Well, here it is. I finally completed the story. Looking back at Mr. Moleskine, the idea first occurred to me on April 26. It took me about a month to get to this second draft. For me, that's pretty good. Enjoy and please send me your critiques. I'd love to hear what you think.

You must be this tall to ride the Termite.

Thomas waited. The Fire-Breathing Termite lurked 150 feet overhead like a gigantic anthill. Ants saddled with screaming passengers crawled over and through the anthill. The August sun lashed Thomas’s neck and he rubbed it and looked around. The crowd stood too close to him and radiated its own heat. Thomas concentrated and muttered, “There is no such thing as heat. It’s only electricity pulsing through my brain.”

“What’s that?” Kem said. Even in the heat, she wore a blue, unzipped sweatshirt with a hood and pull strings. Her sweatshirt sleeves covered her wrists and most of her fingers. Peeking from underneath her sweatshirt was a black shirt printed with “Pumpkin Picker: Basket.” She painted her eyes with heavy eye shadow and fastened silver berets to her hair. She stood perfectly still, not seeming to breathe.

“Nothing,” Thomas said. “Just searching for meaning in all this heat.”

“Any luck?”

He barked a laugh and rubbed his neck again. “Yeah. I discovered heat doesn’t have meaning unless you’re stuck in it. That’s something they don’t teach you in the air-conditioned meditation class.”

Thomas learned he would ride the Termite a week ago. He was eating brunch with Kem and discussing vegetarianism. Kem was trying to decide if she cared enough about animal rights to stop eating animals. Thomas bit into his half-pound cheeseburger and gestured wildly with it before responding.

“It’s a world where you have to eat or be eaten,” he said. The burger passed Kem’s face. “This may look innocent and defenseless, but if it had not been viciously killed and grinded, it might eat you and everyone you love, or, at the very least, some of the grass around your house. I know how much you love that grass.”

“I don’t have a house. And my apartment is surrounded by concrete, not grass.”

“That doesn’t change anything. Just think about the grass. If we don’t protect it, who will? We can either control the lawnmower population or the cow population. We both know that the lawn lobby is too strong to stop the lawnmowers. We must therefore thin the cowherds. And don’t even get me started on the sesame seed population.”

Kem looked amused. Thomas took another bite of his burger and meat juices dripped down his chin. Kem leaned over, wiped the mess off his face, and put a finger on his lips before he could continue. “We’re going to Defying Adventures next weekend,” she said. “And you’re going to ride the Termite. It’s all planned. Now, what were you saying about eat or be eaten?” Kem smiled as Thomas turned a Kermit shade of green.

Your wait from this point is thirty-one minutes.

A Fire-breathing Termite car appeared at the top of the Termite mound and slinked toward the peak. Six people sat two by two in the car. A few hands raised in preparation for the drop. As it passed the peak, the car hung motionless before gravity tugged. Kem clapped and laughed as the car disappeared into a Termite hole. Thomas averted his eyes.

“So, how long is this line?” Kem said.

Thomas shushed Kem. “I’m concentrating on keeping my lunch down. I’m still doing pretty good with the frankfurters, but the slushy is problematic. I knew blueberry was a mistake when I bought it.”

“The line, freak. How long?”

Thomas pointed at the sign overhead, which flashed advertisements along its border and counted the waiting time digitally at its center. Kem glared at the sign and shoved her middle finger toward it. The sign, as if affected by her finger, increased the wait time by five minutes. Kem groaned and Thomas erupted in laughter.

Thomas met Kem freshman year, mostly because of his roommate, John. John started university dating his high school sweetheart, a senior a year younger than him. They pledged their undying love before he graduated. But before school started and before her senior activities and his newfound freedom doomed their nascent love, John and his girlfriend spent all their time in Thomas’s room. They didn’t bother tying anything on the knob when busy. Thomas learned to listen warily at the door before opening it. John’s girlfriend took an almost obscene pleasure in Thomas’s interruption of their lovemaking. While Thomas did not mind seeing her slender, six-foot frame sweating in rapture, John intimidated Thomas.

Instead of chancing an interruption, Thomas spent his time wandering the dormitory halls. Freshman orientation had finished, but classes had not begun, allowing the freshmen time to socialize and adjust to their new surroundings. Thomas went from dormitory to dormitory admiring the murals painted along the walls by generations of students with either too much time or too much talent. Some were paintings of favorite cartoon characters or sports teams. Others were elaborate panoramic scenes painted in a realistic or surreal style. Most were half finished as if the artists lost interest or moved halfway through their work.

