The Carousel

Hannah Crookshank stood with an idle stare, then her eyes began to calculate, darting from side to side as she measured the precise value of her recent inheritance—her mother’s carousel, the largest in both Carolinas. She was wearing black tights pulled to her waist, a large white dress shirt that was designed for a man, and on top of this, a full-length brown coat with a belt tied snug around her stomach. Watching her mother’s most prized possession lay motionless, she held a cigarette and lighter in one hand, coupled next to each other like pieces of silverware, and when she lit it, rings of white smoke wrapped around her body like a cocoon. Her hair blowing in every direction, Hannah looked towards a grumbling sky, witnessing dark clouds expand and drive out sheets of rain which formed puddles in the sand. Frustrated with the heavy breeze and rain, she decided to finish her cigarette on the carousel. After she climbed the steps, she found herself standing next to one of the sleds, which was led by two reindeer. Scribbled on the backseat of the sled was, “Never odd, nor even.” She didn’t know what it meant and she scrubbed at it, even though it looked years old and maybe in her mother’s handwriting, or maybe not at all. Furrowing her brow, she remembered this sled—painted a royal red with curves of gold accenting the smooth edges—as the one her father would share with her.

It had been many years since Hannah last rode the carousel and the animals remained frozen since they were abandoned by Eve, her mother, one year prior. Hannah marked each wooden animal’s neglect, a duty that left her enervated. There were 52 of them—some shaped like dragons, unicorns, reindeer, horses, and pigs. Still intact, there was Georgette, the giraffe, Bashful, the brown bear, Godot, the pig, and Reinier, one of the reindeers that led her father’s sled. All were mystical, but fading in shades of their first color. Long strings of spider’s webbing wrapped themselves to each end of the platform, blocking the singular entranceway like barbed wire. A majority of the bulbs had shattered, most likely by scheming teenagers, and layers of glass and dust blanketed the platform. Someone had spray painted, “Cigar? Toss it in a can, it is so tragic” in purple, and in another hand, “Was it a rat I saw?” on the wall supporting the lower platform. The one and only solid black horse was missing its left ear and below its raised hoof was a lonely large rock. This particular horse was Silas, her mother’s favorite. She claimed it as the simplest of all the animals, and Hannah understood from then on that some favor the plain over the ornate.

Her eyes skimmed the bare yard, thinking of times when she was much younger, her bottom resting on the dry desert of a ground. She would press her back against the raised platform as her bent, dirty knees hid her face. She remembered how often she would press her back against the raised platform as her bent, dirty knees hid her face while her hands pawed and picked the weeds surrounding the machine, always trying to help.

Years before when the carousel was open, Hannah’s family had a system. Eve would work in the booth selling tickets, her father would show the children through the gates, and Hannah would keep count of how many children were allowed on. She stood by her father watching a slideshow of smiling children burst through the gates to race their friends.

On one of those days, at a time when darkness began to open to the evening, Eve routinely closed the curtain of the booth and met Hannah with her father at the entrance of the carousel. Glancing at Hannah’s baffled stare towards the remaining children that were eagerly bouncing, her father whispered to her, “I know what you’re thinking. You’re wondering what they’re so excited about, right? Think about it like this: their world isn’t like this, it isn’t thrilling or mystic or magical. They don’t have easy opportunities to ride your mother’s carousel like you have, Hannah.”

“Pfft, you know I love the carousel, but it just spins and spins. You can’t get anywhere when you’re going in circles. When I grow up, I’m going to see a new world every day.”

“I like that idea.”

Her mother bent down on one knee and tugged the bottom of Hannah’s jacket while adding, “It will belong to you someday Hannah and then you’ll decide what to do with your life. Now for me, I have to keep it with me. It wouldn’t be such a treasure without all these children,” she scanned the lot and smiled, “You must always have children in your life Hannah, that’s my only advice. That, and nothing is ever free.”

“I don’t want any children though.”

Her mother laughed and said, “You say that now, but just wait until you’re older and you see everyone around you raising their babies, feeding their babies, cleaning after their babies. You’ll want one of your own just like that.”

