She walked towards me and shoved the letter into my hand, her designer heels clicking on the hardwood floor. I unfolded it and took a look. I’d gotten mostly Cs, a D, and a couple of Bs. They certainly weren’t the worst results in the world, but Mum expected perfection.
“Considering I never wanted to do this degree, I think these results are pretty good,” I said bravely. Abruptly she turned, walked back to me, and slapped me hard across the face. I gasped and clutched my cheek in my hand in shock. Mum wasn’t often physically violent — words were her weapon of choice — but every now and again she’d strike me. It usually meant something hadn’t gone right for her at work, so she was taking that frustration out on me.
“You’re an ungrateful little bitch!” she shouted. “After all the money I’ve spent on your education, you go and say something like that.”
I stood there, speechless, as she grabbed my hip, pinching her fingers into the fleshy part. “And look at this. You’re putting on weight. I’m going to have to start controlling your calorie intake again.”
Tears stung my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. I wouldn’t give her that victory. And the fact of the matter was, there was nothing wrong with my weight. My mother simply possessed a talent for seeing flaws where there weren’t any. She was so miserable that she couldn’t see any of the beauty in the world. She wanted straight boring lines, and if anyone dared to veer away from them, she would make their lives hell.
All my life I felt like I’d been living in quiet desperation. Following my mother’s rules and biding my time, waiting for the moment when I could finally break free. The thing was, I was twenty-one now, and my time still hadn’t come. I had a disturbing image of me still living under my mother’s roof at thirty, still keeping to her straight lines, never walking on the cracks, and it made me feel like screaming.
But I didn’t. Instead, I turned calmly away from her and walked quietly up the stairs to my bedroom. I felt like my refusal to respond to her actions showed more strength than weakness. I would not sink to her petty level. Once there, I sat down at my dressing table, stared into the mirror, and took a calming breath. Then I opened a drawer and pulled out the folded piece of paper where I’d written my list, letting my eyes trail down the numbered items.
1. Dump Henry Jackson.
2. Get a tattoo.
3. Have sex with a stranger.
4. Do something dangerous.
5. Visit a place I’ve never been before.
6. Fall in love.
7. Make a new friend.
8. Quit my degree.
9. Become a real artist.
10. Move out of my mother’s house.
I felt a small stirring of pride that I’d already completed number one several weeks ago before college let out for the summer. Henry was the son of one of my mother’s business associates and had been enrolled in the same course as me. Mum set us up on a date during my second year of studying, and we’d been conducting a dull, chemistry-free relationship for the last two years. Quite like the subject we were studying, the sex was all business. So I’d decided it was finally time to put an end to it. Mum was furious when she found out, and I could tell she was already plotting a way in which to get Henry and me back together.
It wasn’t going to happen.
As I went to change out of my work clothes, the flyer for the circus slipped from my pocket. I picked it up and read the little section at the back that gave a snippet of its history. Apparently, the Circus Spektakulär was thirty years old and originally set up by a German named Konrad Eichel. When he died seven years ago, Marina Mitchell, who had previously been the circus’s fortune-teller, took over as ringmaster. The circus was held not in a traditional circus tent, but in a Spiegeltent, which was a large, colourful structure dating from the late 19th century made from canvas and wood. Apparently, there were only a small number of Spiegeltents left in the world, which made the Circus Spektakulär something of a rare experience.
Already I was imagining what it might look like so that I could paint it.
Hurriedly, I pulled on a light summer dress and some boots, grabbed my coat, and sneaked out of the house as quietly as I could manage. A little rush of excitement ran through me when I got around the corner and speed-walked toward the edge of town. I could see lights flashing up into the sky as I got closer, could hear distant music.
When I reached the usually vacant field where the circus was being held, I had to dodge some bits of mud where the grass had been trodden on too frequently. Old vaudevillian piano music played from speakers that had been set up all around, making you feel as though you were stepping through a portal back in time. I nodded hello to a few families I knew from town and stepped in line to buy a ticket. After I paid, I went to a stand that was selling popcorn and candyfloss. A girl with short brown hair wearing a T-shirt with a cat’s face on it smiled at me and asked what I’d like. I bought some popcorn in a paper cone and made my way inside the Spiegeltent.
On the outside, it was a circular structure with a dome-like roof and was painted in red, blue, and yellow. The primary colours. Mix red with yellow, and you get orange. Mix red and blue, and you get purple. Mix blue and yellow, and you get green. I had always been interested in the very simple science of it all.
When I was painting, sometimes I liked to mix random colours together to see what would happen. Often I’d discover a wonderful new shade of pink or purple, while at other times I’d discover that mixing too many colours just gave you an ugly brown or grey.
I thought maybe that was a good philosophy for life. Experiment with your colours, but don’t experiment too much, or you’ll destroy the natural beauty.
It’s like that saying – too many cooks spoil the broth.
The inside of the tent was circular in shape. The stage was a sturdy round platform in the centre with the seating surrounding it. Red and blue stripes lined the ceiling and gathered up towards the dome of the roof. I’d never been anywhere like this before, and I was fascinated.
Sitting down on a seat three rows from the stage, I munched on my popcorn and waited for the place to fill up. Children’s excited laughter rang out over the chattering of adults and the vaudeville piano. I heard more mature giggling then, and turned my head to the side to see Delia and three of her friends looking in my direction. So much for her not wanting to go to the circus.
Obviously, they were mocking the fact that I was there alone. My mouth formed a straight line as my gut sank. I felt a momentary flicker of self-consciousness. Was it weird to go to stuff like this on your own? All around me people seemed to be in groups of family or friends. Perhaps it was weird. Still, my resolve hardened. Delia really wasn’t my friend at all, was she? I needed to add an eleventh item to my list.
Unfriend Delia.
I pretended I was unaware of their mocking and focused my attention straight ahead. After a few minutes, I was almost out of popcorn, and the lights started to dim. I immediately recognised Marina’s voice as she announced over the speakers that the show was about to begin. Then a drumroll started up as she walked out onto the stage, wearing a top hat, a red coat with tails, tight black trousers, boots, and her trademark assortment of necklaces. Her lipstick was bright pink, and her eyes were lined with silver and gold eye shadow. However, the most interesting thing about her was that there was a little capuchin monkey sitting on her shoulder.
A monkey!
He had cream-coloured fur on his head and brown fur on his body, and when he jumped off Marina’s shoulder and headed towards the audience, I heard a number of children squeal with delight.