Chapter_36_Slotzilla

It’s been a while since I’ve been to Vegas. Of course this city’s idea of zip-lining isn’t cascading over majestic mountains. It’s basically inside a mall.

An Uber lets me out at something called “SlotZilla,” which boasts itself as the world’s largest slot machine. I’m a tad drunker than I’d anticipated, and I feel very out of my element just seeing this monstrosity.

To people on the ground, it looks like a giant slot machine pouring out people instead of coins when you hit jackpot. There’s even a goofy cha-ching noise that sounds every time a new pair of people swoosh through.

Wyatt would love the thrill of it. Me, not so much.

I already feel a single but persistent butterfly in my stomach.

Making my way to the entrance, I look up and see people strap themselves into neon green harnesses, flying headfirst.

A guy who works there—covered in tattoos and wearing a cowboy hat, probably once dreamed of a life as a recording country artist—sees me approach, wide-eyed.

“It’s the largest single slot machine in the world,” he tells me. “Ready for some fun?”

I look around, making sure he’s talking to me. “Fun?” I ask.

“This is something you want to do, right?” he says directly to me.

“I guess?” I say, unsure. “I don’t know why I even came here.” I stand there, looking up, paralyzed by fear.

“People like you come up here all the time. Some want to have fun. Some want to overcome their fears,” he says wisely. “What brought you here that you’re afraid of?”

I’m afraid of not living up to my potential as a dad, I think. But I’m not about to tell this to the guy who runs SlotZilla.

“I’m not a big fan of heights. Or speed. Or all of...” I motion to the adrenaline screams from zip-liners above us. “...that.”

“If you can overcome your fear of heights, you can overcome anything,” he says.

I blink. Something clicks inside me. Maybe this is why I pulled myself here.

I stare at the guy, who’s smirking at me like he knows my type.

Sometimes we find a gentle push off the ledge in the most unexpected places.

I walk upstairs, where an instructor gives me quick, simple directions like a bored flight attendant reciting safety procedures. I want her to have a little more enthusiasm or something to quell my anxiety, but before I know it, I’m in an elevator going up eleven flights to the top of the structure.

It feels higher than I had imagined. I step up and watch people in front of me fly through the air with total joy, screaming and laughing. I swallow, feeling unprepared.

I’m next in the zip-line queue. I want to run back to the elevator.

Suddenly, I think of Wyatt and how silly it is for him to meet his dad alone. He probably needs backup. Why am I about to go zip-lining while my boyfriend is having the most emotionally challenging day of his entire life?

It’s too late to second-guess this. It’s my turn to fly headfirst, seventeen hundred feet in the air through a friggin’ shopping mall.

The zip-line attendant shuttles off each person as fast as he can like he’s installing widgets on an assembly line with a watchful boss.

Hook. Connect. Fly. Hook. Connect. Fly.

I can’t remember the last time I felt so out of my element.

I want to scream before it’s time to scream.

Before I can overthink it, I’m dangling in midair, connected only to a wire. The harness hugs and pulls my junk in an uncomfortable way.

Hook. Connect.

Two green lights flick on and a large metal gate opens. It looks like I’m about to be sent through a human car wash.

Fly.

The “slot machine” makes the frightening cha-ching knell. And I’m off!

For about thirty seconds, I fly outside, crossing the street from a bird’s-eye view, wind hitting my face as I zoom into the open mouth of the mall shaped like an airplane hangar.

It’s a dense assortment of casinos, neon lights, hotels, flashing signs, stores, kiosks and... some hair band playing live on a stage? It’s a total Vegas blur.

People below look like ants looking up at me.

A delayed shot of adrenaline finally hits me and I realize this is supposed to be fun, so I fling my arms out, feeling like a cheap Superman.

It’s only a one-minute ride. The extreme height plus the speed mixed with the alcohol doesn’t feel like the right combination. There’s an abrupt slowdown as I approach the opposite landing platform.

I see people on the ground cheering me on with thumbs up, and I feel momentarily proud of conquering this lifelong fear.

Unhook. Unconnect. Stop.

Another attendant helps me out of the harness and I feel dizzy, my legs weak. One step down the stairs and my knees buckle, forcing me to stumble and fall to the ground.

Something snaps. The unmistakable sound of a tendon. Or a bone. Or something else. A woman yells, “You alright?!”

I give her a cursory nod as my eyes close.

Then everything goes dark.