Mr. Carousel

By Audrey Herrin

I’m no musician. I can’t play an instrument and I can’t read scores. I can sing pretty well though, and I’ve listened to so much music that I could swear my life has a soundtrack playing in the background.

When my mom died I inherited her music collection. She’d been in love with Elvis, and had all of his early records. We had a record player in the living room, and I can still remember my parents slow-dancing to an Elvis ballad. My mom had her arms wrapped tight around my dad and she couldn’t stop smiling. Everything was warm in the golden evening glow.

When I was in college I worked part-time at a record store. I was the only one at the counter and I could choose the music we played. It was always whatever was new and experimental. I thought I was hip and I played The Psychedelic Sounds of the 13th Floor Elevators on repeat.

Later, The 13th Floor Elevators were replaced by The Doors, Hendrix, and The Velvet Underground. Those ancient Elvis records grew dusty in a cardboard box in the back of my closet. I sold the record player for five bucks in a garage sale.

Sometimes, I’ll think of a song that encapsulates the current moment and remember it so vividly I can hear it playing in my head. Other times, I’ll notice the perfect song playing in the background, on the television, the jukebox, or the radio. I’ll sing along under my breath. It’s become something of a coping method. When no one else knows what’s happening inside your head, at least the music knows. You can’t hide from a song.

The first time it happened was after I got fired from my job and my rent was coming due. I didn’t know how I was going to pay it or what I would tell my parents when I showed up on their front porch, asking to move back in. They really thought I was gonna make it in the big city all on my own, and I didn’t even manage to find a pretty girl to settle down with.

I went to the neighborhood bar and ordered a beer because I couldn’t afford hard liquor. I sat in the gloomy corner and felt sorry for myself, eyeing some better-dressed, more attractive people at the counter who were laughing like they already had life figured out.

“Detroit City” came on over the radio. It’s a country song from the 30’s, with Bobby Bare singing about how he failed to make it on his own and has to go back to his hometown with his tail tucked between his Legs.

The lyrics voiced the thoughts in my head and Bobby sang them out loud for everyone in the bar to hear. For the duration of the song, I kept my head down and felt like the butt of a cosmic joke.

I always laugh at myself when this happens, but no one pays me any mind. It’s a joke I only share with myself, I’m the only one who’s in on it.

The most recent time it happened was at The Boardroom the other night. I was with Jasper and his latest girlfriend, Portia. There was music playing and drunken people were dancing. Jasper ran into some friends from work and became distracted. Portia and I were left alone, sitting across from each other in the booth while we watched Jasper dance with a group of people we didn’t know. He’d found a classy girl with a sleek bob and scarlet lipstick, and they were dancing close-together. She said something to him and he threw his head back and laughed. 

Portia and I avoided eye contact. How else is one supposed to cope with these kinds of situations? Portia coped with it by downing the remainder of her gin and tonic in one gulp. She grimaced. Then she groaned and hid her face in her hands. After a moment, she peered at me through her fingers.

“He’s always been like this, hasn’t he?”

I nodded, giving her a smile, and hoped it didn’t come across too knowledgeable.

“Do you think I ought to ask him to leave now?”

Her voice was weak as she said it. We both knew she wouldn’t do it and risk coming across as petty. The gleeful ring of Jasper’s voice prompted us to glance across the room at him. He dipped the young woman over his arm as she giggled and squeaked in protest.

Jasper was easily the most handsome person in the room. The other dancers kept stealing glances of him. I knew all too well the sparks of envy those admiring looks probably scraped to life in Portia’s chest. But, she would still be the one taking him home that night.

It made no difference to me. Jasper always spins around and around in circles, but he always comes back to the same place. What I mean is…well, you would understand if you were me in this situation.

If you were me, he would catch you watching him at some point while he’s on the dance floor. Your eyes would meet over the slender shoulder of the woman in his arms. You would raise an eyebrow at him, silently laughing, and jerk your glass in his direction on its way to your lips. A subtle gesture that no one else would notice. A smile would spread across his face, and there’d be warmth in his eyes. He wouldn’t look away even when the woman in his arms spoke to him and he responded to whatever she said. No, if you were me in this situation, you wouldn’t mind who would be taking him home for the night. It wouldn’t make a difference to you at all.

The song ended. I watched Jasper as the next song began. It was a slow one, and the woman grabbed Jasper’s hand and put it on her waist. The song was “First in Line,” a ballad by Elvis. When I recognized it, I had to laugh, the way I always do when the lyrics of a song incriminate me to myself.

“What is it?” Portia asked.

“Nothing,” I said.

These situations I find myself in really are amusing.

I asked the pretty woman, “do you want to dance with me?”

I stood up from the booth and held out a hand for her.

Portia took it with a resigned smile and let me pull her to her feet. She looked sort of tragically beautiful with her dark eyeshadow and a navy blue headband in her blonde hair. I led her to the dance floor and we joined the throng of dancers. I pulled her close so we could feel the warmth of each others’ bodies and swayed with her to the rhythm of the song. I crooned along with Elvis in her ear and made her giggle in spite of herself. I said I can sing pretty well and I meant it.

“You’ve been holding out on us,” Portia said.

We swayed past Jasper and his dance partner and Portia pretended not to notice them. My eyes met Jasper’s again and I stopped moving so Portia and I would sway in one place. I was still singing in her ear and I saw Jasper smile as he watched my lips form the words to the lyrics. I held her tighter. Her body grew heavy in my arms as she became caught up in the song and in her own brooding thoughts.

Jasper’s expression turned serious, the smile melted from his face. As the song ended, he looked away. I freed myself from Portia’s embrace. I heard her ask if I was alright, but I didn’t respond. I was left with a feeling that something uncanny had happened and it had something to do with the fact that Jasper wasn’t looking at us. He was going back to the bar to order another drink.

I wondered, with a twinge of fear. Could it be that for once, someone else was let in on the joke?

End.

“First In Line” by Elvis Presley:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WDuF2a8O2ws