To this day, when I see the sign announcing the arrival of the Northern Maine Fair, I am instantly elated. Though it has been years since I have attended the fair, I can assure you a piece of my heart wanders on the midway.
I was on the brink of turning 13 and Mom, Aunt Edie, my Cousin Peggy and I were off to the fair! Because of the steamy, tropical rain, the rides would shut down between showers and the fair attractions and game booths would roll and unroll their canopies; hoping folks would linger despite the intermittent downpours. Peggy and I had been given 20 dollars each to spend as we wished. A good deal of my money had already been used to buy a doughboy, hot sausage roll, French fries, Pepsi, and wild pink and blue cotton candy that stung my tongue in the sweetest way.
Peggy and I were surprised to see our moms showing an interest in the Sky Diver; the most ominous ride imaginable. Mom handed me her tan pocketbook and she and Aunt Edie went over to the nearest ticket booth, giggling like two little girls. Aunt Edie kept smoothing back her hair as they climbed into the Sky Diver car. The very young ride attendant, who upon seeing Peggy and her strawberry blonde hair began speaking in a very pronounced English accent, buckled our mothers into what I considered to be a death trap, twirled the car upside down once and slapped the side of the door. “All set, ladies?” Mom and Aunt Edie shook their heads yes and the terror began.
I know my mother did her best to keep the Sky Diver car right side up but despite her expert driving skills (and her furious battle with the car’s tiny steering wheel), they remained completely upside down throughout their ride. Each time they would skim the ground, my mother’s screams rose above the rock music blaring from the ride’s sound system. At one point, I caught a glimpse of Aunt Edie slumped over, her once immaculate coiffure now standing straight up on her head. I grabbed Peggy’s arm and shouted, “Look! Your mom fainted!” Peggy, however, was fully enamored with the ride’s operator, (who was now sounding a bit Australian), and paid me no heed. My Mom flew by me one last time, her chestnut curls spilling out from the iron mesh window of that turquoise blue death car before the ride thankfully screeched to a halt.
They both emerged intact, leaning upon each other and laughing. My mother reached for her purse, ran her fingers through her tangled hair and informed both Peggy and me that they were now going to the Bingo tent before the rain started once again. I tugged on Mom’s hand. “Are you OK, Mom?”
“Of course, Belinda! It’s fun to just let go once in a while!” She kissed me on the cheek and shouted to Aunt Edie. “Look at those owl lamps under the Bingo tent! Just what I have been looking for!” And with that, they were gone.
It was nearly dusk when the four of us climbed into the car and headed home. At first, there was very little conversation. We were exhausted. Mom and Aunt Edie began talking quietly in their exclusive sister language and in no time the car was filled with a chorus of giggles and high pitched squeals. Their laughter, like their love, was infectious.
I settled back into the seat of my mother’s Oldsmobile, clinging tightly to three over-sized owl lamps, a valuable lesson learned, and the creation of a memory.
Editor’s Note: Belinda Wilcox Ouellette lives Connor TWP with her husband Dale and their Goldendoodle Barney. They are currently working on building a home in Caribou. You may contact Belinda online at: dbwouellette@maine.rr.com.