Kem sat outside her room with her legs stretched across the hall. She had large, slightly sloped eyes that dominated her oval face. Her arms and shoulders were droopy and her body looked like it was about to fall down. Kem refused to carry a bag and instead wore pants with many large pockets. Her pockets were always full of stuff: books, candies, letters, pencil sharpeners, anything that was lying about, it all ended in her pockets. She emptied her pockets every evening but by the next afternoon, they were full again.

A book was splayed across her knees and her head was bent over it. Thomas was surprised to see someone reading a book. School had not yet started and he couldn’t envision someone reading without an assignment. He stepped over Kem’s outstretched legs, his head turning to track her.

“I’m not going to grow unless you step back,” she said, looking up.

Thomas continued to stare at Kem with an unreadable expression on his face.

“I was taught as a little girl that if someone steps over you, you stop growing. I don’t know about you, but I’m barely five feet tall. I’m not going to risk losing even an inch. So, if you wouldn’t mind.” She pointed to her legs. Thomas stepped back over and she pulled her legs in to let Thomas pass.

Thomas pointed to the blank wall across from Kem. “Mind if I join you?”

“You have a thing for short girls?”

“Great men have stood on the shoulders of giants,” Thomas said. “Even a little man appears tall when standing there.”

“Little women, too, eh?”

Your wait from this point is twenty-four minutes.

A black car roared through one of the Termite mound’s side holes. The car twisted upside down and turned sharply. A second car exploded from the hole and passed underneath the first. The passengers from the two cars extended their arms toward each other. From this distance, the hands looked like centipede legs propelling the cars away from each other. Both cars returned into the mound through different holes.

The line slithered and looped forward. Thomas felt frustration building inside him. It was still as far away as an approaching train that appeared motionless until it was too late to jump off the tracks. Thomas watched Kem chew on her sweatshirt’s pull strings. He took in her flavor: she smelled like cherries, the real cherries before soaked in sugar and spray-painted for presentation on a sundae. Calmness infused him and his frustration faded.

Thomas shifted the plastic bag holding Faust from his sweaty right hand to his left. Faust was still alive and swimming. For not the first time, Thomas wished he had won the goldfish for Kem. His fishing line would not catch the plastic fish’s mouth in the game booth. Each try cost five dollars and most players won on their second try. He had tried four times before giving up. He hated to disappoint Kem, but even after changing fishing lines, he couldn’t win. Kem won the fish on her first try and handed it to Thomas. He took it, happy to be of some assistance, and named him Faust.

“Did you watch the South Park episode where Cartman buys an amusement park?” Thomas said.

“Didn’t he buy the park so he could have it all to himself?” Kem said. She lowered her voice, pinched her nose, and said, “No more lines!”

“Ah! I knew it. Even lit. majors, with your holier than thou taste and sophistication, are vulnerable to modern culture.”

Kem scrunched up her nose, lowered her eyebrows, and stuck out her tongue. “A little real culture wouldn’t hurt you, math boy.”

The line shifted forward and a man behind them bumped into Thomas. He mumbled his apologies and Thomas arm stiffened. Kem clutched his arm.

“I’m starting to agree with Cartman,” Thomas said. “Maybe it is worth a million dollars to avoid these stupid lines.”

“If this is a ploy to escape riding the Termite, it won’t work, you know. We need to get you over what happened last time.”

Thomas smiled weakly. “I’m looking forward to riding the Termite. I’m a bit curious what the ride looks like with my eyes open. It’ll be like a new experience.” Thomas said and stepped forward.

Kem majored in English Literature. She was that rare freshman that knew what she wanted and never wavered in her studies. She read continuously, usually with a pen in her mouth. Thomas tried to read her books. He wasn’t much of a reader, but he forced himself to try every night. Kem carried a book of Sylvia Plath’s poetry in a large pocket, the pages drawn with five-pointed stars, hearts, and heavy underlines.

Thomas walked her back to her dormitory one night and recited Plath’s “You’re” to her. The night was cool with only pinches of moonlight marking the path. Thomas stopped next to a park bench and recited the poem. At the end, he placed one hand on each of her shoulders and said, “Right, like a well-done sum. / A clean slate, with your own face on.”

It was still early in their relationship and she had been expressing doubt. Kem was still not over her last boyfriend, who she had dated throughout high school. After Thomas finished, she smiled and raised her hand to his face. Her fingers were stained with ink. A pen in one of her pants’ pockets had exploded and blackened her hand. She brought her fingers close to his face but pulled away before touching him. “I don’t want to get ink all of your face,” she said and turned to walk home. Thomas watched as her knees buckled before she caught herself. Thomas pumped his arm with a silent cheer before catching up to walk her home.

