Matt & Zoe - Charles Sheehan-Miles Page 0,8
and repentant.
“It’s going to take me a little while. Three days ago I was expecting to have a career in the Army. I liked what I was doing. Tokyo was gorgeous, and I was good at what I did and it just… everything's turned upside down, all right?”
Nicole’s sigh is drawn out. “I get it, Zoe.”
“Anyway,” I say. “I’ve got a meeting with the counselor and her second grade teacher in about an hour. Jasmine’s going to come, so she can see the classroom and get a little comfortable before school starts.”
“It’s a good idea. You want the school to be paying attention to her.”
“Yes.”
“Okay, now—I won’t nag you about your plans. Talk to me, okay? Why don’t we go out and grab some drinks tomorrow night?”
I feel relief settle on me at the thought. That sounds wonderful. “I’d love to, where?—wait—”
“What is it?” she asks.
It hits me there, yet another way my life has irrevocably changed. “I don’t have a sitter, and … Jasmine needs me here. She hasn’t slept through the night yet. How about you come over here for drinks?”
I can hear the hesitation in her voice. Or maybe I can’t. Maybe I’m just imagining it. She says, “Sure, that sounds great. Should I, uh… bring anything?”
“No! Unless… maybe something to drink.”
“You got it. And Zoe?” She sounds tentative.
“Yeah?”
“Get some rest. I know you’re taking care of Jasmine. But you gotta take care of yourself too. She’s not the only one who lost her parents.”
I close my eyes. She’s right, of course. I do need to take care of myself. I need to rest. I need to find time to grieve. But I don’t have that kind of time. Right now Jasmine’s needs override everything else.
Mister P (Matt)
The dream always begins the same, with the sound of the crowd. The screams and catcalls, the rising applause, the rise and fall like the breath of a dragon, an organism all on its own. There’s a certain lifecycle to that sound. It’s born in relative quiet, with the bleats of the animals and the trainers, the managers and dancers the only accompaniment.
The sound of creaking ropes, palms slapping the bars, and the shouts of my father as he counted the rhythm… One two three four five One two three four five.
The quiet doesn’t stay long, because the birth is coming with the opening of the gates. First dozens, then hundreds, then thousands stream into the arena, and the voices rise and rise and rise. The smell changes, no longer the smell of oil and sweat, now it’s the smell of tobacco, body odor, perfume. The crowd is alive, waiting for the show to begin, and in a rush quiet the labor pains begin. The lights go down, followed always by the roars of approval. In the dream I’m swinging in the trap, my legs wrapped around the bars, hands outstretched. The anger is still rushing through me, pulsing in my veins. I can still hear father’s shouts in my ears.
You’ll do as I tell you, boy! For three generations our family has flown. You’ll do the same, as long as you live under my roof.
I shouted right back. You don’t control me! You don’t own me!
The fight was loud. Everyone heard. Well everyone but Carlina and her father, Nick, but that was because they weren’t with the circus anymore, thanks to my dad. Papa was the star of Ringling Brother’s Circus, and we were his satellites. You don’t cross the star. Except maybe I was wrong. Maybe Papa had nothing to do with it at all.
I’d been dropped back in the ring kicking and screaming, but even I didn’t dare cross him once the show had begun.
So there we were, swinging back and forth, as my father began his most difficult cross, a quadruple forward somersault. In the dream I still feel the sickening terror as his hands slipped out of mine.
My eyes jerk open. I’m bathed in sweat, the bellows of my lungs expanding and contracting painfully. I sit up.
Oh, man. That was a bad one.
I continue to sit there, breathing, trying to get a handle on my surroundings. I’m not on the road. I’m in my apartment in South Hadley.
I look at the clock.
Almost 5 am.
I’ll be getting up soon anyway. Might as well get started with the day.
***
The day before school begins is always hectic. You spend your summer in continuing education courses, or working another job to cover the permanent pay shortage, or trying to