Carousel of Time by Leah Holbrook Sackett

She'd heard whispers of it. She couldn't tell you where. The whispers were faded, scratched out voices without roots. Maybe she had made the stories up, the ones that faded like a dream late in the day. She drove past exit for the closed down carnival every day on her way to the car dealership. She knew what it meant to be a showman, and perhaps that was why she was drawn to the bones of the carnival, the wheel of fortune set with chipped, garish ponies. It wasn't until a sunny day, unusually hot, even for July that she shied away from work and took Exit B.  

Google maps gave no directions for her destination, but she didn't need them. She drove on instinct alone until she saw the Ferris Wheel, which served as a real and rickety beacon. When she arrived, she could smell cotton candy and funnel cake. She grew hungry, and her fingers were inexplicably sticky. At the center of the fun sat the carousel, it churned slowly backward. It moved slow enough to step-up on the risers. Her mini skirt was not ideal for mounting a pony, but she had never been one to ride a bench on a carousel. She hiked up her navy blue skirt and placed her foot in a stationary stir-up, then she jumped up and settled into the saddle. The wind whipped her hair in her face. The saddle felt like leather between her legs, and her foot slipped from the stir-ups. It was no longer a one size fits all. The post faded out of her hands and was replaced with reigns. Where was she going? An echo of her past rose to meet her. It rallied from deep inside, and the carousel set course for her history. She could see him looming on the curve of the turn. She wondered if she dared to meet him again. As time rewound, he grew closer. She didn't think in the end that she would have the patience to do it all again. She questioned why she did and why she didn't, mistakes could surely be corrected. 

As space and time condensed, she wondered how she would glom herself unto him once more. Even with the opportunity of the carousel, could she stretch back over time, and reunite with him. Seamed in by her doubt, the carousel grew sluggish, even with him in grasps reach, she pulled up on the reins. Navigating the pony against the groove of the rotation, back to the world of today, tomorrow. The stability of her life and the untethered wake of tomorrow. She would not be haunted by yesteryear no more. She would not take stride for just a brief moment, a vacation. She would not use him like that. 

Leah Holbrook Sackett is an adjunct lecturer in the English department at the University of Missouri - St. Louis.  This is also where she earned her M.F.A.  Leah's short stories explore journeys toward autonomy and the boundaries placed on the individual by society, family, and self.  Learn about her published fiction at LeahHolbrookSackett.com.