Your wait from this point is eighteen minutes.

This section of the line had no shade. The heat from the sun smacked Thomas’s unprotected skin in waves. The line moved forward. As it turned a corner, two lanes appeared separated by a dull orange rope. Thomas followed the people in front and stepped into the right lane. Kem peered down the empty left lane. A man dressed in jean shorts pointed at the empty lane and said something to his girlfriend.

“Do you think that other lane is a return lane?” Kem said.

Both lanes made a sharp right turn ahead. Nobody came back along the left lane. “Not sure,” Thomas said.

Thomas considered the left lane. People had a tendency to choose the longer line. This was mostly an American phenomenon. In Europe, people fought each other for the shortest path to the front. Americans felt that the longer the line, the safer the choice. There was a group mentality to waiting. If the line was long enough, there must be something good at the end of it. This held even if all lines led to the same place.

Before Thomas dated Kem, he would never have given the left lane a second thought. Kem was an alpha female: Her clothing was a season ahead of the fashion. She found garage bands and listened to their music before they hit big. People who were around her unconsciously dressed like her: not one of her friends carried a bag anymore.

Kem loved to stay up late and discuss everything. She said she was her most expressive in the late evening hours when the streets empty and the world quiets. Thomas was lying in her bed one evening with her head resting on his chest. He stroked her wiry hair, which she streaked with blonde, braided extensions. On the ceiling, she taped glow-in-the-dark stars forming the major winter constellations of the northern hemisphere. Kem was exact in everything she did. Like most of their conversations, the longer they spoke, the more philosophical it turned.

“You have to avoid the herd mentality,” she said. “Many times I do the exact opposite of what people expect. I like to watch their reactions. It’s about manipulating the herd: they’re my own cult. Most times, they don’t even think about what they’re doing. In a group, people aren’t terribly smart.” Thomas commented that individually they aren’t that smart either, but she hushed him. “They’ll follow the easiest path,” she continued. “Even if it isn’t the best or most interesting path. Someone has to rebel and change the status quo.”

“We should go down the left lane,” Thomas said.

Before they could change lines, the man in the jean shorts and his girlfriend jumped the rope divider and headed down the empty left lane. The floodgates opened behind and a crowd followed. The left line filled up quickly. The lines evened out before there was a break.

“Eh,” Thomas said. “I’m in no hurry anyway.”

“Do I smell sour grapes around here?”

“That sounds yummy,” he said and kissed the top of her head.

Your wait from this point is nine minutes.

After the turn, the line began to weave through metal switchback stairs. This was the point of no cutting. Once you entered the metal structure, it was next to impossible for someone to catch up without cutting through an angry line of people. The only exit after this point was at the Termite’s exit. Thomas caught his last glimpse of a Termite car slowing down at the end of the ride by completing a series of lazy loops around the bottom of the mound. This was where the riders took stock. They checked to make sure all their parts were where they were supposed to be. It was also where last time Thomas knew he would not be able to keep his food down.

The cars vibrated the metal stairs. While the stairs provided shade, the metal heated quickly. Near the top of the stairs, the heat became unbearable. Faust kept banging his head into the side of the bag. The water had heated up in the afternoon sun. Thomas placed his hand on the bag and the fish rammed its head against his hand. The warm water felt like silicone under his fingers.

“I’ve heard rumors that goldfish are so stupid that when they swim around their tank and come around, they forget where they’ve just been and think the same area is new,” Thomas said.

“I don’t believe those theories. Faust is smart. I can tell.”

“Maybe. Perhaps he knows that there’s nothing better on this side of the bag. The only thing here is this hot line and a sickening fall at its end.”

“You think they’ll let us take Faust on the ride?”

Thomas held up the fish and turned the bag until Faust faced him. Its lips pursed, opening and closing before swimming away from him. “For his sake, I hope not.”

Thomas brought Kem to Defying Adventures to ride the Termite last summer. He wanted to impress her with his nonchalant attitude toward danger and excitement. It didn’t work as he hoped. Thomas gorged himself on amusement park frankfurters before the rides. He grew up eating frankfurters. His mother boiled them for dinner, barbequed them at family gatherings, baked them in casseroles for special meals with his father’s clients, and even fried them with eggs for breakfast.

