by Chant, Zoe
It wasn’t like that. Nobody beat me. Nobody starved me. And nobody loved me. They never said so, but they didn’t have to. I could feel it.
We were in the kind of social circles where kids don’t run around the neighborhood. They have playdates and classes and Cub Scouts instead. My parents didn’t go out of their way to arrange stuff like that for me. If it wasn’t convenient for them, they didn’t happen. So I’d make friends at school, but it was hard to see them outside of school.
I never had a pet. My parents thought animals were messy and noisy and a nuisance. But I loved them. There were some big trees in our backyard, and I used to climb them and try to get the squirrels to eat peanuts out of my hands.
I read books about boys and their dogs, and girls and their horses, and kids who ran away and lived with the wolves, and kids who ran away to the circus, and kids who stepped through a door into another world where they had magical pets and people who loved them and important things to do. I wanted that so much, it felt like the force of my longing would tear a hole in reality and open up a door for me to step through.
Maybe it did.
When I was eleven, the Fabulous Flying Chameleons came to town. I saw that poster, and I wanted to step into it. I asked my parents for money to go, but they refused. I wasn’t surprised, but it bothered me more than that sort of thing usually did, so I kept asking. And they kept saying no.
Finally, it was the day of the Fabulous Flying Chameleons’ last performance. I’d never done this before, but I stole some money from Dad’s wallet. I told them I was spending the night at a friend’s house. They never even asked which one.
I don’t have to describe the circus to you. You’ve seen it. Some of the performers and acts are different, but it’s always had the same concept. And the same spirit. I remember it exactly. Not only the acts, but the smells, the seats, the bits of sawdust on the floor. I bought a hotdog and a box of Crackerjack, and I remember every bite I took.
And I remember the moment that changed my life. It was seeing the trapeze artists. They started their act with the most basic catch there is, the one where they hang from the bar by their knees and catch hands. But to me, it looked absolutely magical. They were flying through the air, trusting each other with their lives.
I thought, They must feel so happy and free. Why can’t my life be like that?
And I thought, Maybe it could.
When the show was over, I snuck closer and closer to the backstage area until I could see that no one was looking. Then I climbed a ladder that went straight up the wall and got into the rigging—that’s the metal structure beneath the tent ceiling that holds the lights and the trapezes and so forth. I was pretty small as a kid, so the beams were wide enough that I wasn’t too scared by the height, even though it was really high. And when I lay down on a beam, I was basically invisible from below. I lay there and watched the animals come off the stage and go into other rooms I couldn’t see, and the clowns taking off their shoes and stage hands packing things up.
I’d gotten the idea to go up because I’d read in a book that the best place to hide was over people’s heads, because people don’t tend to look there. That’s true for most people, though not so much for shifters. But of course I didn’t know about shifters then.
I didn’t have a very detailed plan. I knew they’d have to take down the entire tent, so I figured I’d hide until everyone was packing stuff somewhere else, then come down and hide in a trunk or a suitcase or something, and hope they didn’t find me until they were far away and it was too late to take me back. Honestly I don’t think it was a terrible plan considering that I was eleven.
Everything about the circus felt magical. So I wasn’t one hundred percent shocked when I saw a tiny orange-and-white kitten run backstage, then turn into a toddler. He was stark naked, running around laughing and yelling “You can’t catch me!”
A woman came chasing after him and grabbed him by the scruff of the neck. He turned back into the kitten and yowled. She held him tight and called to the nearest stagehand, “Jeannie, can you bring my clothes to the dressing room?”
Jeannie said sure. And the woman disappeared. Her clothes fell to the floor like she’d vaporized. Then a calico cat scrambled out of the heap of clothes with the kitten in her mouth and trotted off with him. Jeannie picked up the clothes and followed her out. There were lots of other people backstage. And none of them blinked an eye.
Circus people and theatre people are pretty casual about nudity, since they have to do quick-changes backstage and dressing rooms are shared. And shifters are casual too, because regular shifters—ones that aren’t mythic or extinct—can’t take anything with them when they shift. So not everyone bothered to go to the dressing rooms before they shifted.
I saw a bear turn into a woman, and a flying squirrel turn into a man. I saw two tigers and a tabby cat practice a new act all by themselves. I saw a beautiful woman tell a white rat that it was his turn to help their daughter practice her math that night. I was absolutely enchanted. I forgot about myself and my plans and just watched.
An old woman sat down on a trunk with little kids and kittens and poodle puppies and a foal and two baby seals in a semi-circle on the floor around her, and told them a story. I couldn’t hear her very well, because she was on the other side from me and her voice was soft. But she’d started with “In the days of Merlin, the first shifter,” and I was really interested. So I started slithering along the beam to get closer.
I didn’t realize it, but once I moved out from where I was, I went in front of a light and cast a shadow. And someone saw it. The next thing I knew, a flying squirrel landed on the beam in front of me, turned into a boy my age, and yelled, “INTRUDER!”
I fell off the beam.
I was fifty feet up, and I was falling. I grabbed out in a panic, and I caught something.
