The Big Top

The clown car rattles to a stop behind the largest tent on the grounds. The laughter inside the vehicle dies almost immediately. One by one, the clowns climb out and stretch as though they have simply arrived for another day's work. I am the last one left inside.

Valeria appears beside the open door and smiles up at me. "Come along."

I remain exactly where I am. "I think I'll stay here."

"I wasn't asking." She gives the rope around my neck a gentle tug. The knot tightens just enough to remind me it is there, and the curse compels my feet to move before I can argue further. I climb awkwardly out of the tiny car, my oversized clown shoes slipping on the packed dirt before I finally find my balance.

The performers waiting nearby burst into laughter. "Careful," one of them calls. "You almost looked graceful."

"I don't think she's physically capable of that anymore," another replies.

More laughter follows me as Valeria leads me toward the rear entrance of the big top. The circus is already alive with activity. Animal handlers lead horses between the tents. Workers haul crates of props toward the performance ring.

Jugglers practice beside the midway while acrobats stretch near a row of caravans. Nobody seems surprised to see me. If anything, several performers stop what they are doing just long enough to grin, wave, or chuckle before returning to their work.

"Word travels fast around here," I mutter.

Valeria glances back without slowing her pace. "Naturally. A new act is always interesting."

"I'm not an act," I say.

She raises an eyebrow. "Not yet."

The canvas walls of the main tent rise above us, striped in faded reds and creams that have clearly seen years of travel. From inside comes the muffled roar of an audience settling into their seats. A brass band finishes a lively tune, and the ringmaster's amplified voice echoes faintly through the canvas.

My stomach knots. "How many people are in there?"

Valeria shrugs.."Thousands." I stop walking. The rope tightens. "No." Valeria turns to face me, her expression almost patient.."You chose Pride, Jezebel. Pride cannot be overcome in private."

"I've already been humiliated," I plead.

"You've been humiliated in front of seven women." She gestures toward the tent. "Now comes the difficult part."

I look toward the entrance flap. Every instinct I possess tells me to run. My pulse pounds in my ears, and my painted smile feels like a cruel joke fixed permanently to my face. Valeria steps closer until we are standing face to face.

"They are strangers," she says quietly. "They don't know your name. They don't know your history. They don't know who you really are."

"Then why should I care what they think?" I ask her, cold dread upon my shoulders like concrete.

A faint smile returns to her lips. "That," she replies, "is exactly the question this curse intends to answer."

She turns and walks toward the entrance. The rope draws taut once more. I follow despite myself. As we near the opening, the sounds inside grow louder. Hundreds of conversations blend together beneath the cheerful music. Children laugh. Adults chatter. Vendors call out offers for popcorn and roasted peanuts.

It sounds like any ordinary circus crowd enjoying an afternoon's entertainment. Then someone near the entrance notices me. A few heads turn. A couple of people smile, assuming I am simply another performer arriving for the show.

Valeria gives the rope a theatrical flourish and guides me through the curtain as though presenting a prize exhibit. The chatter inside begins to fade as more faces turn in our direction. Row after row of spectators look toward the entrance.

Some smile. Others whisper to the person beside them. Some simply stare at the miserable bald clown being led into the tent by an elegant woman in crimson. The spotlight has not found me yet. It doesn't need to. Every eye in the tent already has.