Hannah turned to the carousel which was still in motion, gazing at a boy who was climbing the saddle of a black horse, “That kid’s leaving shoe marks all over Silas! I have no idea what you’re talking about Ma. Kids are filthy, they can’t do anything but argue, and they have no respect for anybody else except themselves. They’re just animals and if I want an animal, I’d rather have a puppy and I’d name it myself. Dogs stare at you with propped ears and this dumb-like face, just listening to everything you say like it’s pure genius.”
Hannah watched her father open the gate again and count the heads of thirty children, his hand hanging high above their heads with a finger pointed towards each of their crowns. He shut the gate again while parents hushed their children moaning in disappointment. The rest on the platform raced to find an animal that suit them, sometimes yelling at one another, mostly about the stealing of an animal that had been chosen during the wait in line. Finally as every body was seated, Hannah’s father started the carousel and the platform began to turn.

Now as she stood next to the carousel for the first time in six years, she felt the need to sell her inherited carousel.

A small voice broke in, “Are you starting the ride?” Hannah jumped, turned her head, and saw that the new voice belonged to a young girl leaning the fullness of her weight against the platform with blonde curls dampened to her scalp. She continued, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you like that. I usually come home through this road, and it’s raining.” Her clothes were sprinkled with drops of water and her big blue eyes stared through Hannah, darting from side to side. “I thought the carousel was going to be closed forever.”

She was very young, eight at most, Hannah concluded, for she was not being able to recognize her even though Boone was a small town. There was nothing especially frightening about her and she seemed timid, turning her face from Hannah as if she was embarrassed of intruding Hannah’s privacy. “It sort of is closed,” Hannah replied, “It’s beat up, run down, and I don’t know if it’s still functional. I haven’t tried to switch it on yet.”

“Is it yours?”

Hannah nodded, “All mine. Have you ever ridden one?”

“Sort of…not one that works. My Mom took me here last Easter because she thought it’d be open, but no luck. I didn’t mind, I sat down anyways and hummed.”

“Which animal did you choose?”

She pointed and said, “That turtle over there with the big shell for a seat.”

“Ah, Franklin.” Hannah smiled, “My mother let me name him. He was the only one I ever got to name,” She opened her bag and pulled out an envelope in her mother’s handwriting, shaking it until a gold key fell into her palm. She balanced her hand to the right and left, wondering if it would be as simple as this, “If you want to give it another try, hurry on up here and I’ll try to get it started.”
The girl ran past the empty ticket booth with its shade pulled down and ran up the short set of stairs. She was skipping around the carousel until she stopped at the turtle, and stuck her foot into Franklin’s stirrup, pulling herself upright. “Ready!”

Hannah turned the gold key into a slot at her waist and forced the upright lever as low as possible. Instantly there was a burst of music, the flashing of light bulbs, and the sound of grinding metal. As for the music, several instruments including trombones, clarinets, triangles, flutes and symbols competed for the most audible note while the platform spun. Hannah recognized the song immediately—it was called, ‘Drifting Along’ and resembled a waltz. A collection of silver rings lowered from the ceiling, the last of them had the illusion of being made of gold. Years before, Hannah’s mother held a contest: if a child captured the brass ring and returned it to the ticket booth, he or she would earn a free ride.

Though most of the lights lining the roof of the carousel were broken, the bulbs on the ceiling were blinking wildly, winking at Hannah as she walked over to the little girl who was laughing and beating her legs against the turtle’s shell. She began to stand on top of the shell, reaching for the brass ring that hung from the ceiling. Hannah was scared and stared at the little girl, wanting to hold her straight, but resisted. She knew that sometimes you have to let kids reach for the brass ring even if it’s unsafe, even if they might hurt themselves. Her timing was all wrong. When the little girl tried to reach for the brass ring, the turtle was galloping downwards and her hand could not grasp the prize.

As the ride abruptly stopped turning and the music droned away, the girl asked if the carousel would be open for Christmas.

“I’m afraid not. I’ve made arrangements for it to be given to one of those traveling carnivals. You know, clowns, bears, tightropes. They plan on repairing it, fixing it up. In fact,” Hannah glimpsed at her wristwatch, “they should be coming by soon or they should at least be here by now.”

“You should take a ride too then. Just once.”

“No, no, no, that’s okay. I’ll just watch you again. You want to ride again? Go ahead, choose your turtle again if you want.”

The little girl ran the entire carousel before she decided to climb the black horse with an absent left ear. The horse’s nose faced the inner wall, neighing and showing his teeth, and even though he was half-earless, Hannah found him timelessly majestic, “That there is Silas. My mother always told me that he was her favorite.”