It was the tightrope, and I was dangling from the middle of it. My hands hurt—I had rope burns on my palms from grabbing it without gloves—and I was still thirty feet up. And everyone was below me, looking up and shouting instructions at me and at each other.
That was when the fear of heights hit me. I knew that if I fell, I’d die. I was so scared, I couldn’t even scream.
Then a parrot flew up. I didn’t see where it had come from, but it circled around a few times to make sure I saw it. Them it flew up and perched on the tightrope next to me. It opened its beak and squawked, “Hold on!”
I gulped. “You can talk?”
“Yes,” said the parrot. “Haven’t you ever heard of talking parrots?”
I nodded.
“I’m going to help you get down,” the parrot said. “But you’ll have to be brave.”
“I can be brave,” I said, though I sure didn’t feel brave.
“Good boy!” squawked the parrot. “Did you see the show?”
“Yes. It was wonderful.”
“Now, don’t look down. Just answer. Do you remember the net beneath the tightrope?”
Even though she’d warned me, I nearly did look down. But I caught myself just in time. Then I felt stupid. Why was I so scared when there was a net below me?
It didn’t help, though. I was still terrified. There were tears pouring down my face. But I said, “Yeah, I remember the net.”
“It’s there in case anyone falls,” the parrot said. “But if you’re stiff when you fall, you can get hurt. You need to relax your whole body and fall light as a feather. Then you’ll just bounce. It’s actually fun, if you fall right.”
I wasn’t sure I believed her, but I nodded. By then I’d been hanging for a while. My hands burned like fire, and my arms felt like they were being pulled out of their sockets. I was scared to let go, but I didn’t know how much longer I could hold on. I said, “Should I let go now?”
“Not yet,” the parrot said. “First I need to teach you how to fall.”
I don’t know how I managed it, but I hung on while she told me to relax my toes, then relax my feet
, then my lower legs, and so forth.
Finally, she said, “Now when I say relax, I want you to relax your hands and fingers, and let go. Relax!”
I let go. I fell, but it wasn’t terrifying any more. I saw her skimming down after me, and when I hit the net, I was relaxed, and I bounced. I sat up and said, “That was fun!”
“I told you it would be,” the parrot said from her perch on the rim of the net.
The circus people were all clustered around, cheering and clapping. Some of them were crying, though I didn’t understand why till later.
It was the last performance, so they’d been taking everything down and packing it up. When I fell, they’d already dismantled and packed up the net. As soon as they saw me, they ran to unpack it and get it in place. But it took a while. The parrot sat there calmly talking to me and distracting me the whole time they were putting up the net, and made sure I didn’t let go until it was safe. She saved my life.
I didn’t know that then. But I did know that she’d kept me company and comforted me when I was scared to death. If she hadn’t been a parrot, I’d have hugged her.
“Excuse me for a moment,” said the parrot. “I need to get dressed.”
She flew off, and someone carried her clothes after her. Some other circus people helped me out of the net. They made a fuss over me and Zane Zimmerman checked me over to make sure I wasn’t hurt.
Once I relaxed enough to notice more of what was going on, I saw the flying squirrel boy who’d made me fall standing off to the side, glaring at me while his parents scolded him. They looked really mad at him, and I was glad. I realize now that he was eleven too and he hadn’t known I’d fall off if he startled me, but at the time, all I knew was that he’d nearly gotten me killed.
Then the old woman who’d been telling the story about Merlin came up and sat down next to me. She introduced herself as Janet Gold, then she smiled and asked me if I recognized her.
“You were the parrot,” I said. To this day, I don’t know how I knew. I hadn’t seen her shift, and her normal voice doesn’t sound anything like the parrot’s. It was just something about her.
“Yes, that’s me,” she said. “Did you come on a school trip?”
I realized afterward that she’d assumed it had to be that, since if I’d come with family they’d have noticed I was missing way before now, and she was trying to figure out how long it would take before a panicked teacher ran backstage looking for me.
But I was busy trying to figure out what I could possibly say to her to make her take me with her. I thought fast, and I said, “I came by myself. I don’t go to school because I’m an orphan. A homeless orphan.”
“Really,” she said. “In this day and age.”
Of course, I was as clean as any eleven-year-old boy ever is, and my clothes were what you buy for a kid when you care more about looking respectable to other parents than the kid’s own taste. Which is to say, I was better-dressed than the average kid.
But I thought she was thinking that a homeless orphan should be in foster care, so I said, “I was in foster care, but they starved me and beat me and made me live in a closet. So I ran away to live on the streets. Uh, but this gang has been trying to recruit me, only I didn’t want to sell drugs, so I saw this circus and I thought it would be a good place to hide from them, and that’s why I was in your rafters. The gang’s probably still waiting outside, so I better not leave just yet.”
“Better not,” she agreed. Now she was smiling. “It’s a cold night, and you’ve had a fright. How would you like some hot chocolate?”
“Yes, please,” I said.
Janet tapped the person closest to her, who I recognized as the ringmaster. He had a huge twirled moustache and he looked very impressive. “Max? Will you get the boy a nice big mug of hot chocolate, please? With marshmallows.”
He went off without a word. He didn’t even look annoyed on being sent on an errand.
