Merry-Go-Round (Sequel to 'Carousel')

Chapter 6 - Control

"I left my church," he continued, "because I felt that it stood in my way. It stood in the way of my life. There were so many things I couldn't do. I wanted control over my own life. They didn't act as if I belonged but as if they owned me. I had the feeling they were using me as an advertisement. I didn't want to be told what to do and what not to do, and so I left... But it's still standing in my way. Because some things have been so firmly imprinted on me. I struggle with them. More with some and less with others. But I struggle. Yes..."

His look seemed to have turned inward as if he was listening to something deep inside of himself. For a moment I looked at him trying to evaluate what he had just been trying to tell me. Then I nodded slowly, got up and went over to the kitchen counter. The chef was busying herself with something – probably preparations for lunch – but she saw me nevertheless. I asked if there was bread, and when she showed me a pack of sliced white bread and assured me that it could be spared, I took the pack over to the table. Pushing the coffee pot to one side and the largely empty basket of bread rolls to the other, I placed the bread centrepiece between us. Michael took his cup in both hands watching the cellophane pack like the audience at a magician's show wondering what this next trick will be all about.

"When my grandmother was a child," I said, helping myself to another cup of coffee, "they had a farm in what was a part of Prussia then and is the UDSSR, now. That was at the end of the 19th century, before the wars. They were self-sustaining buying only things like sugar, salt or coffee." I raised my cup in emphasis and drank. "They had their cattle, their chickens, their crops.

"In Germany, bread is the main food, and my great-grandmother still had to bake her own bread. Not this kind of bread, really, but big, round loafs the size of a wheel with a hard, flour-dusted crust and a dark inside – but we'll make do. Anyway, baking bread is very hard work still today, and they didn't have electricity so my great-grandmother had to do it all by hand to feed the family. It was probably the hardest work she had to do; harder even than washing. Before she'd cut a new loaf, she'd make a cross below it to bless it. Bread meant a lot to them – you had no bread, you starved. But on Christmas morning, she would go to the stable and give each animal, each horse and each head of cattle a piece of bread. I don't really know what her motives were. Appreciating the animals they lived off, I guess, and giving some of the food made for humans back to them – recognising them as part of God's creation, not just a source for meat and milk. Being humble.

"You've been brought up not to celebrate Christmas, and all that's going on must feel like an overload. Frankly, I'm not sure it has so much to do with Christmas, anymore. It's quite over the line, all things considered. But there's a humble side to Christmas, too, you know? It's about appreciating others and appreciating God. I know this isn't a farm and you don't live off your animals, but here's my proposal for Christmas." I touched the bread in the middle of our table and the slices wobbled slightly. "Why don't we do that? Why don't we go and give each of your animals a piece of bread as part of God's creation? – Do you think that would be acceptable?"
Michael looked at the bread in silence. Then he took a deep breath. "Yes," he said. "I think we could do that."

We wouldn't leave for the party until the afternoon, and although that meant dressing and makeup for Michael (and for me, actually), we still had what remained of the morning to ourselves, so we set out towards the zoo. I wore the jacket Michael had worn the previous day. I wasn't a big fan of those voluminous jackets, and it wasn't anywhere near being cold enough to justify wearing them regardless, but when he had offered me his, lest I should catch a cold, some girlish urge had forbidden me to say no.

We crossed the road to the Neverland station and skipped up the steps to the building of rose-coloured stones that seemed to have been taken straight from Disneyland – only that it was real. The hall inside was furnished with arcade machines, and Michael fired up a flipper and let a ball shoot across the surface sending lights flashing and bells jingling before I pulled him on. He looked back as we walked away letting out a howl, "Woohoo! Did you see that?", then wrapped his arm around me and already forgetting the flipper walked me through the door onto the platform.

There wasn't much to be seen there. Small tracks running through an arch of the building past the platform and quickly disappearing around a gentle curve and some greenery, a polished wooden bench, an old-fashioned clock, some white lanterns. Michael pretended to read a timetable on the wall. "When's the next train coming?" He checked a watch he wasn't wearing. "Gee whiz, I think it's late! We might as well walk." And he jumped into the roadbed. The platform wasn't high but he still offered me his hand as I stepped down.
"Which way?"
He pointed to his left, "That way," and we set off along the tracks.

"Are you sure there'll be no train?" I asked looking back over my shoulder. He had told me that there wouldn't be, and that the little narrow-gauge railway was stored away in its depot at the other end of the ranch, but I was still a little uneasy on the tracks.
"I am. But we could still get a golf cart..."
Only moments ago, upon leaving the main house across the road, he had suggested to take one. But the air was fresh under the grey sky and walking seemed to fit better with the idea of being humble. Also, we would be alone on our walk. Even though his staff kept a polite distance, it was still always present only a call away. Somehow that took getting used to.
"Do you really mind walking that much?" I was balancing on one rail and using the pack of bread as a balancing tool.
He caught me around the waist, pulled me to a halt between the rails and rested his forehead against mine, biting his lower lip in something between a funny face and a grimace.
"I'm only playing," he said after a moment and after his expression had melted into a smile. "I'm happy to walk." His grip was firm – his body, too. Prickling pearls rose in me like in a Champaign bottle threatening to push out the cork. It was the light-heartedness with which he came so close.

The scent of cologne was hanging around him. For moments at a time it seemed the soft wind coming along the tracks would blow it away completely but it never really did. Then I lifted up his chin and kissed him, and his hold on me tightened a little more.

"I have nobody on the ranch today, who could drive the train," he squeezed my waist between his hands and pressed his hips against mine, "apart from me and I'm standing right here." It was a minimal movement, but it left no doubt about the reference. It didn't help with the Champaign pearls.
I only smiled running my fingers along his jaw. His jacket was open, the pack of bread in my arm between his chest and mine.
He looked down at it. "So... wanna go?"
I nodded, still smiling.
Michael took the bread and offered me his arm and I clung to it. "If there were children around, I still wouldn't do it. Walking along the tracks, I mean. Because they can't tell the difference between these tracks, that I can control, and other tracks that are very dangerous. But the road and the paths snake around towards the rides. The tracks are straighter, so..."
"Along the way," I said, "you can tell me about that Christmas party."

~~~~~
Hey, guys! :D

I had wanted to publish this for Christmas Eve, now it turned out to be for New Years Eve. Oh well... And as my friend said after reading this chapter: "Your not so Christmas-y Christmas story just got Christmas-y!" XD Anyway, I will continue the story even though we've passed Christmas. :') 

Please don't forget to vote and comment! :)

For tonight all I want to say is that I hope you have a lovely New Years Eve and I wish you a very Happy New Year! :D

With Love, Birdie <33