52 Project #13: Merry-Go-Round (Patreon)

Ever since I had been three years old, my most burning desire had been to ride the merry-go-round. Oh, beautiful, stately, prancing horses and glowing colors, and the sweet music that tinkled forth – my father always promised me a ride on it, but only once when I was small did he remember, or have time. I was six then.

Daddy and I walked onto the fairgrounds. He’d just gotten one of his poems published in a major literary magazine, and we were celebrating. Suddenly, Daddy turned to me and asked, “Alyssa, do you still want to go on the merry-go-round?”

I had seen the merry-go-round several times, had soaked up some of its magic, and wanted to ride it more than anything. I said, “Sure!” My eyes must have been glowing.

Daddy bought the tickets for us and went with me to the man in charge. The man was burly, and formidable, and I was afraid. But Daddy gave me the tickets and said, “Give them to the man,” so I did. The man smiled.

“Two customers for the merry-go-round?” He and Daddy helped me onto a horse. Daddy sat down next to me, and then the music started.

If you have ever been six years old and sitting next to your Daddy on the merry-go-round, celebrating on a warm summer night at a carnival, you know what magic is. The ride lasted forever, an instant, it was over. We tried other rides, then went home. 

Other times, I went to  different carnivals, without that specific merry-go-round, but they were  never as wonderful as the merry-go-round I’d pined for, the one I’d  ridden when I was six. The main carnival, the one that came to our city  every year, kept coming, but I never got to go there. Daddy had promised  me other rides, but never found time. Then the carnival would leave and take with it all its magic.

I had my seventh birthday, I was eight, I was nine. I finally became a “well-adjusted”, mature ten year old. Too old for the merry-go-round, a voice inside my head told me. Yet I still yearned after the magic. Give it back to me! I cried in my mind, and I ached.

Then – the carnival came back, when I was  ten, while Dad was actually taking a vacation for once. He asked if I  wanted to go, and I knew I had to ride the merry-go-round again. Oh, beautiful, stately, prancing  horses and glowing colors, and the sweet music that tinkled forth – it lived in my  memory, yet my eyes longed to drink it in once more. Dad was excited for me. He remembered how much I loved the merry-go-round. He was as eager to take  me as I was to go.

Once we got there, and I approached the ride with my tickets, I slowed down. I felt an acute sense of unbelonging, a disconnection between who I was and where I was. I presented my ticket to the man – this year, a skinny fellow, looking much less grown-up than the burly man I remembered, or maybe they were the same age and it was just that I’d gotten older. When I handed my ticket to him, I felt his eyes on me, and a sense of judgement. Aren’t you a bit old for this? I pitched my voice high and child-like, but the embarrassment lived on. I don’t even know if he was really judging me, or if it was all coming from within me.

The glowing colors were faded and chipped. The stately, prancing horses were silly things with cartoony expressions. And the music was tinny, boring – why had I ever thought it was sweet? Nevertheless, I got on.

The merry-go-round swung into motion. Little kids shrieked with delight, while my face burned hot with my embarrassment. I longed for the ride to be over, so I could get off and end this travesty. Desperately I thought, “Maybe it’s not the same merry-go-round,” but I couldn’t fool myself.

The magic had left, not the merry-go-round, but me.

“Satisfied?” my father asked, when finally the horrible ride ended.

“Yes,” I said. 

It was a lie.