively what he is able to do to us. His voice soared through his masterpieces of singing in Solitaire and Bridge over Troubled Water. He stepped into the background and let Angela and Quiana give their own amazing performances that brought the audience to their feet. Then he stepped back in and gave us a taste of his future with songs that are certain to open some doors to a world which has stubbornly shut off a true artist with their preconceived notions of what deserves air time.
Maybe I don't cling to this castle I built as tightly as I did in the past, but it is still there. I no longer desperately need it, but I still learn from it and enjoy the show. I think that in the way that roller coasters helped me to confront some of my fears, Clay helps me to watch the process of defining one's self. I like observing his decisions, choices, contradictions, and conflicts. It's inspiring to see him still growing and developing his skills. He helps me to see that life can become a choice. When we think we are stuck in the darkness of our predefined lives, we can decide to let it go and make our own choices about who we can be and where we can go. When one watches someone who was once defined as being clumsy and awkward brilliantly dance and move across the strange, it serves as a reminder of an old truth. We are never what we thought we were; instead we can choose to be what we know we are when we listen to our own words.
As I drove away from the concert, I realized I was letting something go a little bit. Obsessions do fade. At the same time, I held on. I still want to watch Clay's show. I want to continue listening to his music. I want to see what he chooses and see where he wants to go and continue to hear his beautiful voice. Perhaps I don't need the castle anymore, but I still want in my landscape to be reminded of what happens when we give up our need for safety and control and allow ourselves to fall down that first hill of the roller coaster and make the choice to enjoy the ride. It's good to have music playing in the background reminding us of some secrets and inspiring us to look for more. The castle has not burnt down yet; it just changed somewhat. Clay's too smart to disappear just yet.
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