Flight

By Amethyst Turner

When you're up on a tightrope

Maybe you're a bird

When you're singing through the breeze

Maybe you're a word

Written across the paper

Of the sky

But when you're back on the ground

You're just a cog in the world

And when you get back home

You're just a bruised little girl

XXX

Rubin waited backstage with Amethyst, watching through the tent's flap as Minka twisted herself around the tightrope the way clay molded around a finger. Aimee was transfixed, which Rubin found amusing, since he'd seen this so many times before.

But no matter how many times he watched his amant tangle herself up, he couldn't never resist the urge to untangle her.

Poor Minka, he thought, glancing at the little girl beside him. She was just going to end up hurt again, wasn't she? Amethyst was sweet as sugar, but Rubin knew she had the power to break hearts.

"Do you love her?" She asked suddenly, never tearing her eyes away from the performance.

The answer was yes, of course. Rubin loved her more than he'd ever loved anyone. He knew her every weakness, every kink in her armor. He had explored every nook and cranny of her body and picked every corner of her brain. He knew Minka better than he knew himself. She was everything to him.

"Zdecydowanie," He responded. Definitely.

"What does that mean?"

He snorted. "I lost my boxers."

XXX

They left so soon after the show was over that Amethyst hardly had time to feel anxious until she found herself alone in Minka's trailer.

It was the middle of the night; she felt the bumps of the road beneath her through the hazy fog of sleep. For a moment, she wasn't sure where she was. Searching frantically for her afghan blanket, she remembered that she'd left it behind.

Scrubbles and Molly were still in the bag with Toto. She was holding Brandon. Where were Alice and Peter?

Maybe Minka had them. But where was Minka?

The circus traveled in several large buses, each divided into trailers for the performers. A few shared, but most had their own. On this bus, Rubin, Minka, Breanna, Rico, Persia, Adam and Gemi (who Adam sometimes threw knives at) had their trailers. Aimee wondered if maybe Minka was with Rubin.

Outside the Minka's trailer, the narrow hall was dark. She closed the quiet sliding door behind her, ignoring the way her hands shook. If she were home, she would be safe in bed without anything to worry about. Now she was on a bus headed to god knew where with a bunch of people who were practically strangers.

But Minka wasn't a stranger, was she? Amethyst thought of her as almost a surrogate mother.

Rubin's trailer was dark too. The door was so quiet coming open that Aimee hardly realized it had. She scooted inside, pushing the door shut behind her.

"Did you hear that?"

Minka's voice made her jump. Aimee was about to say something, but Rubin responded instead.

"It's just the wind, Kwiat."

As her eyes adjusted, Amethyst could see their outlines. They were both in Rubin's bed, under the covers. Aimee wasn't sure if she'd interrupted something, but curiosity got the best of her. She ducked behind Rubin's dresser, where she could see them from underneath it, but she was fairly certain they couldn't see her.

Rubin had his arms wrapped around Minka, his fingers threaded through her long, platinum hair. "What's wrong?" He murmured into her shoulder. They were pressed right up against each other, like broken pieces of a clay pot that fit together. Amethyst watched with interest, breathing as quietly as she could so they wouldn't hear.

"Nothing," Minka said.

"Ukochana," Rubin, persisted. "Tell me what's wrong. You look upset." Aimee could just barely make out his hand stroking her side.

Minka moaned, burrowing closer to him. "It's just . . . that poor little girl. I can't take her back there, Rubin. But I don't know if I can take care of her."

Were they talking about her? Aimee closed her eyes, wishing she hadn't heard this. If Minka wouldn't take care of her, who would?

Rubin sighed, peeling away the covers. Amethyst suppressed a gasp of surprise. Why were they naked? She looked at Minka's body, wondering it that was how she would look when she was older with curvy hips and breasts like pomegranates above her ribcage. Then she shook her head, feeling embarrassed for thinking these things.

Looking down at Minka, Rubin placed his hand on her chest, where her heart was. "You have the purest heart in the world, Kwiat," he whispered. "If anyone can figure out the right thing to do, it's you."

Amethyst thought that was sweet of him to say. Minka was always pushing him away and calling him names and teasing him, yet he remained devoted to her in away Aimee had never seen anyone be devoted before. Maybe, behind all the insults, he could hear how much she loved him back.

