Riding the Carousel at Thirty-Nine

On a solo day off in October, I walked into the old carousel building in the park and bought a ticket. Just for me. No kids. Two dollars.

I picked a white horse with a gold mane and a chipped blue saddle. The operator, a teenager, gave me a slightly puzzled look and then a thumbs-up. The organ music started, the horses began to rise and fall, and I felt eight years old.

I laughed the whole three minutes. I reached for the brass ring and missed. A little girl on the horse next to me grabbed it and grinned at me, and I gave her a high five.

I rode it three more times. Nobody on earth knows I did this except the teenager, the little girl and now you. It was the best six dollars I spent all year.