CAROUSEL

When I was young, I cried and cried to go on the merry-go-round. Eventually a sixpence was found to stem my tears.   The transaction complete, the man operating the ride pointed to a particularly fine horse. It being early in the day, there were no other customers, so I was to have the entire ride to myself.

I was too little to clamber onto the beautiful white horse with golden mane, so my mother placed me carefully on the saddle, kissed me and told me to hold on tightly to the reins at all costs. Her eyes were watery as she moved reluctantly away.

As the ride began, slowly at first, I found myself carried away with the music as I galloped through fields and mountains of the imagination.  My mother and father stood by the railings and waved at me on each revolution, my mother enthusiastically, my father self-consciously, but I could not wave back as I had promised to grip the reins.  On my brave stallion, I rescued princesses, vanquished evil knights and dodged the flames of dragons.  As the ride began to accelerate, I noticed I could now reach the stirrups, and that on each successive rotation, my parents appeared to be ageing, their hair going grey and their bodies crumpling under the weight of the passage of time.  Soon, my legs were longer than my horse’s and it became apparent that my mother stood alone.  Around me, children appeared briefly on other horses, some growing as tall as I now was before disappearing again. My mother briefly acquired a stick then she too was gone.

Suddenly, the ride shuddered to a halt and I was almost thrown from my miniature pony. It was cold, dark and late, and I was ushered to the exit of the park by invisible hands.