The Carousel of Life

Jim walked around slowly. No one noticed him. It seemed as if the older he got, the more he went unseen. He recalled the first time he brought her here. They were seventeen – he had wanted to surprise her.

“A carousel?” she asked, with the haughtiness of adulthood. “Aren’t we a little old for this?” He could still see the excitement she tried to hide.

“You’re never too old for fun,” he said, as he took her hand and helped her up onto the white horse with blue cascading ribbons.

Two years went by before he bribed the attendant to let him grab the brass ring – a smaller ring attached. They came on their wedding day. He had to boost her up onto her up, gown, and all.  There was the bench where she shyly told him she should not ride; she was carrying precious cargo.  And there were the horses that his children liked: Johnny picked the black one, it went higher and Mary the brown, because he looked gentle.  Their grandchildren came too through the years, giggles echoing – racing one another, up and down, up and down.

He checked his watch; they would be here soon.

“I’m tired, go on without me.” She hadn’t wanted to come but she did.

Who would boost her up today? He smiled as he watched his grandson, seventeen himself, help her alight her favorite horse. Inexplicably, she looked over to where he stood and gave him one last smile. He faded away. The circle complete.