The Poet

3

William Gladden's eyes scanned the happy faces as they moved past him. It was like a giant vending machine. Take your pick. Don't like him? Here comes another. Will she do?

This time none would do. Besides, their parents were too close by. He'd have to wait for the one time one of them made a mistake, walked out on the pier or over to the snack window for cotton candy, leaving their precious one all alone.

Gladden loved the carousel on the Santa Monica Pier. He didn't love it because it was an original, and, according to the story in the display case, it took six years to hand-paint the galloping horses and restore it to its original condition. He didn't love it because it had been featured in lots of movies that he had seen over the years, especially while in Raiford. And he didn't love it because it brought to mind memories of riding with his Best Pal on the merry-go-round at the Sarasota County Fair. He loved it because of the children who rode on it. Innocence and abandonment to pure happiness played on each one's face as it circled again and again to the accompaniment of the calliope. Since arriving from Phoenix he had been coming here. Every day. He knew it might take some time but one day it would eventually pay off and he would be able to fill his order.

As he watched the collage of colors his mind jumped backward as it had so often since Raiford. He remembered his Best Pal. He remembered the black-dark closet with only the band of light at the bottom. He huddled on the floor near the light, near the air. He could see his feet coming that way. Each step. He wished he were older, taller, so that he could reach the top shelf. If only he were, he would have a surprise waiting for his Best Pal.

Gladden came back. He looked around. The ride had ended and the last of the children were making their way to waiting parents on the other side of the gate. There was a line of more children ready to run to the carousel and pick their horse. He looked again for a dark-haired girl with smooth brown skin but saw none. Then he noticed the woman who took the tickets from the children staring at him. Their eyes met and Gladden looked away. He adjusted the strap of his duffel bag. The weight of the camera and the books inside it had pulled it down on his shoulder. He made a note to leave the books in the car next time. He took a last look at the carousel and headed for one of the doors that exited onto the pier.

When he got to the car he casually looked back at the woman. The children screamed as they ran to the wooden horses. Some with parents, most alone. The woman taking tickets had already forgotten about him. He was safe.