Behind Rosy Eyes

Piano staccatos rain over the wash of bright lights and towering performers, settling a decidedly mystical chill into my bones. With every turn, a new curiosity beckons my wondrous attention. My eyes widen with each painted face while spun sugar encourages my boundless imagination of what lies behind the red and white tarps boasting never before seen attractions.

“Come, lovelies, see what gifts I have for you,” a woman with night-swept hair and impossibly green eyes calls out.

My mother clicks her tongue and casts a wary eye. “Ruthie, we don’t need anything she’s selling.”

The woman curls a smile across her lips and counters, “For such a curious young soul, I have no price.”

Tugging my mother’s hand, she reluctantly follows after my scampering feet. The enchanting woman peels back the tent, revealing treasures only seen in my dreams. Glimmering gemstones, potions and brews, every sort of ancient magic only found in fairytales.

“I’m Ada. What is your name dear child?” the woman asks. Her question is but a murmur, swept away by my swimming imagination. She takes my hand, calling back my attention. My breath leaves my body under her searching gaze.

“Ruthie,” I whisper.

“How would you, dear Ruthie, like to see the world just as you see it here today?” Ada asks with a raised brow. “You seek the beauty in life—the wonder—and I could give you magical eyes to only see the beautiful things.”

“That’s quite enough,” my mother scolds, pulling me away by my other hand.

A sharp slice runs along my palm as my hand leaves Ada’s and I gasp at my pebbling blood. My mother’s face blanches. The tips of her ears turn red as she turns her narrowed eyes to the sorceress.

“What did you do?” she shrieks.

“My apologies, my rings can be quite sharp,” she says, her voice silken as she rubs crimson between her fingers.

I’m hauled out of the tent, sparing one last look over my shoulder to Ada’s wink. A rolling wave coats my body. First my feet, then my legs, all the way to my head, leaving tingling gooseflesh in its wake.

We settle into our seats in time for the ringleader to introduce the first act. A swinging trapeze swoops from the ceiling as he backs into the shadows. There, on the bar, sits the most magnetic woman I’ve ever seen, even more so than Ada. Her red hair streams behind her as she flips and turns beyond my comprehension. The lights dance around her, shimmering her sequined dress, and everything looks alive. It is everything I can do not to cry. I want to be just like her.

The ringleader brings animals out next—ones I’ve only heard about in stories from explorers. A large animal, one they call an elephant, flares its ears and swings its trunk wildly before rushing the small fence. The stands erupt into chaos, sending people screaming for the exit, but I am captivated. When my mother stands to run, I flee to the other side of the tent and race into the heart of the circus.

Ducking under the beige canvas flap marked Performers Only, I follow the tug in my chest through the maze of brilliant colors and painted faces. My heart thrums in my ears as I approach one curtained off area. With my thoughts consumed of a magical place swept into a new city each night, I climb into the wooden armoire and wait.

I am jostled awake as I feel my hiding place lifted from the ground. Clasping a hand over my mouth, giddy excitement races through my veins. Grunts echo around me and the box is put down with a metallic thud. I wait until the tell-tale whistle blows and metal screeches along the tracks before I exhale my nervous breath and my eyes flutter closed.

“Well what do we have here, hmm?” a kind voice asks, waking me.

My eyes crack open, barely discerning her face in the shadows. The quick, passing light from the train slats illuminate her red hair and a smile spreads across my face.

“I’m Elsie and you’re a long way from home. Did you mean to stow away in my wardrobe?” she asks.

My words tangle in my throat and all I can offer is a nod. With a sigh, she gathers me into her lap and dips her voice into an enchanting timbre. Stories of the circus unfold in my mind with every mystical tale capturing me more than the last.

Ten years later.

I tug the sequined dress over my head, cursing under my breath as it takes strands of my hair with it. My stomach twists with a strange, unfamiliar feeling. Voices yell behind my curtain partition and the halls erupt with panicked performers, but I can’t move from the sickening wave rolling from my toes through my body. Every stretching tendril of its energy leaches warmth from my skin and runs ice into my blood. With its final push over my eyes, the world dulls. The once vivid colors and enchanting songs turn hollow and haunting.

Elsie rips my curtain back, her cheeks bloodless, and sinks to the floor.

“Ada…” her voice trails with her faraway stare, “she’s dead.”

Husky shouts sound just behind my dressing room. I shuffle to the curtain, peeling it back to swinging fists. What was once play fighting is now as violent as the stark difference of Ada’s disappearing magic. My stomach coils with the sour smell radiating on their breath from what I once believed were magical drinks.

The signature heel toe clicks of our ringleader approach through the madness. Taking his cane, he swings it towards both men, cutting into one of their eyebrows and shouts for them to settle down. His eyes narrow to me and Elsie with a smile twitching the corner of his mouth.