Minka knotted her fingers around the back of his neck, pulling his lips down on hers. Aimee wrinkled her nose. She didn't understand the point of kissing. It seemed sort of gross and uncomfortable.

But the longer she watched them, the more it began to make sense. They seemed to be speaking silently, like words weren't enough to convey what they meant. Amethyst wondered what it felt like to kiss someone.

"I love you," Minka whispered. Then she asked, "Do you love me?"

Rubin chuckled. "Zdecydowanie."

Aimee got the feeling that didn't actually mean I lost my boxers.

XXX

When they set up again in Pennsylvania, Minka decided she would teach Aimee to walk a tightrope.

For Minka, running across the rope was just as natural as running through an open field. But then again, for her, twisting her legs together and knotting her head through them was just as natural as lying down on the couch.

Amethyst wasn't afraid, though. She seemed more excited than scared. Persia had found a black leotard that fit her in the costume trailer and tied her hair up in a braid. Minka beamed with pride. Her little Kochanie was a real acrobat.

First, Minka showed her how it was done. Taking the first step off the platform and onto the tightrope, she looked back to see Aimee's reaction. She watched as if she was in a trance, soaking in Minka's technique.

She remembered the first time she'd ever walked a tightrope. Well, it hadn't been a tightrope, exactly. Feeling her feet curl around the circus rope, she could visualize Nauczycielka Dansia's clothesline, orphan shirts fluttering in the wind like white flags of surrender. She remembered the clothes pins dotting her path, the open window on the other side . . . .

That first time was the day she realized that the others were right: she was a freak. Walking a tightrope, shifting herself into an arch over the clothespins, vaulting over the window ledge. It all felt right to her.

When Minka made it across, she yelled back to Aimee, "You ready?"

She expected the little girl to shake her head or back down. but Amethyst just bit her lip and nodded, taking the first step onto the tightrope.

Although there was a net at the bottom, falling off the tightrope was still a terrifying experience. The fall seemed to last forever, until you began to wonder if you only imagined the net and the plummet would last forever, until you hit rock bottom and fell splat! into the ground.

But Amethyst didn't seemed too worried about that.

She took tentative steps, pausing every few to readjust her feet. Minka recognized the way her toes curled around the rope, the way her knees twisted around each other -- she was imitating exactly what Minka had done, and she was doing a good job of it.

Never did she look up. With a focus Minka had never known three year old children to have, Amethyst made her way all the way across the tightrope, shaking like a hypothermia victim by the time she reached the other side.

"Look at you!" Minka exclaimed, pulling Aimee onto the platform beside her. "First time, and you already made it across! By tonight, we'll have you doing backflips up here!"

Aimee gave her a shaky smile. "I didn't fall."

"No, you didn't!" Minka couldn't stop beaming. She felt like a proud mother watching her baby take her first steps.

"Minka?"

"Hm?"

"That was fun."

XXX

This was Davey Springs' least favorite kind of job.

He was used to looking for people. Chasing them, even. But what he hated about cases like this was that the person obviously didn't want to be found.

And who could blame her? The moment he sent foot in Richard Turner's house, Davey understood why the child had left. He caught himself thinking of the house he'd grown up in, making comparisons. Same beer bottles piled in the sink for five cent a pop when they got around to hauling them back to the grocery store. Same drafty windows that no one bothered to fix. Same ratty couch and chipped furniture.

What was different was the box.

Richard never said it, but Davey could tell what the box was for. It served as the child's bed. The only thing left of her was an unraveling afghan tucked into the corners of the box.

He scented his bloodhound, Clark, off the blanket. Clark gave him a milky eyed stare that told Davey that he agreed: maybe they should just let her be lost.

But then again, what if some creep picked her up and she was locked in his basement? What if she was wandering, cold and alone, through the forest, calling for her parents? As much as he didn't want to do it, Davey knew he had to look for her.

But maybe, just maybe, he didn't have to return her.

XXX

I tip on alligators and little rattle snakers
But I'm another flavor
Something like a terminator
Ain't no equivocating
I fight for what I believe
Why you talkin' about it
She's talkin' about it
Some calling me a sinner
Some calling me a winner
I'm calling you to dinner
And you know exactly what I mean

Yeah I'm talking about you
You can rock or you can leave
Watch me tip without you

-Tightrope, Janelle Monae