When he went to college, Thomas vowed never to eat another frankfurter. Within a month, he craved their deep, abounding flavor, and broke his vow. Thomas did not have an addictive personality, but he found something in frankfurters irresistible. Thomas tried to limit his intake, convinced that the lips and ass meat of frankfurters could not possibly be good for his health. Kem had other thoughts and learned to use frankfurters to her advantage. When Thomas refused to attend artsy or tender movies, Kem would tantalize Thomas with descriptions of the movie frankfurters. The movie theater they frequented served the gourmet variety: thin with a meaty, heavy flavor and grilled until the outside skin crunched. Kem manipulated Thomas easily. He sat through her tear jerking or indecipherable artsy films with a frankfurter, small popcorn, and Sprite. The meat flavor went exceptionally well with the salt of the popcorn and the lemon of the soft drink.

Before getting in line for the Termite last summer, Thomas ate three frankfurters. The cool weather and light rain kept the crowds away. Thomas and Kem rushed from ride to ride with almost no wait. Thomas did his best to keep his composure, but after riding the Termite, he spattered half-digested frankfurter chunks all over Kem and her white sneakers.

Hold tight to your stuff when riding the Termite.

The Fire-Breathing Termite cars stopped in front of three gates. The attendants loaded the cars in quick succession. Before the previous car disappeared, the next car was already loaded and ready to follow. When it was their turn, Thomas plucked the flexible antennae attached at the front of the Termite car before sliding into his seat. Kem took the seat next to him and a looped bar descended over their head and shoulders fastening them to the plastic chairs. The attendant tugged on each person’s bar before hitting a big red button.

The Termite car sprang forward smoothly, picking up speed. It approached a round hole and shot through it. Thomas’s eyes adjusted gradually to the darkness. Smoke filled the interior of the colossal chamber and lasers flashed the darkness. The track glowed sickly green and the car ahead of them disappeared. A many-legged bug splattered against the side of the car with an amplified splat. The couple seated behind them shrieked. Two, thin, furry legs reached over the top of the car, brushing Thomas’s shoulder. A steep hill loomed. As the car tilted to climb the hill, the bug detached itself and fell away. Thomas’s stomach rumbled in time with the ratcheting of the ascent.

“If you’re going to blow, give me fair warning this time,” Kem said. Thomas didn’t answer.

“I’m not joking. All I ask for is a fighting chance.”

Thomas looked down at the bag in his left hand. “Shit. I forgot to drop off the fish.

“Just hold on tight. He’s not only a smart fish, he’s also a strong stomached fish.”

“Poor Faust,” Thomas said.

Thomas placed the bag in his lap and held on to the bar with his right hand. The car continued to climb, jerking a bit as it slipped from one of the ratchets. Kem raised both her arms and started screaming. “Just warming up,” she said and put her arms down.

The Termite car passed through a pitch-black tunnel. A brilliantly lit gash appeared at the end of the tunnel. The gash expanded and a windy gust washed over Thomas. He struggled to keep his eyes open to watch the ascent, but could not. It reminded Thomas of trying to look up while standing under a waterfall. The car passed through the open gash into daylight at the top of the Termite mound. The tilt of the car lessened until the car was horizontal. It remained in this position for a moment. Sweat poured from Thomas’s palms and warm fear bubbled in his hollow stomach.

“Oh yeah,” Kem screamed and raised her arms. “Here it comes. Waiter, check please!”

The car dipped and picked up speed. Thomas’s head felt huge with the pressure and his ears popped painfully. The juices in his stomach gyrated. A heavy weight dropped on his chest and he tasted blood in his throat. The car buzzed and shook as it fell toward a black, round hole. Bright orange flames greeted the car as it pierced the hole. The intense heat from the fire washed over Thomas as the car passed through the flames.

The car jerked to a stop at the bottom of the hill. The acrid smell of sulfur filled Thomas’s nostrils and he squeezed his eyes shut. The car sped up as it climbed again, this time twisting inside the dark mound. The car continued to rotate, loop, rise, and drop. Sunlight burned Thomas’s eyelids only to be replaced by darkness stained orange. He concentrated on his whirling stomach and swallowing the gastric juices that kept sneaking up his throat.

When he was sure he could take no more, the car righted itself and looped lazily around the outside of the mound, slowing down with each loop. Thomas took a deep breath. There was a strange silence and he realized that Kem had stopped screaming.

“That was awesome,” Kem said. She held her arms above her head and still flailed her wrists.

Thomas felt wetness on his pants. He looked down to find a watery stain covering his crotch and inner thighs. He held the shriveled remains of a plastic bag in his left hand. His stomach settled with the thought of Faust writhing on the ground somewhere in the mound after flying from the car. Thomas laughed and Kem looked at him.

“Is that water from the fish or is there something you’re not telling me?” Kem said.

“Poor Faust,” Thomas said.

Kem reached across the car and put her arms around Thomas’s neck. “I never liked that fish, anyway. He didn’t fit in any of my pockets.”