THE SCRAMBLER by Carol Welch

It is, or as least was, a ride at the fair. Like a giant steel spider with bent legs extending from a central pole with a short metal bench seat at the end of each leg, the contraption whirled round and round. I have no idea why I liked "The Scrambler."

I liked "The Zipper" too. Cages, in which we sat in an almost standing position, were attached somehow to the part of the ride that took us up and around like a ferris wheel. As two of us stood-sat in the cage our hands held to some bars in front of us and we would rock the cage so that we were spinning upside down while the ferris wheel-like contraption took us around and around.

In September, 1974, I went to the Catawba County Fair with Ron and Beth and Mike. Ron and I were not dating at the time; we were pot-smoking buddies.

Ron was overweight and his nickname was Fatman. But he didn't mind; he seemed to like the nickname. He had straight jet black hair that almost reached his shoulders. His eyes were brown and he had high cheek bones, like an American Indian.

Ron was from the rougher side of town, Longview. His grandparents had raised he and his brother after their parents were killed in an auto accident. Ron called his Grandma "Mom" and his grandpa "Pop." "Mom" dipped snuff and always had her spitoon handy. Ron's family raised rabbits and we'd often have a meal with rabbit meat.

I was from the side of town that had more money, Hillcrest area, near The Pines. I was petite and athletic. I could turn the eyes of most guys. My legs were one of my sexiest qualities...and my belly button, so I was told.

In September, 1974, I was 15 years old; Ron was at least 16.

As Mike and Beth and Ron and I walked the hard-packed dirt fairway filled with people between the various rides and side shows and food tents, I thought, "I could make myself fall in love with Ron. I bet he hasn't had many girlfriends." And that night, I decided that I would drop hints. I'm not sure what and how I dropped hints, but Ron got the message.

We became an item, Fatman and Carol. With Fatman, I fully entered the realm of psychedelic drugs.

In September, 1974, we were at the Catawba County Fairgrounds. The lights and smells and sounds were real.

In October, 1974, I lay in Catawba Memorial Hospital. The Intensive Care Unit was real. The three pods of jimson seeds I had ingested were real.

The aquarium and the royal king and the rape and the stadium and the witch doctors and the flesh-eating roaches - they weren't real, except in my psyche.

Today is Halloween, 2012. Those images from that October, 1974, four-day dance with the devil's weed are still vivid. I can almost smell them.