Late August, just before school resumed, everyone went to the Finney County Fair.
Beyond comparing tan lines and crop tops, eating cotton candy and flirting with the boys, lay another sinister dimension.
This dimension was ruled by the daredevils.
Those who relished the thought of being strapped down in a wire mesh "squirrel cage" attached to machinery assembled by a not-so-wholesome-looking, middle-aged carnie, and tossed about willy-nilly in front of the entire town while tampons flew out of their purses, and their hair was scrambled into knots. Some of them even puked.
I hated the daredevils.
Because I was, by comparison, a chicken.
The kind of anxiety provoked by a carnival thrill ride was precisely what my brain had been programmed in utero to avoid.
Still, that day arrived during the summer between 8th and 9th grade when I knew it was time.
I didn't mess with the Scrambler or Tilt-a-Whirl.
I signed on for The Bullet.
You know the one. A rotating cylinder on either end of a towering torture device.
Guaranteed to stop for awhile as you hang suspended from the top, upside down, naturally.
Hell on earth.
So I did it. And it was bad, but not that bad. Not like I'd imagined.
Lots of screaming. Lots of shrieking. Some laughing. Rather exhilarating in a perverse way.
When it was over, well, I had that great Forrest Gump feeling of "One Less Thing." And I remember thinking, "So NOW I'm COOL?"
Damn. That was easy.
Cm' on. Let's get more cotton candy.
My laughing won't stop! The memories of how dirty we were going home after the carnival...thinking that we had certainly impressed "that special someone!!!" and praying all the while, that at least one person noticed us getting off and on the dumb ride, just to prove we actually did it!!! I'm so grateful to you for writing these things....things I haven't thought about in years, and years.. :)
ReplyDeleteLOVE your blog. i wish i'd have known you in high school. we'd have been, as the kids say now, "besties."
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