“Are you the boss of the circus?” I asked.
“You’re a very observant boy,” she said. “Yes, I am.”
“And you can all turn into animals?”
“Well, most of us can.” I caught just a flicker of a glance she gave to a girl with long black braids who’d been listening to her tell the Merlin story.
“Can you teach me?” I asked. I was so eager that I grabbed at her sleeve. “I want to be a tiger! Or, no, I’d rather fly. Can I be a parrot, like you?”
She shook her head. “I’m afraid you have to be born that way.”
Max came back with a mug of hot chocolate. It not only had marshmallows, it had whipped cream and even rainbow sprinkles. Max can be a bit full of himself, but he’s a good guy and he’s great with kids.
It was a cold night, and I’d had a shock, so the heat and sugar made me feel a lot better. It was also really great hot chocolate. Max had hit the gourmet stash for it, and used real milk instead of water.
I’d mostly been paying attention to Janet, but a whole lot of circus people were standing around watching us. While I drank the hot chocolate, she turned to them and said, “The boy is bright. He’s agile. He got backstage and into the rigging without any of us seeing him, he didn’t fall until he was startled, and he wasn’t frightened until he actually fell. He enjoyed hitting the net. He’s articulate, quick-witted, and has an excellent line of patter considering his age. He’s excited by shifters, not frightened.”
Nobody had ever said such nice things about me before, or paid so much attention to me. Sometimes teachers said I was smart and a good student, but they always added stuff like “when he calms down and focuses” or “when he actually does the assignment instead of something he thinks is more fun.”
“I want to speak to him alone,” Janet said. “I’ll call you back in when we’re ready—and I want all adults to be present. In the meantime, please discuss it amongst yourselves.”
They went out, leaving us alone. Part of me was so hopeful, I was about ready to explode. The other part was sure it was too good to be true. I was so keyed-up, my throat closed up. I had to put down the hot chocolate even though I hadn’t finished it.
“You want to stay here, don’t you?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said. “Please.”
“I know you told me some lies,” she said. When I started to protest, she held up her hand. “I’m not angry. Lies aren’t always bad. But I have some decisions to make now, and I need to know the truth to make them. I can promise you that I’m not going to toss you out just because you have parents who don’t beat you or starve you. Okay?”
“Okay.” It came out in a whisper.
“Do you have parents?” she asked.
I nodded.
“When do they expect you to come back?”
“Some time tomorrow,” I said.
“Do they abuse you?”
I shook my head.
“What’s wrong with them, then?” she asked.
“They don’t love me,” I said. And I started to cry. She put her arms around me, and let me cry all over her beautiful embroidered jacket.
I’d always wondered, before that moment, if maybe the problem was me, not my parents. Maybe they did love me after all, but something was wrong with me that made me unable to feel it. And if that was true, I’d always wondered if I’d ever feel that someone did love me. If it was even possible for me to experience love.
We’d only just met, but I could feel that Janet loved me already. And I loved her too. We looked at each other, and I knew I didn’t have to be afraid. She wasn’t going to kick me out.
She knew it, too. Janet patted me on the back, and said, “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I never asked your name.”
“It’s—” I started to say, but she put her finger to her lips.
“A lot of people change their name when they join the circus. They’re starting a new life, so they give themselves a new name. You don’t have to, but if you want to, you can.”
Once she explained it, I did w
ant to. And I knew exactly what name I wanted.
“I’m Merlin,” I said.
She looked taken aback, then she laughed. “Did you hear my story?”
“Just the first sentence,” I said. “But I know who Merlin was. He was King Arthur’s magician.”
“He was much more than that,” Janet said. “But it’s an excellent name. Do you have a last name to go with it?”
I shook my head.
“Shall I pick one for you?”
“Yes, please.”
“A lot of circus people have first and last names that start with the same letter. It’s called alliteration, and it makes them nice and memorable. The same first two letters are even better. Or maybe the first three...” She thought for a moment, then said, “Merlin Merrick. How’s that sound?”
“It sounds fabulous,” I said.
She laughed. And then she changed my life.
She called everyone back in, and she said, “Now that I’ve spoken to the boy, I’ve decided not to hold a vote. I’m taking him in and raising him myself.”
When directors want to have “crowd murmuring” sounds, they tell the actors to say “rhubarb, rhubarb,” because it’ll sound like murmuring but you won’t be able to pick up the actual word. Well, there was a lot of murmuring when she made that announcement, and I couldn’t pick up the words. But I could tell the emotion. They were completely shocked.
“No questions, no arguments,” she said. “It’s done.”
She swept her gaze over them, and they went silent. To me, she said, “Tell them your name.”
I said, “My name is Merlin Merrick.”
She said, “Please welcome our newest Fabulous Flying Chameleon, Merlin Merrick!”
And they all applauded. Well, almost all of them. The flying squirrel boy didn’t. And I could see that some of the adults weren’t very enthusiastic. That only barely registered with me at the time, I was so overwhelmed at the thought of living in a magical circus and having Janet instead of my parents. But afterward, I remembered it.
Afterward, I learned a whole lot of things I didn’t know that night.