“You should get on an animal!” the girl waved, a gesture that urged Hannah towards her, “This might be the last time you get to ride your own carousel!”

“No, no, it’s always made me dizzy and besides, I have to wait for the carnival,” Hannah started the carousel once more and the wild music blasted from unseen speakers once again. The little girl stood up on the stirrups of Silas struggling to capture the brass ring and reaching her arms full length towards the ceiling. As the carousel spun the final round, the little girl found her hands around the ring and she pulled desperately at it. When the ride stopped turning, she climbed down from Silas and walked over to Hannah with a smile.

“I finally got it. Here,” she handed the brass ring to Hannah, “It was easy. I get another free ride don’t I?”

Hannah circled the carousel until she reached an empty chain dangling from the ceiling. She reattached the brass ring and asked the girl her name.

Aviva

She sighed and looked at the sky, “The rain’s stopped. It’s much too late for another ride tonight. If we stay much longer, it’ll be dark enough to count constellations.”

Aviva arched her head at the darkening sky, “Can I wait with you tomorrow then?”

“Let me walk you home,” Hannah put her hand out and Aviva took it with a smile, “It’s not safe for you to be on your own, you know.”

Aviva told Hannah that her house could not be compared to the beauty of the carousel, but that it was ‘just a trailer’ that her mother had bought when she was a baby, “I hope you like it,” she said lifting her hand to grasp the Hannah’s forearm. In front of her small trailer, a blue streetlight shone onto white gravel that displayed sets of tire streaks. The trailer looked like an aluminum egg with one door, one window, and a satellite dish tied at an angle on the corner. Somehow Aviva’s mother heard her daughter’s voice and pulled a white curtain back from the window, peering through a glass pane no larger than a shoebox. Her mother came to the trailer’s front door and sprung it back with her palm, nodding Hannah and Aviva inside with a spatula in the other hand.

“This is Hannah, mama. I saw her waiting at the carousel down at the sand park and she let me ride it for real. The music was crazy and all at the same time, and an explosion of lights beat down at my eyes for so long that I thought I’d go blind. I won the brass ring too! It wasn’t as hard as I thought it’d be. Do you know about the brass ring?”

Her mother’s eyes were focused on Hannah, squinting unbearably until she exclaimed, “Oh yes I know you Hannah! You’re Eve’s little girl aren’t you? I haven’t seen you around in some time, what has it been? Six years?”

“A long time Miss Webb and Boone is just the same as ever though. The only things that are different are the sizes of the faces.”

“Oh yes, I must’ve aged a bit, but so have you! Look at how much you’ve grown, two inches I bet, just like an oak tree. Well, where’ve you been? Out of town? Out of state? Oh it’ll make me damn jealous if you went out of the country on top of it all.”

“I saw a few places, nothing really special and nothing to even think about bragging about.”

“Darling’, you must be here because of your mother. I’m sorrier than worn-out words and my speech won’t work half as much—” she embraced Hannah surprisingly and continued, “I’m glad you came back. It’s so very important to say goodbye. I took Aviva to the carousel on Easter thinking Eve’d be there but,” her eyes searched the carpet for the rest of her sentence, “she sort of fell off of the face of the earth when you left.”

“I’m selling it…” Hannah quietly said, her cheeks quickly blushing.

“Selling what?”

“The carousel, The Crookshank Carousel.”

“I see,” Miss Webb squinted her eyes and cocked her head questioningly, “But why would you go and do a thing like that? That carousel made your little family happier than anyone.”

“I just…I just have no use for it now. Especially now.”

“Well, there’s a use for everything,” she knocked her right knuckle once on the kitchen table and said, “ Your mama had reason to give it to you or she wouldn’t have, especially if she didn’t think you’d appreciate it. There’s a speckle, always a speckle of significance in every living thing on this earth, even if it’s significant to just one measly person. You know this by now since you’re here, how people always seem to end up where they began. I’ve seen it and seen it. I made it out to New York once, but just for a month. I was even hired as a full-time waitress. Then I met an irresponsible, arrogant man with rotten teeth and an ego bigger than his…well, bigger than an elephant. Then this girl here came into the picture,” she put her hand on Aviva’s head, circling her index finger on her daughter’s scalp, “so I had to make the move back to have my baby.”

