The Cirque (11 page)

Without waiting for permission he lifted my feet onto his lap and rested them across his knees. I tried to pull my feet away but he only ignored me, and moved them back to his lap. He carefully unwrapped the ankle ribbons and slid the shoes off.

I waited for him to make a face, or thrust me away with disgust, but his face looked completely composed. My feet were…not cute. Dancers’ feet are notoriously ugly, and mine were no exception. The bunions, blisters, bruising and calluses from years spent dancing en pointe were nothing a pedicure could touch. Not to mention I wouldn’t think of stripping them of the hardened, dead skin that protected them. Plus I had no use for polish since I kept my toenails clipped as short as possible without making them bleed.

I distinctly remembered my mother disregarding the advice of the company physician, and urging them to put me in pointe shoes early. He’d explained it wasn’t recommended before age twelve, since it could cause permanent deformities because the bones in my feet were still forming. But my mom made sure I was dancing in them from the time I was ten years old.

Gabriel unscrewed the lid from and dipped his fingers into the yellow ointment. The smell of eucalyptus and menthol filled the air. He began with one foot, working the salve into my skin. My heart pounded. It was strangely seductive watching his hands work. He made a fist and rubbed his knuckles into the bottom of my foot, massaging it firmly with a look of concentration on his face. His hands were amazing, and I felt myself melting into him, relaxing completely. I closed my eyes and let him work out all the stress dancing put on my feet.

He took more balm from the jar and started on the other foot, letting the first rest on his thigh. “This okay?” he asked, meeting my eyes. His voice was husky.

“Yeah,” I whispered. “I seriously don’t let people see my feet,” I added, recovering. I watched his hands and wondered for a brief second what they could to the rest of me, if they could make my feet feel this good.

“So they have character.” He shrugged and continued rubbing. His thumbs worked together up the length of my arch. It felt amazing.

“Ah, we can stop the pleasantries and just say it – these puppies are jacked up.”

He shook his head. “You see this?” He dropped my foot in his lap and pushed up his sleeve, turning his arm over.

I saw thin scar lines etched into the soft flesh. My finger went to his skin and traced one of the more pronounced lines.

“Just like these scars, your feet show who you are, what you’ve been through.”

“What happened?” I asked, my eyes fixed on the scars.

“You already know my fondness for knives.” He grinned. “Well, before knives it was razor blades.”

I pulled my hand back as if I’d been burned and looked up to see if he were kidding. He wasn’t – I couldn’t believe his wounds were self-inflicted.

“Instead of the overbearing parents you had, I was in thirteen different foster homes by the time I was seventeen. Not all of them were bad – but some were. The funny thing is, I went to juvie when I was sixteen for cutting and other
destructive behaviors
and was told to stay away from knives.” His lips curled into a grin. “And now I make a living throwing them at people.”

His blue eyes pierced mine. I didn’t know why he was so nice to me sometimes, and why at other times he seemed to deliberately put distance between us.

With him so close, I noticed things about Gabriel that I hadn’t before, like that his top lip was fuller than the bottom and he had a small freckle on his right cheek.

I watched his lips as he spoke and wondered for a second what it would be like to kiss him. I leaned toward him involuntarily, urged on by some unknown force. I heard the latch on the door open and quickly pulled away just as Sasha walked in. I knew we probably looked guilty as hell, sitting pressed up against each other on my bed, but Gabriel recovered faster than I did.

“Thanks for letting me see your feet.” He stood up. “And by the way, I may have been mistaken about these having mere character – this one toe has a personality.” He squeezed my pinky toe, and one corner of his mouth tilted up.

He left me sitting on my bed staring after him while Sasha huffed and eyed me accusingly.

I’d gotten a good look at the tattoos on his forearms for the first time. One arm had a muted colorful design and a classic-style pinup girl, and on the other the word pain was written in cursive. I knew if I asked him, he would tell me the truth about what they meant. My plan had been to be carefree and to experience life – to live a little – and here I was captivated and obsessed by an intense, possibly disturbed, guy.

