Dislocated Joy

20250928

Prompt from DailyPrompt.com

Whirrrr bump whir bump thump
I’m trying. I’m trying really hard.
“Find joy”, they say. “Embrace whimsy”. “Seek out positive emotions”.
So here I am. Sitting in a bumper car, trying to recapture the glee and aimless joy which came so naturally as a child.
My friends are laughing all around. Some trying to turn this into a wacky team game. The others treating it like gladiatorial combat.
Then there’s me. Steering randomly. Seeing impacts unfold. Feeling nothing.
My car starts and stops. Herky-jerky. That’s what reaches me. Not the impacts themselves, but how they rob me of momentum. I keep the pedal pressed down yet whether I move forward is more up to my surroundings than me.
Fucksake. I’m doing it again. Rationalising my way into dissociation. Making being divorced from the world seem natural. Sensible.
This isn’t working.
I look at the side. Wondering if I should call it quits. Whether people will get mad at me for not producing joy on demand like the emotional vending machine I’ve spent decades being.
There’s a kid. Sitting alone, clutching a big ragged stuffed unicorn. Looks like the ones you win at the rigged games here, just this one’s had a few mid-life crises. They’re waiting for a turn.
We didn’t mean to monopolise. We deliberately came during the quietest period. And the kid’s not crying or anything. Just watching. But it’s a decent out. So I make my way over.
Slowly. Jerkily. Never managing a straight line.
Once I’m level with the kid I stop my car and put up a smile. “Do you want a turn?”
They don’t smile back. They don’t look miserable or anything, not at all dead inside, just that utter seriousness little kids have. “Is it scary?”
To avoid staring blankly at them I look at my friends, who are still playing around. Watching me while pretending to be absorbed in the game they invented for my sake.
Fear is yet another feeling I lost contact with way back. Dread stuck around, aimless and heavy, while fear packed up and left about the time I realised I don’t care if I wake up in the morning. But I’m not going to lay anything like that on a kid.
“Well… you get shaken about in your seat.” I speak slowly, pulling the words up from my chest and slotting them together. “And it’s chaotic. Stuff happening all around you, that you’re a part of. But, um… it’s safe. You won’t get hurt. And being able to crash into things can be fun.”
A phoney claim, given I’m not having any fun. But that’s not the bumper car’s fault.
“We paid for ten minutes, so why not give it a try? Hasn’t cost you anything. I was just thinking I need a break.”
“Is your tummy upset?”
Bless. I wish my problems were that simple.
To dodge harsh realities I lean over and conspiratorially whisper “Honestly? Because I have a big butt, getting bounced around like this is making my butt sore.”
The kid stifles a giggle in their stuffy, the grin stretching all the way to their eyes. It makes me feel… envious, but also a distant satisfaction that I can still give joy no matter how empty I feel. Butt jokes are immortal.
“And if I’m resting my butt, someone might as well use the car.” I swing myself out and make a show of sitting down gingerly.
“You can sit on Max.” The kid offers me the unicorn. “I do. She’s comfy.”
That explains the poor thing’s shape.
“Aw, thanks. But I’d worry about squishing her.”
“She un-squishes fine. And she won’t wanna ride. She gets car-sick.”
“Well, why don’t I hold her for you?”
“Ok!”
So I sit back, a battered unicorn perched on my knee, and watch the kid climb into the bumper car. It takes them a while to get the hang of it. My friends are helping, though they keep shooting me glances.
The kid figures out how to drive backwards. They start doing donuts. Waving to me - or Max? I make Max wave back and the kid cracks up. My face smiles.
Not because I told it to. Just because.
I still feel nothing. But my thoughts are quiet. Focused. I’m absorbed in witnessing the joy I created. Or at least unleashed.
Max smells of laundry powder and grass and a thousand distant, simple memories. I don’t bury my face in her and huff. That would be weird. Probably even creepy. But damn, I want to. I want to close my eyes and be whisked back to a time where my personal problems were scraped knees and my older sister getting to stay up later than me.
Back when I was alive.
When the ten minutes are up the kid comes to collect Max. “You’re right - it was fun!”
“Yeah, it was even fun just watching you.”
I’m not lying. While the numbness clings, I’m somehow not as hollow.
The kid hugs Max to their chest and beams at me. “My dad works at the donut stand. Do you like donuts?”
Theme park donuts. A wave of nostalgia hits and I find myself tearing up. To try and cover this, or at least make it seem normal, I go “Aw, are you offering to give me donuts? That’s so sweet.”
“Yeah!” They tug my hand, their blithe smile unwavering. Thankfully unbothered by me being such a weird adult.
“Sounds great. Right?” I look at my friends, who of course agree. Firstly, free (or at least discounted, we’ll see how lucky we get) donuts. Secondly, they’d go along with anything I took the initiative on right now. “Let’s meet your dad and ask about donuts!”
I let them tow me along. Holding this not-hollow numbness as I walk.
Is this joy? Dislocated and bumped and squished until it looks like Max? Whatever it is, I want to make it last.
I’ll try those mindfulness exercises with the donuts.

Prompt was “Create a narrative surrounding a single emotion, using bumper cars as the central metaphor.”