In the din and confusion following the ceremony, I found none of my closer acquaintances. The swarming mob whooped joyously, rallying about and shouting their intended destinations. I suddenly felt the aloneness I had anticipated, crashing down and separating me from the flock. What, for others, would come more gradually but perhaps more painfully as well, I experienced in an instant. Such a large crowd, and yet I knew no one! Indeed a door had closed. I gazed at the crowd, dejected and disappointed, then resignedly found Jon. We had planned to go out for pizza and "hit a party," but since I had learned of no parties, the latter would have to be replaced by a different option. "So you've grage-ee-ated, kid," he smiled over at me from the driver's seat. "Yeh. . ." I replied, trying to hide my depression. "You are supposed to be having fun," the remnants of my ideal entoned. I smiled and spoke light-heartedly, almost in a reflex action, deriving solace from the fact that the night was still young. We drove to the shopping center which housed the pizza parlor, noting that a traveling carnival shared the parking lot with the cars. My eyes brightened; I loved those things. Jon looked at me. "Let's go on a few rides before eating," he suggested. "Well . . . are you sure?" I asked. "Yeh!! Come on... it's your big night." I looked at the vast array of neon lights which blinked invitingly, trying to decide what to ride first. None of the rides were particularly ferocious in my opinion, but I settled for the tilt-a-whirl, a ride which afforded a small thrill. We seated ourselves inside the semi-circular capsule and the fun began, flailing us clockwise, then counter-clockwise, as the capsule raged up and down on its track. It was no generous ride; such carnivals rarely endow its patrons with their money's worth. The machine grated and clanked to a halt. After exiting I glanced at Jon, who appeared rather stricken by the glassy gaze in his eyes. He also burped repeatedly, suggesting his stomach had protested to the ride. I almost hated to ask, "You OK?" "I'll be all right. . . let's just sit down for awhile." We walked to his car and leaned on the hatchback. Several minutes passed and Jon returned to normal. "Let's go and eat..." I urged, having no desire to witness a repeat of nausea. "No, no... it's your night. I want you to have fun. I'm OK, really." "I don't know... let's just eat," I replied. More persuasion. It was inevitable. We went on another ride. It was similar to the first, throwing us up and down in unison with the squall of hydraulics and blaring loony tunes. I ventured a look at Jon and swallowed hard. His greenish appearance had little to do with the neon lights. He began to burp once again as we made our final madcap spins and slowed to a stop. "This is not good," my thoughts roared; I felt rather frantic; I honestly did not wish to think at all, but my mind would not oblige.