WHEEL OF MISFORTUNE

  WHEEL OF MISFORTUNE

I’m a bit of a control freak. There! I’ve said it, owned up to it, confessed it, and they always say that confession is good for the soul. I’m also a very analytical person and for a long time, ney, most of my life, I have long analyzed why I am such a control freak. It has to do with fear.

Intense, utterly unrestrained, uncontrollable … fear.

I remember the day, the fateful day, when for the first time and the last time in my life, thus far, I lost all semblance of control. The fear ran so deep that day, that even death was a viable option to end the utter torment I was going through.

It began on a beautiful Fall day, my favourite season of all. The leaves were glorious, reds, oranges, and golden colours that formed a festive backdrop to the Foley Fall Fair. The fair was always one of the highlights of the year for the local and visiting community, the footlong hotdogs, the cotton candy, caramel corn, and amusement park rides. The local farmers had brought their pigs, cows, horses, and chickens providing a cacophony. While the busy homemakers had baked up tantalizing offerings of pies, tarts, loaves, cupcakes, and other baked goods, all to be judged and awarded a red, blue, or white ribbon. Yes, ribbons for those lucky winners but even the purple participation ribbons for those less fortunate souls. Some had spent weeks or even months hunched over their projects, quilts in a riot of colours, samplers stitched with verses or truisms, and knit and crocheted items in every colour imaginable.

I remember the giant pumpkins, and often wondered how they were even picked up to be brought to the fair, had they used a tractor to load them and if so, how did they unload them? Fruits and veggies were in baskets, and autumn bouquets were artfully displayed. There was something for everyone, and let's not forget the midway with its games and rides, a festoon of neon lights that would light up the sky as night approached.

We tried our hand at the ring toss, the bean bag throw, the duck pond, and balloon darts. Our faces were painted with butterflies, and flowers. Patrons of the fair walked around with stuffed animals; trophy awards for their prowess at the games. Those with larger stuffies seemed to have a more satisfied smirk on their faces.  I guess the trophies were a statement to everyone at the fair regarding your skill and ability or simply a way to broadcast discretely how deep your pockets were and how much money you were willing to lose to obtain your stuffed prize.

Then there were the rides. Roller Coaster rides, rides that swung you round and round, swings suspended on long chains that swung you around in dizzying circles. Rides where the bottom of the ride dropped out and centrifugal force held you in place and one prayed that science would not fail them.

 There it stood. The main attraction.  Resplendent in lights. Reaching to the sky. Ever circling. The Ferris wheel, the tallest ride in the entire fair, overlooking the entire park. Long lineups leading up to the fair's crowning glory. The icing on the cake, the ‘piece de resistance.’ 

It was now, looking back, the day the Ferris wheel became my nemesis, my bete noir, my nightmare. It stood there proudly, surveying the fair, while I, an innocent child of perhaps ten or eleven,  stood in line with anticipation. My sister and our two friends watched as each chair was brought up to the loading deck and two excited riders were loaded in and the safety bar was secured in place.

My father, our escort for the trip, was totally unprepared for the upcoming events as he stood securely on the ground observing the loading routine.

Myself, and a twin loaded into the seat, the safety bar was closed securely and the ride jerked upward a few feet as the young teenage Carnie loaded the next car and then the next, each time taking us higher into the air and starting the car swaying and swinging.   As each car was loaded, the cars rose higher in the sky and seemed to jerk around more and more. We were almost at the top when unease turned to panic, and panic turned to sheer terror. I rose to my feet and climbed onto the bench, holding on to the metal supporting the car, and started screaming like a banshee; those female spirits whose appearance and wailings warn the family of imminent death. In this case, it must have been my own death.

 I totally lost control. I had to get down to the ground, it became my life goal and I didn't care how I got down. I just knew I had to become one with the ground. My father yelled to the Carnie, ‘Get her down,’ however, the Carnie, who was also in panic mode at the sight of me standing on the seat gripping the cold metal bars and shrieking; was so scared that he brought the Ferris wheel around and actually missed the exit place and the ride went around again. I was shaking the bars as I stood on the seat and the ride went around one more time.  Finally coming to his senses, the Carnie engaged the metal lever that operated the ride and finally stopped the car, and threw open the safety latch. I tearfully left the cart and found solace on the sweet green grass where I lay in a sobbing heap, uncaring that the world stared at me in shock.

 To this day I have never gone on another Ferris wheel ride and to my dying day I never will. To this day my friend, my poor unfortunate seatmate on the Ferris wheel, refuses to go on another Ferris wheel, and to this day, I will not stand on anything higher than a stool. The fear is real, the panic palpable. The nightmares … everlasting.