***

Sun streamed through the paper-thin blinds and I rolled over in bed, tugging the sheet up over my head to block out the light. Sasha reminded me we had to get up. We’d agreed to go to church with Tanner that morning. He tried to go to church most Sundays, regardless of the city we were in. I’d only been to church a handful of times in my life, on special holidays spent with my Granna before she passed or with a friend after a sleepover when I was little. We had a one o’clock show to be back for, but Tanner had one of those magnetic personalities that made most things sound fun. That made it hard to say ‘no’ to him.

Tanner had grown up going to church every week. He said once he realized he was gay, he’d stopped going for a few years. But then, he realized that Jesus loves everyone the same, and started going back. I wasn’t particularly spiritual, but I figured it couldn’t hurt and Sasha had agreed to go too.

“Fine,” I grumbled and tossed the covers aside. I’d have tried to find some way to get out of it and stay in bed, but I knew that would be impossible with Sasha involved.

We made plans to meet in the parking lot after breakfast. Very few people had cars here, but Tanner insisted he couldn’t live without the freedom of his Jeep. He was good about letting people borrow it whenever they needed to run an errand, go to the pharmacy, or had a craving for something you couldn’t get in the cafeteria. When we left each stop on tour, it was towed behind one of the RVs to the next city. It had well over a hundred thousand miles on it.

Tanner and Sasha were already sitting inside the Jeep when I walked up. I climbed into the back seat. I hadn’t been sure what to wear and had finally settled on a black knee length skirt and fitted gray sweater.

“Hey,” I said, buckling my seat belt. Tanner kept the Jeep meticulously neat and I could smell the tropical air freshener he hung from the mirror.

“I invited Gabriel too, but he didn’t say whether he’d be coming or not, so I thought we’d just give it a few minutes more,” Tanner said.

For some reason, I doubted he’d come. Gabriel didn’t seem like the church type. I looked behind me out the back window and sure enough, he was walking toward us. He was wearing dark jeans and a button down shirt. I had never seen him in a collared shirt. He got in and slid over next to me. I could feel his body heat in the too-small space, though he made a point to stay on his side
, the backseat suddenly felt smaller. I looked over at his hands in his lap and the memory of our last encounter came rushing back. The way his hands had felt on my feet – strong, yet gentle and somehow
knowledgeable
. And that almost-kiss before we were interrupted…. He looked over just then, like he knew what I was thinking and smiled briefly, before settling to staring straight out the front window.
God, he flustered me.

“Ready?” Tanner asked and pulled the gearshift into drive.

Tanner hadn’t been to this church before, but he said he’d seen it when we pulled into town a few days ago. It was a small cinderblock building with a dozen or so cars in the parking lot. The interior was dim and smelled like old people – stale and musty. The mauve-colored carpeting led to a set of wooden doors leading to the pews and then the altar. Gabriel opened the door and let us go ahead. We were greeted by an old man with a bushy gray mustache and a friendly smile.

“Welcome!” He shook our hands. I headed to take a seat in the back row, but Tanner urged me forward. We sat behind two little old ladies in old-fashioned dresses, one with a baby-blue hat that sat crookedly on her head. Gabriel slid in next to me, glanced at my bare knees then looked away again.

The organ started and we stood to sing an old hymn I vaguely recognized. I leaned over to share my hymn book with Gabriel but could tell he had no interest in even pretending to mouth the words like I was doing. A man in his mid-fifties, who I assumed was the pastor, led us in a prayer before starting the sermon – about forgiveness. I glanced over at Tanner and he seemed to absorb every word, leaning forward attentively. Sasha seemed indifferent and read the program and Gabriel stared ahead blankly. I had a hard time concentrating on the message in the sermon and found myself looking around the church, at the wooden cross that hung ceiling to floor at the front of the altar, at the calm faces around us.

