Some pastel colored, some darker. Floral leis adorn their necks. The music trumpets from the pipes beckoning everyone to the wonderful up and down figures. The little girl stands anxiously awaiting a ticket, and for the ride to stop. She never cared much about the brass rings, all her simple joy came from riding up and down; around and around. What music would emanate from those metal pipes next? Something no doubt to excite her more and make her even more impatient as she tried to control her breathing.
The line is long; she clenched her fists tight, hoping that would help her wait her turn. But could she? Since the tightened fist didn’t do it, she jumped up and down. Now that seemed to make the anticipation easier to master. Could the thrill she experienced come from the flashing lights? Or maybe it reminded her of getting all dressed up and going for that Sunday drive – maybe it all reminded her of a Broadway show.
But she kidded no one, especially herself; Broadway show, Sunday drive – phooey. She had done or beheld nothing better or sweeter or more exciting than that ride on one of those colorful designs. It couldn’t be a Zebra, a Lion or a Chariot – it had to be the pretty high-stepping blue horse, and it had to be on the outside.
She settled into the saddle and harnessed herself in – after three times around she caught sight of her mother. She threw a hand toward the sky, singled out a finger, and mouthed, “One more time.”
The little one shouted, “No, I don’t want to get off. I won’t get down. I’ll just stay here and ride forever.”
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