“Ah, my star performers. You needn’t worry yourself with their swill. Get ready, the show is starting,” he says.

Dread winds itself along my spine as the night passes before my eyes. The lights too intrusive, the music too demanding. Each would-be friendly jump from the clowns sends me backwards with a gasp. My head spins with the ugly deviation from my mesmerizing childhood.

Thrusting myself from the tent and into the crisp night air, there is only one thing screaming through my mind: run. Without another moment to consider the consequences, my feet slip along the slick grass and muddy with the loose dirt as I sprint towards the mouth of the circus. My heartbeat pounds in my ears with every step reverberating my need for freedom into my bones. How long had I been delusional? Ten years. Ten years swept into a lie.

The large, balloon dotted mouth swims in front of me and my hope grows. A sickening rip tears into my ears as my feet disappear

beneath me and my body thuds to the ground. With a soft heel toe step, the ringleader fills my vision with a handful of my hair.

“Going somewhere?” his voice slick and sinister. “I think not.”

His fingers dig into my arm, promising fresh bruises tomorrow, as he drags my stumbling feet back into the heart of chaos. Performers rush around me and cast sorrowful glances, but do not dare to speak up. The ringleader rushes me through the walkway and into the neighboring tent meant for the animals. With a hard shove, cold metal bites into my knees. The creaking groan of the cage door rings in my ears before the heavy slam and click of its lock sink dread into my stomach.

Hours pass and the laughter, music, and shouts die down, weighing a stone in my chest. Cargo men come to erase our presence in this city but refuse to look at me as they lift my cage into the train. Stars pass through the train slats with no demarcation of time. The warm breath of a tiger’s exhale rustles my hair.

“How did we get here, hmm?” I ask his sorrowful amber eyes. “We’re the same now—I

suppose we always have been. Just two trapped creatures.”

He curls a padded paw around his face and drifts to sleep. I have no such luck. The train jostles on the tracks, rolling me side to side between the bars pressing into my sore muscles. Metallic screeches rip through the night and the cages clang against one another with the slowing train car. With a final jerk, we come to a stop in our journey of endless cities.

“Augusta!” one of the cargo men calls.

A small flicker warms my chest. My home. Breathing in the pungent air, I whisper a prayer. Following suit of my loading, the men do not meet my eyes as they place my cage onto the open field. A heavy rap on the bars sends a jolt through me. Dragging my eyes upwards from the shiny black shoes, the ringleader looks down with a scowl.

“You will give me no problems today, Ruth,” nearly spitting my name. “You will perform with a smile on your face and toe the line, lest you need reminding of your place.”

An acrid, bitter taste rolls my tongue, daring me to spit on his shoes. The ember of hope within me forces a hollow smile across my lips instead. “Of course,” I reply.

A flurry of men get to work driving spikes into the ground to secure tents, setting up signs and games, and assigning all of us trapped creatures to our home for the night. Elsie crouches with apologetic eyes and worry creasing between her brows. Handing a clean dress through the bars, she unlocks the door.

We change in silence despite her multiple breaths quickly erased as she clamps her mouth shut. The ringleader’s voice booms from our performance tent, boasting the wonders of his most talented trapeze artists. Murky memories dance behind my eyes. A night with a naïve wish granted by pandemonium. The animals.

Plastering a smile on my face, the ropes hoist us into the air on our respective contraptions. While I would never intentionally aggravate the animals before, tonight offers an exception. With every backwards swing of my trapeze, I throw my weight, dipping it lower in front of the elephants. Their ears flare and feet stamp with my closeness.

Before our performance can conclude, the elephants charge the ringleader and the crowd erupts into a mirror of the long ago chaos. Shoving myself from the trapeze, I tuck into a roll and run. My heels hammer into the ground in tandem with the heartbeat in my ears. Weaving through the crowd, under the canvas, and into the animal tent, I know what must be done.

My fumbling hands, slick with sweat, wrench open the metal doors. Without another backwards glance, I sprint into the night hoping they’ll find their freedom too. The crowd parts around me and the balloon dotted mouth greets my sight once more. Fear licks my veins and shouts that this will be my last opportunity. I careen out of the fairgrounds and down the old street.

The ice cream shop mother took me to on Sundays. The park I watched birds with curiosity. The school I never returned to. Each familiar place blurs in the corners of my eyes, but they hold no significance compared to the one I need most. My lungs burn, heaving in my chest as I stumble up the rickety front porch. I swallow my nerves and reach a shaky hand.

Knock, knock.

The peeling paint shifts with the groaning hinges opening the door wide. A cry echoes into the night. With her hair now graying and fine lines etching her face, my mother pulls me into her arms with a bone crushing squeeze.

“My baby,” she murmurs into my hair.

A warm tear slides down my cheek.

“I’m home.”