After the ride, when we had assumed a regular pace on the paths of Six Flags, Clarity said:
“What if that guy’s wife was decapitated?”
“Like in a factory accident or something?”
“Or like with a hatchet or an axe by him in the woods in the back of their house.”
“Well there’s that.”
“Oh this is good.”
“What.”
“Incidents at Disneyland Resort.”
“Why are you doing this to yourself?”
“It makes me feel better somehow,” Clarity says.
“What’s the worst one?”
She reads off her phone: “Probably this one. ‘On a Grad Nite in June 1966, a 19-year-old man from Northridge, California was killed while attempting to sneak into the park by climbing onto the monorail track. Ignoring the shouted warnings of a security officer, he was struck by the train and dragged 30 to 40 feet down the track. The security guard in question later stated he had to quote hose the kid off the underside unquote.’ ”
“I like the electrocution ones,” I say.
What’s the scariest thing that ever happened to you?” Clarity says.
“Other than my many meth overdoses?”
“Whatever.”
“Ok. I haven’t thought about this for a while, but the thing that when I think back on it, really freaks me out about life is when me and my sisters were little, my little sister Amy who was a baby at the time crawled into the fire while we were camping. You know, my parents should have been watching her but they were fighting. So she crawls right into the hot white ashes of this fire where the flames were out but it was still hot. That was my youngest sister Amy. Joanne and I weren’t able to help and there was question about whether to take Amy to a hospital or not. Mom said yes and Dad said no. We went with his plan and just got some bandages and burn cream from a local grocery. That was one of the scariest days of my life. Joanne and I went into the forest, down a trail and were by the lake hugging and crying and saying desperate prayers to God to make our sister be alright. (Damn. That chokes me way up to remember.)
“I asked my mom about that when she was here for my birthday and her version is a little different: Mom says we were all hiking and she took Amy up to the tent while the rest of us were in the woods. Amy was 18 months, a toddler, Mom went into the tent or was too far away to catch Amy as she toddled to the fire and tripped into it, caught herself with her hands, and burned. Mom pulled her out as quickly as she could. Mom wanted to take her to a hospital right then, but Dad didn’t (he wanted to wait and see). Dad got pads and ointment for burn cream. They held her the whole night and she cried the whole night. Mom was surprised none of the other campers called the police on us. The next day, we took her to the hospital and the doctor said, ‘Yes, you should have brought her yesterday as soon as it happened.’
“I have a dream, sometimes, of an ash baby, my little sister’s brain and skull partially burned through. She’s lying in the fire, face down, and I can’t reach her.”
“You must really love your sister if you still have that dream.”
“I would feel that way about any baby—it wouldn’t have to be my sister! If I was a dad and my baby fell in a fire I wouldn’t have any qualms about taking her to the fucking hospital, either! What the fuck kind of father delays that trip by a single second??! Just so he can do it on his own??”
“I don’t know,” Clarity says. “I don’t know. That’s fucked up. You wanna hear mine? Maybe it will calm you down.”
“What are you gonna calm me down with?”
“My scariest thing that ever happened to me.”
I look at Clarity. I’m shaking. I’ll never forgive my dad for that shit.
“Ok, tell me.”
“It’s worse than yours,” she says. “I’m warning you.”
“Tell me.”