Thoroughbred horse who won the triple crown of racing in
1973.
Smiley stood motionless and allowed me to mount. He
began a deliberate gallop, but then charged full speed ahead.
My legs tightened as I straddled the horse. Something was
missing: there were no reins to hold onto.
I grabbed the animal’s neck with both hands in a desperate
attempt to stay in the saddle as I bobbed up and down. My
hips and thighs ached with each thump upon the saddle. My
fingers grabbed the horse’s mane as I attempted to gain
control of the animal’s motions. My chest slammed against
his head as I struggled to hold on.
“Stop! Stop!” I cried, but Smiley increased his running and
bobbing. What hindered him from stopping? He never did
this before.
I ricocheted up; then back down into the saddle. I heard
people scream in the distance as we all rode around the
circle faster. I wanted to help them as I passed through the
sounds of their screams hanging in the air, but I had my own
situation to deal with. I clutched the horse’s thick neck, my
neck buried in his mane, my chin upon his ear. My horse’s
neck obstructed my view of others who clung to their horses.
Strange music mocked me as I rode, beco ming louder with
each loop around the track. Suddenly my horse stopped.
The last thing I saw as I flew from the horse to the ground
below was the carousel operator’s toothless grin.
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