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Kelsey had watched them fly so many times, she knew every release, every trick. Minya catapulted from Theo’s arms into a breathtaking somersault, and then back to his grasp. They flew side by side sometimes in a sinuous dance of strength, and at other times, Minya hung from his hands, his knees, his shoulders. It amazed Kelsey, their strength and dexterity while swinging from a bar so many feet off the ground. There was no net, no spotters. For the final, most difficult trick, Minya wore a single safety line.
Kelsey could never have done it. You can never have him, trapezist or no. He’s not for you. No, they belonged together, Theo and Minya, the gypsy king and his orange-gold shadow, flung and then caught up again in space. The beauty of their dance brought tears to Kelsey’s eyes. Theo swung high, higher. It was time for the big finish. Minya flew upwards, her arms spread wide--
Kelsey knew right away something was wrong.
The angle was too great, the height was off. The audience didn’t know. They gasped in awe at the way Minya soared. Kelsey watched Theo, her blood pounding in her ears. He swung back, a twist of his body, and tried to catch her on the way down. His legs strained and he arched, reaching for her. Even from eighty feet below, even petrified with horror, Kelsey noted the mortal concentration on his face. He caught his partner for a moment, grasped her by the hand. His grip arrested her arc and she jerked. She no longer looked graceful.
Now, with that jerk and break in formation, the audience knew something was wrong, and the gasps turned to silence and panicked sharp screams. Kelsey’s own scream caught in her throat as the trapeze still swung and Theo lost his grip. Minya flew down, down, her yellow-red-orange-gold hair streaming behind as she fell head first toward the earth. It might almost be part of the act, it looked so graceful and dramatic. Kelsey waited for the safety to jerk Minya back, to halt her swan dive toward disaster. She saw the spotter pull the rope, faster and faster.
The safety never caught.
*** *** ***
Kelsey didn’t cry like the other performers huddled around her. She felt too numb, too shocked to cry. The Cirque gathered its members backstage and they clung to one another, trying to process the tragedy they’d witnessed. Minya was gone, taken away in a silent ambulance with no lights. Theo was gone too, nowhere to be seen.
Kelsey closed her eyes and buried her head in her hands. She couldn’t get the vision out of her head. Minya flying, so beautiful. Minya falling. Minya twisting and crumpling as she hit the ground. Kelsey had looked up and seen Theo still hanging there, arms extended helplessly. He’d had her, and lost her.
People sobbed and shifted, hugging one another. Jason came over and embraced her.
“You okay?”
She gazed over into the searching blue eyes of her coach. “Did you...did you see it happen?”
“I saw it on the monitor backstage. Did you see it?”
Kelsey nodded briefly, not trusting her voice.
Jason took her hand. “Just...please understand, this never happens. We’ve never had a fatality before.”
Kelsey nodded again, then shook her head, confused. How could it happen? “Didn’t she...” Kelsey rubbed her forehead. How could he drop her? “I don’t understand. What happened to the safety line? It failed?”
“They think so. The spotter was there and he was pulling like hell, but...”
In the corner, the shaken safety operator was surrounded by fellow riggers. They were obviously trying to comfort him, but he didn’t look soothed as he dragged violently on a cigarette. At the front of the group, a Human Resource exec from headquarters wrung her hands and spouted empty reassurances.
Kelsey tuned her out. There was nothing the woman could say that could erase the ghastly tableau of Minya’s fall. The stricken faces of the other performers were mirrors for her own shock and disbelief.
Circuses were like families. Dysfunctional families a lot of times, but even in her short time there, she’d come to understand that circus people stuck together through thick and thin. To lose one was to lose everyone. Each performer grieved not just for Minya, but for the loss of their own sense of invulnerability.
“You just think of it as being safe. You know?” Kelsey looked at Jason, wishing for answers. “They work so hard to make all this safe. All the safety harnesses and practices and repetition to make things happen right. I mean, what went wrong?” Her voice finally quavered, and she broke completely, broke down into the same sea of tears that surrounded her.
Jason hugged her close. “You’re scared right now. It’s normal, it’s okay. It’s a scary thing to witness.”
“Jesus, I mean...” Kelsey hiccoughed against his ear. “It’s just so sad. I can’t believe she’s gone. Just like that.” She drew away and lowered her voice to a whisper. “What about him? Where is he?”
“I don’t know. He’s being taken care of, I’m sure.”
“But will he be okay?”
Jason’s face seemed to harden a little. “That’s for him to deal with. Circus people can be surprisingly resilient. There will be a show tomorrow, if you can believe it. He won’t be in it, but there will be a show.”
Kelsey hugged herself as Jason turned his attention to the woman from Human Resources. Kelsey didn’t believe it, not for a second. There could be no show without her gypsy king sailing overhead. There could be no more fantasies, no more desire or excitement. No more vision of Theo and Minya in the storage room. That vision was replaced forever by the sight of a shooting star arcing outward and falling...falling. Kelsey dropped her forehead onto her knees and wept.
Chapter Two: Descent
The first knock was timid, a small rap, rap dragging his mind from the haze of sleep. Theo looked around, readjusting to wakefulness, seeking the source of the sound. It was dusk and he had to squint in the dim light. The next knock was louder and propelled him off the couch and to his feet. He swayed and reached for the side table to brace himself, knocking over a bottle of whiskey with a clank.
He winced and hunched toward the door. Theo didn’t want to see anyone, didn’t want anyone to see him. Again, knock knock knock, this time very loudly. He leaned to look through the peephole, making a concerted effort to recognize the long, light hair and blur of red lips.
“Theo?”
He stepped back. It was a woman, but he couldn’t make her out from the tiny little spyglass set into the door. Melinde from Cirque headquarters again, or Diane. They had called and left message after message. Surely they didn’t expect him to show up for work the day after--or had it been two days?
He looked at the clock. It was late. The evening’s show would be over. Three days?
No, it was only the second day. What did they want from him? He leaned again to look through the peephole. She was still there, and she wasn’t Diane or Melinde. The woman reached out to touch the door, then turned to rummage in the bag on her hip.
Theo stumbled back to the couch, taking a deep drink of whiskey right from the bottle to still the pounding in his head. It was so quiet. His little house was too warm, the air oppressive. He was sweating. Go away. Just go away.
He stared at the ceiling, willing the interloper to give up on whatever errand had brought her here. A moment later, a folded piece of paper slid under the door. He stared at it a long time before he moved.
He picked it up and turned on a light, but didn’t open it. It was interaction, contact with another human being, which he wanted but didn’t want at the same time. He set the folded paper on the side table and smoked three cigarettes in a row. He lit a fourth for courage and picked up the note, held the red, burning ashes to the edge of it. The paper curled and cringed in on itself. Light hair, red lips...
He put down the cigarette and tamped out the glimmering edge. He unfolded the smoldering note and stared through the haze of smoke at the messy but emphatic lettering.
Theo--
I’m so sorry about what happened. I hope you’re okay. Everyone is worried about you.
Yesterday th
ey skipped your act, and it was hard for everyone. They want to fill in for now with acrobatics or something. I don’t know why I’m telling you that. I just don’t know what to say. You don’t even really know me, but I’m so sorry and I can’t imagine how you feel. I wish there was something I could do.
If you need someone to talk to or you need anything, call me.
Below that, she’d signed her name, Kelsey, and scrawled a phone number. The digits swam before his eyes, as unfathomable as code. He lifted the cigarette and burned them off, every number, and then the rest of her message as well.