The pastor droned on about Jesus’ love being the ultimate forgiveness and we owed it to him to forgive ourselves and others for mistakes. A tear rolled down Tanner’s cheek. Sasha squeezed his hand. The pastor invited all those who believed in Christ to come forward for communion. Gabriel got up and left. I followed Tanner and Sasha up to the front, but kept turning back to search out where Gabriel had gone. At first I thought maybe he just had to use the restroom, and would join us at the front, but after a few minutes I knew his departure had been well timed to avoid taking communion.

We sang another song and when the collection plate was passed, Tanner dropped a twenty inside. I wanted to go find Gabriel and see if everything was all right, but wasn’t sure if I should. Plus, I didn’t want to call attention to myself by standing up in the middle of the service.

After the closing prayer, we were dismissed.

We shuffled outside, dodging around the people who milled about in front of the entrance. We found Gabriel sitting outside at a picnic table picking at a blade of grass. No one said anything as he followed us to the car. I felt like I had missed something, but everyone was strangely quiet. I thought about his rumored past and wondered if he had come here to seek forgiveness. But, if so, why had he left halfway through the service?

The ride to Minneapolis was relatively uneventful. The endless stretches of highway in Wisconsin were occasionally dotted with small dairy farms. Tanner and Sasha sat huddled together in our usual booth seat, sharing the headphones of Tanner’s iPod, going through all the songs, singing along and occasionally dancing in their seats. I wasn’t in the mood to be silly with them and opted instead to watch Gabriel sleep with his head leaning against the window.

He looked so peaceful when he slept. His skin was smooth, perfect, yet his face was also rough with a few days missed shaving. I had the urge to go sit with him and let his head rest on my shoulder while he slept so he didn’t wake up with a stiff neck. But I knew he’d just pull away so I sat across from him and watched. I fantasized about what it would be like to kiss him. I wondered if he’d be slow and deliberate or devour me in a frenzy….

It was dusk when we arrived in Minneapolis and though it was only September, there was a chill in the air that announced winter was already on the march to Minnesota.

Between our shows, Shane and I found time to practice together. He had choreographed a dance for us. The premise was that we were volatile lovers who were all wrong for each other, but couldn’t get enough. It reminded me of my relationship with Gabriel in a strange way.

Shane’s character was desperately addicted to mine, and I liked that I got to break out of the perfect angel role. Tanner helped us put together costumes that fit the mood of our dance. I was in a ripped black bodice with a corset top and Shane wore a simple outfit of khakis and a white t-shirt. We were both barefoot, which made me self-conscious at first but was also strangely liberating. 

We practiced our routine all week. It was set to a dark, gothic song Tanner let us use from his playlist. It began with me standing at center stage, crumpled over at the waist, with Shane behind me cradling my body. Once the music started, we sprang apart and I tore at his chest angrily with my hands. He flew away from me, leaping into the air and executing two graceful jumps with his legs fully extended into splits. I writhed on the floor in agony and pounded my fists. Shane came back for more, and I allowed him to softly sway with me before again lashing out at him.

Throughout the dance, we moved together, throwing ourselves from one move into the next. It was so unlike ballet and I loved the freedom and expression of movement it gave me. We each had a small solo in the dance. He did a running front flip and I opted for some ballet-inspired moves, twirling in a fast, lopsided pirouette. At the end, he lay on the ground on his back and I gorged on his body, bringing my teeth to his neck.

I had asked Del to watch us perform, but he kept saying he was too busy and blew me off. I knew he didn’t want me to give up on my routine with Gabriel. We settled for performing in front of Tanner and Sasha
 and they whistled and applauded loudly at the end. Of course, Tanner had insisted on giving me makeup to go along with my ripped bodice. I wore heavy eyeliner and my lips were painted blood red. He had even painted my nails black and I felt mysterious and very unlike myself.

We went to lunch after the private showing, and when I walked into the cafeteria still wearing my goth costume, Gabriel’s eyes travel
ed over my body.