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His name is Thadius, but even when I was traded to this family when I thought I might be around twelve, I knew the rules. And from that first day, I referred to him as Papa, as I did the other elder men lest I take twelve lashes for disrespect.
All I’ve ever wanted to do is dance. Even in my most distant memories with my other ‘adoptive’ families, I was twirling and pointing my toes.
Little did I know that what felt joyful and natural to me, would be viewed simply as a skill used for filling the pockets of the group and nothing more.
Still, when I lie on my blankets covering the ground at night, my head on a rolled-up pile of clothes that second as my pillow, I dream of pointed ballet slippers and white tulle. I know I’m far too old to ever pursue the dream of being a real ballet dancer, but I would settle for simply allowing it to be something I do for my own pleasure instead of the pursuit of misdemeanor petty theft.
Or felony theft, depending on how much is in a wallet or the value of a watch.
Despite the hollow feeling that takes me over just before the performance begins, the day is a wonder. One of those days that’s hard to describe. The air is the perfect temperature to keep you warm while the breeze cools you at the same time.
The white fluff of the clouds drift around on a sky that seems an impossible blue, making you feel like maybe dreams really do come true.
Genevieve adjusts the string that tightens or loosens the neckline of my blouse, the trim the same color as the sky. She moves the fabric off my shoulders and tightens it into place.
“Being the pretty one is fun isn’t it?” she teases, both of us knowing in our life, whatever you have to offer will be exploited for the greater good.
“Every day is a Mardi Gras,” I answer as I inhale, pulling in my stomach as her fingers move down the lacing of my corset, driving the flesh of my bosom overflowing out of the now lower neckline of my gauzy top.
When she’s finished, I take a long moment to draw a breath. I’ve learned to breathe shallow and often, but I know later in the day, when the sun is high and the temperatures rise, I will be close to passing out.
As I catch my breath, I look at the ground. Then when my eyes drift back up, Marco, a newer member of one of the families in our group, comes near, towering over me. Tension builds in my stomach. He’s been paying far too much attention to me since he arrived and there’s a dark edge to his eyes that makes me uneasy.
“Ladies.” He addresses us both but keeps his nearly-black eyes on my chest. All the other younger, single girls in our clan have been falling all over themselves since he joined us. Snickering and saying dirty things about what they’d like to do with him.
I nod as he licks his lips. Most of the time around him I just wish I was invisible.
“Nothing to say?” he asks.
I’m not much of a talker outside of my family, and he’s taken to trying to force the issue. But I’m not playing whatever this game is, so I just shake my head.
Genevieve pipes up. “We have nothing to say. Unless of course you have something interesting to talk about…” She’s not considered the one of the prettiest girls in our clan, but she’s got a confidence I wish I had.
Marco gives her a sidelong, indifferent glance, and opens his mouth as if he has some witty comeback prepared, but my father’s voice comes over, calling us to the entry of the fair where we perform and with a bite into his bottom lip, Marco moves away with his guitar slung over his shoulder.
“What’s the name of this town again?” I ask, and Genevieve draws her brow tight. Her dark eyebrows pull together, and the hint of dark girl-stache under her nose twists with her lips as she thinks.
She’s nearly my opposite. Taller, thicker, dark everywhere, with hands that are used to doing the same work as some of the biggest men in the families, and although we should be rivals, we both understand no one has it much easier than another in our life.
“Millington. Why do you care?”
I shrug. “One place blends into another. It’s nice to know which is which.”
I don’t tell her the real reason. One of these towns close by must be where I was born. Perhaps someone, someday, will recognize my eyes and claim me as their own.
A girl has to have dreams.
A loud clap next to my head shocks me back into the moment.
