Chapter 10: The First Horse

The brush still had dried blue paint on the bristles.

"I don't know how to do this," I said.

"Good. Then you won't have to unlearn anything."

The carousel workshop was a shed built against the back of the carousel housing.

It had one bare bulb, a workbench and a radio with a coat hanger for an antenna.

Captain stood in the middle on two sawhorses.

Up close, he was bigger than me.

He was a carved wooden jumper with his head thrown back and his mouth open.

Under the gray paint, I could see older colors: red, then white, then gold.

"First you strip him," Arlo said. "Every layer, down to the wood."

He handed me a scraper and a mask.

"This is going to take forever."

"Three weeks, if you're fast."

"And then what?"

"Then you fill the cracks, sand him smooth, prime him, and paint him the way he was meant to look."

He pulled a photo off the wall and gave it to me.

It was the carousel at night, years ago, all lit up and turning.

A young woman with Marigold's grin rode the big jumper with both arms in the air.

"That's what he's supposed to look like," Arlo said.

I scraped for three evenings.

Paint came off in long curls that stuck to my jeans and hair.

Marigold collected the gold flecks in a jar.

On the fourth evening Marigold was at a sleepover, and the shed was just me and Arlo and the radio playing old songs badly.

We were both on our knees at Captain's legs, sanding.

Arlo was a careful worker.

He hummed under his breath when he forgot I was there.

He'd taken off his flannel.

He had on a gray T-shirt with a hole at the collar, and his forearms were dusty to the elbow.

I kept losing my place on the horse's knee.

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