Aimee
Wayne was a cheerful, goofy kid. When he was about six, I, a sulky tween, was roped into chaperoning him to the Waianae High School carnival. He was excited by all that he saw and ever ready to comment on them. At length.And what excited him the most was this very scary ride I absolutely had no interest in. I think it was called The Bullet. It’s not around anymore, I don’t think. Probably banned by the Commission on Carnival Ride Safety and Well-Being. I don’t know how he convinced me to go on the ride, but wasn’t that the Wonder of Wayne. Maybe the constant hounding and pleading just got to me.Once The Bullet made its way up with our bodies facing the heavens, and all of a sudden turning downwards with our bodies facing hell, Wayne was beside himself with fear, panic, and regret. The happy chatter turned into screams and pleas to the operator to stop, STOP, S-T-O-P! He was so loud that I myself was too distracted to be afraid.The ride lasted for what seemed to be an hour and a half, and after we teetered out of the shadow of the dread Bullet, I told him, “Wayne, don’t you dare brag that you went on that ride, because I’ll tell everyone that you cried!”You’ve been gone for five months, but the memories keep popping up. I hope you’re soaring up there without fear, panic and regret. Only this time it’s me who’s left crying. Love you, my cousin. From Aimee