Memory week one

In third grade, I received my first invitation to a boy-girl birthday party. My mother only let me attend because the birthday boy, Matt, didn't have a mother and he sent me chocolates on valentines day. She drove me out to this parking lot in middle-of-nowhere Illinois where sixteen blow-up "attractions," if you will, sat. I can't tell you where we started or who all attended, but about halfway through the party, Matt, our friend Scott, and I found ourselves at the top of a 40 foot tall Titanic themed slide. As we climbed up to the top, Scott peered over the edge, hopping up and down on his step, making the whole thing shake. I climbed the lane next to him, watching the feet of Matt, who climbing directly in front of me. Having a desperate fear of heights, no way on God's green earth was I looking down. Two teenagers dressed in red and yellow jumpsuits greeted us with "sit with your butt firmly on the slide and keep your feet out in front of you." Matt proceeded down the slide, peering over the ship's railing, watching his descent. I like to imagine that he envisioned himself with the rest of the crew and passengers of the actual Titanic and that's why he leaned too far over the side. I never saw him hit the ground, I never heard him scream. As I propelled myself towards the base of the ship, his body seemed to melt into the grass, like he gave up. Scott hollered at me to slow down as I ran, maneuvering through the lot to where Matt's dad parked the beat-up Yukon, frantically explaining, feeling a twinge of superiority since I knew what happened to his son first. Watching the EMT load Matt into the back, lights flashing way to brightly for the middle of the day, I remember shivering, standing too far away to matter, and a man in a jeep rubbernecking.