The Carousel Horse

The horse is racing. Around and around. Frozen in a moment of time, an expression on his face felt for an instant that lasts forever. His body poised for running, a mid-air leap he started and can not finish. His many riders do not know him. He is a magical wizard cast in a spell. His wisdom runs as deep as he runs wild. Yet, no one sees it. Only those who can see into his soul will know of his amazing past before this moment of petrification. His eyes hold the secret. But no one looks. They climb him. They pull his reins. They jump on him. They talk about him in the third person in his very presence, as though he did not exist.

Yet his beauty is stunning. He is black as midnight with hooves of steel. His mane and tail, silky and fine, white as the snow. His chest is high and full of pride. Trapped, he longs to run again in green fields with his herd, the white mare in the lead, her mane and tail, black as the moonless night. She ran free. And now, she waits.

He tries to move, but he cannot. It is another day of not giving up. The carousel rotates in an arc. He can never see past the curve of the arc, the same horses always running in front of him. He can never see their faces. He doesn’t know who they are. He wants to speak, but he has no voice. He can only live within his mind, and dream.

How can he let them know he is real? How does he show his vitality? Won’t someone look at him, as though he mattered? I think it’s the indifference that hurts him the most. The broom that sweeps out the remains of the day, the cold water that washes him down after the carousel closes down each day. LOOK at me. Look at ME. Look AT me. How many times do I have to say it? I am in here. I live in here. And I want you to know me. I am something truly incredible. I am someone you would want to know, if only you knew. But I can’t tell you. I am unable to speak it.

Today, he had a rider that was different. He couldn’t feel her on his back. He could see the dark shadow of her hair, flowing like the wind itself. He noticed her reflection in the center mirror. A simple white dress she wore, old linen with no decoration. Her hair was black as were her shoes. She didn’t sit on him. She flew above him, weightless, barely touching the pole that went right through his heart, one which was so delicate the slightest move could hurt it. He wanted to turn and see her, but he could not. Who is this rider who graces me this day?

The carousel did not stop in its usual time. Instead, it continued to go around and around, not even slowing down, but increasing in speed. She was the only rider today. The pace of the spinning carousel made him dizzy. He closed his eyes without thinking, so that he could try and balance his equilibrium. Sure enough, his fears went away when his closed eye lids took him home. His feet were hitting a grassy surface. This was no longer the hard wooden floor of the carousel. He could smell the scents of the countryside. He longed to open his eyes, and at the same time, he was afraid to do so, in case this reality would leave him and never return.

But then he heard a woman’s laugh, and the woman said, with a smile,

“Why do you have your eyes closed? You’re going to run into something!”

Immediately, he recognized the voice of the one he had missed for so long, and opened his eyes. The scene made his heartbeat quicken. He was running in his green pastures of home, in the vast rolling countryside of his youth. And there she was, as if they had never been separated. He did not speak of his past. Perhaps it was not even real. Maybe this was real. He didn’t know what was reality anymore. But he dared not question it. He would accept it for as long as he could.

If a horse could smile, that is what he did. And he picked up the pace and ran as fast as he could.

“Wait, silly!” she said. “Don’t leave me. You’re running too fast!”

He couldn’t help it. He was filled with vigor and excitement. He felt as though he could sail completely across the mountains. Finally, he slowed, turned to look at her, and stopped so she could catch up. She was breathing hard when she got to him. She stopped right in front of him, their black eyes meeting, soul searching, a penetrating stare, directly into the very beings they were.

“The young ones miss you,” she said. “They long for your stories. Will you be with them again?”