The Girl Who Joined the Circus

“Oh.” I hadn’t sent him a letter, so I assumed Amelia had.

“I’m delighted you showed up. You know, plenty of people who request an audition never follow through. Quite frustrating. Regardless, I’m most interested in viewing your talent, young lady.”

“Thank you.” I tried to hand the bouquet back to him, but Laurent only shook his head and pushed it closer to me. And I didn’t fail to notice how the touch of his fingers on mine lingered quite a bit longer than necessary.

“Those are for you to keep!”

He pulled away then and nodded, as if he were answering a question in his own mind.

“Oh, thank you,” I managed.

He nodded again. “Spider lilies are the flowers of the afterlife, according to Buddhist legend. They even grow in hell, guiding the damned through samsara, their next incarnation.” With a wave of his hand, Laurent plucked a black rose from the ensemble and stuck it behind his ear, enhancing his already dark motif. “I always pray for some guidance myself.” Then he grinned broadly and I could well understand how he’d become a showman—he seemed to have it in his blood. “And who decided to come to my little circus today? You! Seems the flowers are already hard at work!”

Laurent’s joy was infectious. There wassomething warm and bright about his demeanor, as if he, himself, provided all the light inside the place. It was an odd thought, to be certain, but one that strangely also felt too right not to be true.

He waved his hand toward the rear of the tent. “Now, let’s not discuss the specifics out here. Come with me, Bindi Bairam, to a world of humdrum paperwork and legal terms.”

“S-sure.” I cast one more nervous glance behind my shoulder as the ringmaster led the way from the bustling tent.

***

The shanty that contained Laurent’s office was more like a chaotic storm of papers.

Every inch of the interior was covered in loose documents, dog-eared books, and a colorful array of extravagant clothes and hats.

Carefully, I stepped across the threshold as Laurent plowed through before me, launching more loose papers into the air when his coattails swung with his gait. He pivoted behind a large, wooden desk and collapsed into the rolling office chair, nearly toppling it over in the process. I set the aromatic bouquet on his desk and turned in a circle, taking stock of the place.

There were a few posters on the wall, depicting acts I assumed were from the past, owing to the faded ink. Jugglers, lion tamers, trapeze artists, and some very unique individuals… I stepped forward when one image in particular caught my attention.

A woman was featured with a group of circus performers. She was wearing a form-fitted, coral-pink leotard that had intricate beading and on the rear of the leotard were fluffy, white feathers that arched at least two feet above her head. However, her costume wasn’t what grabbed my attention—but her face.

I couldn’t imagine how in the world it was possible, but she looked just like me! She had the same pale blond hair, the same small, round face with large eyes and a pert nose. And her mouth was pulled into the same one-sided smile that characterized my own smiles.

I pointed to the photo. “This woman. Who is she?”

Laurent looked up from clearing his paper-strewn desk and immediately looked away again as he if didn’t enjoy looking at the poster, or at least, didn’t want to look at it now. “She was with us for a little while and then she left… several years ago,” he answered under his breath. “She stayed such a short time… I can’t even recall her name.”

I nodded, satisfied with his terse reply, even as I still found the similarities between the woman and myself fairly surprising. It was a strange coincidence, certainly. Or maybe I was overly vain to see myself in such an attractive performer.

“Is this applewood?” I asked as I ran my hand across the top of Laurent’s desk, trying to draw on my scarce knowledge of carpentry that I’d learned from my father.

“Manchineel, actually.”

I’d never heard of that type of wood, so I had no reply. Laurent gestured to a nearby chair, as faded and shabby as the shack itself. I sat down, watching him fold his hands beneath his chin, as he propped his elbows on the desk like a schoolboy attentively waiting for the latest gossip. “Now, tell me, Miss Bairam—or do you prefer I call you Bindi?”

“Bindi is fine.”

“Your friend… I’ve forgotten her name?”

“Oh,” I started with a quick smile as I opened my mouth to respond and then frowned as I realized I couldn’t immediately call her name to mind which was… strange. “Oh, I…” I breathed in deeply as I screamed at my mind to remember my friend’s name and yet… yet there was nothing there. “Her name is… Amelia,” I remembered at the last minute.

“Yes, Amelia,” Laurent continued as he studied me with almost narrowed eyes. Perhaps he thought I’d been getting into the giggle-water which was why I’d blanked on Amelia’s name? Of course, alcohol was illegal though… so I couldn’t imagine he’d assume I would have partaken in such a… criminal offense?

“She mentioned you’d be coming here today,” he continued with a grin.

Relief filled my chest. “Amelia’s here already, then?”

Laurent’s smile turned somewhat apologetic. “Yes, well… no.” he cleared his throat and seemed uncomfortable. “That is to say… she was here, but I’m afraid she’s already gone.”