In a long glance, Hannah watched Aviva pick up her mother’s empty tea cup with her thumb, quickly wash it in their small silver sink, and place it on a stained white cloth that lay next to her.

“I think I should be going. It’s late and I have to wake up quite early tomorrow.”

“After school, I’m waiting too,” Aviva said while she pulled at the hanging strings of her red coat, “I’ll need some money though.”

“Don’t worry about that Aviva. I’m relieved to have some company.”

“Wait, are you going to go see them Hannah? I think you should, before you go at least, if you do go, that is. I know it’s scary, but you’ve got to do it or you may regret not going through with it.”

Hannah nodded, showed a fake smile without teeth, and promised.

The next day, the sky was unclouded and the carousel untouched. Hannah pulled a broom from the trunk of her pick-up truck along with a package of glue. For her first task, she reached into her purse and pulled out the wooden piece of Silas’ ear. Like a puzzle piece, she squeezed patches of glue and stuck the ear in its fitting place, watching the glue ooze from the spaces between the cracks. As she began to sweep the dust and glass collected on the platform, she noticed the small frame of Aviva appearing from the outskirts of the gate surrounding the carousel. Following her were groups of children from a variety of ages, all waving at Hannah, swinging their arms wildly and jumping in the air.

“They’ve come for the carousel,” she said in a whisper, “Oh, good grief, they’ve come to ride my mother’s carousel,” she squeezed the bridge of her nose between her eyes for a few seconds in agony.
Once Aviva ran up beside the carousel, she bounced her palms onto the platform to call Hannah’s attention, “Hannah, look what I’ve done for you! I told all my friends and they’re so excited that they can finally ride it! They actually followed me here! I told them it was free and even more followed me then.”

The group of kids gathered around the entrance like a mob, ready to burst in and take any animal they wished, but beyond the gates surrounding the carousel, Hannah watched clouds of dust explode in large chunks. There was an obnoxious blaring of a horn as three semis pulled up over the hill of sand, skidding at first into a straight line as they surrounded the carousel. Massive and towering, they managed to block the sun like skyscrapers. Each truck had its own set of cursive letters, one labeled, ‘Flying Fools’ another one named ‘Freaks’. One man opened his rectangular door and landed onto the dust with a thump, causing the sand to lift from his feet to his waist, “Ay there. You Madam Hannah? No no no, you must be Miss Crookshank,” he kneeled in front of Aviva, pointed at her and showed his rotting teeth, “Miss Crookshank? Owner of the famous Crookshank Carousel!?!” He lifted his baseball cap, showing a yellow streak of sweat staining the inside layer.

Aviva stood firm and crossed her arms, “Don’t be silly, that’s not my carousel.”

He began to move and point towards the other children, innocently interrogating them, “You then? You?—”

“You speak to me,” Hannah interrupted and stepped down from the platform, “This is my mother’s carousel.”

“Ah I see. Where’s your mother then? I was told that this beautiful piece of machinery is for sale and I’m going to be the lucky buyer.”

“I’m sorry sir, but—” she turned her eyes at the carousel and hesitated, “—well it’s not for sale. Never was. I’m sorry about all the trouble, but I have nothing to offer you.”

“What do you mean ‘nothing to offer’ then huh? I’m pretty sure that big piece of metal behind you would be a kind offer, a very kind offer.”

“Like I said, it’s my mother’s carousel and I have nothing to offer,” she smiled, crossed her arms, and turned to see Aviva’s wide blue eyes and lifted brows.

“What in the Christ’s hell is wrong with you? I just wasted a whole damn day fantasizing about this carousel and then you go and taint my dream? There’s 52 animals up there, you’ve got horses, pigs, and bears, and I can see there’s rings hanging from the ceiling like stars, and I’m sure it’s got itself music from the 19^th century, and still you’re telling me this was never for sale? I should’ve known. I should’ve known that carousel wouldn’t be for sale.”

Hannah turned her chin to her shoulder and squinted her eyes, “Did you…did you want to ride it?”

“Ah, what the hell do you think I am?” The owner of the carnival turned his back and started towards his semi truck. Sticking his foot on the runner, he opened the door and swung himself inside. He was dramatic in exiting, circling the carousel in his truck once, causing a thick storm of sand to lift into the air. After sending the remaining three semis over the dirt hill and out of eye’s reach, Hannah and the others waited for the sand to settle.∗