“Carousel”
Mar 01, 2020Round and round the fiberglass horses go. Slowly rising up and lowering down on their rusted gold poles. The organ grinder turns the crank for the millionth time today. He hums the out-of-tune nursery rhyme in his head while he walks down the street, rides the train, sleeps in his bed. He deals with it to see the smiles on the children’s faces. A seemingly mundane activity, the young children don’t realize yet how boring their lives will be one day.
The organ grinder remembers being a child. His parents brought him to the carousel. He like[d] the warbly sound of the tune coming out of the speaker. He liked the feeling of the cold fiberglass between his legs. His dad would stand by his side, holding his back, making sure he didn’t fall off, while his mom would stand on solid ground, waving and blowing a kiss at him every time they completed a revolution. He would hold onto the pole and lean back, looking up at the peeling paint above him. He liked the feeling of dizziness. His dad would warn that he would get sick if he stared too much, but he didn’t care. Being sick meant ice cream and no school.
He gets dizzy now just standing on solid ground, watching the carousel go round and round. He’s always dizzy from the hangovers and constant headaches. His ears ring, and the tune plays over and over in his head. His memories of mom and dad fade.