The Map to You

by Lindy Zart

  “I’m sure he’s glad you took it off his hands.”

  “He’s dead.”

  I tried to keep all emotion from my voice as I said it, but even I caught the roughness of the words. I stare straight ahead, missing a man who told me I could do anything, be anyone, I wanted. I just had to believe in myself. I never believed him, so why would I believe in me?

  Opal inhales a sharp breath and slowly releases it. “I’m sorry.”

  I take a left at the stop sign, my chest uncomfortably tight. “So am I—my hair part is naturally on the left side instead of the right. It makes me want to do all kinds of bad things.”

  She rolls her eyes again, and I can’t even get irate about it this time. I deserved that eye roll. I’m a deflector; I deflect from anything that makes me feel anything I don’t want, or can’t handle. In that sense, Kennedy and I were the perfect, detrimental pair.

  * * *

  Opal

  It’s beautiful. There are tents, and music, and animals. People walking, children running and laughing. And the scents! Cotton candy and roasted peanuts and funnel cakes. My nose is in heaven, and my mouth is in hell. I want to taste them all, gorge myself on sweets and salts until I can’t walk and Blake has to roll me back to the truck.

  I skip alongside Blake, my hands holding the straps of my backpack that rests over my shoulders. The soles of my feet hurt from being trapped within the tight black boots for days, but even that doesn’t matter. The sun’s rays make my clothes unpleasantly snug to my skin, and I fear my deodorant might decide to give up on me. It doesn’t deter me in any way. So I’ll stink, and be content in my smelliness. Bonus points if Blake is offended. A smile stretches my lips.

  Radley Family Circus is set up in the country, and the ground is green and flat with trees nearby but out of reach. The sky is blue and cloudless. Blake bought the tickets. My thank-you was mumbled, but at least I got it out. We both know I won’t pay him back. I can’t. Someday, but not today. I glance at him, taking in the thin-lipped and narrowed-eyed expression taking up occupancy on his face. He’s not happy about being here. Although, I wonder if he’s ever really happy.

  “I’ll meet you by the entrance in two hours,” I tell him. I’ll have more fun experiencing my first circus without him stomping and scowling next to me. Besides, I need to get some money, and I can’t do that with him hovering about.

  His eyebrows shoot up as he turns to me. “You’re ditching me.” He doesn’t sound upset about it, merely surprised.

  “Yes.” I tighten my grip on the backpack straps and nod. “I’m ditching you and your bad attitude.”

  “You be at the entrance in one hour, not two, or I leave without you,” he states.

  My head slants to the side as I study his features. I don’t believe Blake when he says he’ll leave me. He’s softer than he wants me to think. He could have said no to me riding with him to North Dakota. He could have watched me eat my paltry meal of toast without practically throwing his food at me. He could have left me to sleep in the truck during the cold night instead of carrying me inside the motel. He even could have taken the functioning bed and told me to sleep in the broken one, or on the floor.

  He didn’t do any of those things.

  “What’s one more hour?” I ask.

  Blake snaps the distance between us like it’s a twig between his fingers. One instant there’s space from him to me, and the next, there’s heat waving over me from a too-close male body. His face is before mine, and if I leaned forward the slightest bit and lifted my chin, our lips would meet. The realization doesn’t repel me like it should.

  Silver fire flashes from his eyes. “You get one hour, Opal. That is it. You won’t win in this.”

  My mouth goes dry, and I desperately wish I had water. Either to drink or dump over my head. I admit it—Blake is sexy. He’s restrained, hiding most of himself from the world, and me. He has secrets, but then, so do I. His might even be blacker than mine. I was attracted to my ex’s unruly side, and in the end, it all blew up around me.

  “It isn’t a game; I’m not trying to win at anything.” I clear my throat. “I just want to spend some time at a circus I’ll probably never again have the chance to see.”

  Blake designated the time limit, and I’m trying to alter it. He doesn’t like that. The people who have to be in control are sometimes that way because, at one time, they felt helpless. It’s a self-built shield. I’ve seen it before, in multiple exes. I saw hints of it in my latest ex. He didn’t understand that some things are not meant for others to rule over. He probably doesn’t understand your reasoning behind fleeing either.

  I shove the thought, and the apprehension that comes with it, far away—all the way back to Illinois where, hopefully, my most recent ex-boyfriend remains. Logically, there shouldn’t be any way for him to come after me. Sometimes, though, I tend to be illogical. And what about the men he ran around with? Where are they?

  Blake straightens. “That’s all, huh? You’re just reliving some childhood fantasy, right?” His tone is skeptical.

  My heartbeat slows as he steps back. How is it possible that just from him standing close to me, I forget how to properly breathe and my heart rate goes haywire? This is bad, but the good news is that, after a few more hours, I will never see him again. I should be happy about that.

  I think of what a sad child should look like, and I try to imitate that, widening my eyes and sticking out my lips. Innocent, that’s me. Through and through and through some more. “That’s all.”

  That isn’t all. A circus is a great place to earn some cash. People come to these kinds of places expecting to spend a lot of money. I can help them with that.

  “You’re so full of it,” he mutters, his eyes jumping around the crowd that forms a misshapen, moving wall around us. Blake turns to me and pulls a cell phone from his back pocket, his eyes down. “Give me your phone number. I’ll call you in an hour.”

  I scratch behind my ear, watching a girl in a ruffled dress with a yellow balloon until she disappears around a tent. “Well, I would, but I don’t have a cell phone.”

  Blake stares at me, one eyebrow on the verge of lifting, and instead lowering back to its natural, no less intimidating, form. “I see.”

  I had a phone, but I left it in Illinois. I was in a hurry, but even if I hadn’t been, I wouldn’t have brought it. A cellular phone is the last thing I need—if my ex had access to a phone and I had mine on me, Jonesy would never leave me alone. Besides, it’s an expense I can’t afford, and as I meet Blake’s emotionless eyes, I can tell that’s where his thoughts are going. He thinks I’m destitute. Not going to lie: I’m pretty much there.

  “What if there’s an emergency?” is all he asks.

  “You almost sound concerned.”

  Silver molten focuses on me, chars every nerve ending in my body. “Not concerned. Merely curious.”

  “Right. Curious.” I rub my arms as a shiver skips along the skin. I’d like to have a picture of his eyes. They’re unusually deep, like everything he’s ever been is trapped inside them, waiting to be let out. All his regrets, hopes, dreams, fears. Every mistake. I could draw them all, every last one of them, from looking into his eyes enough times.

  Two clowns walk by, one with red hair, the other bald. The bald one wiggles pink painted-on eyebrows at us as he passes. I stare at the pink eyebrows.

  Pink.

  Pinkie.

  I pull my shoulders back and look at Blake. “I don’t need a phone in case of emergencies. I have me, and that’s all I need. I know how to kill a man with my pinkie.”

  There’s the eyebrow lift, although it’s more of a skyrocketing motion. Blake shoves the phone back in a pocket of his jeans and gives me his full attention. “I’d be interested in seeing that.”

  I frown and take a step back, feigning unease. “You want me to kill someone?”


  “What? No.” He shakes his head. “You don’t know how to kill a man with your pinkie.”

  I nod, shoving hair from my face. In a somber tone, I say, “Let’s hope you never have to find out you’re wrong.”

  He makes a sound like he can’t decide whether to be amused or annoyed. He points to the left. “See that tent over there? The big one?”

  Squinting against the sun, I focus on a green and white striped tent that is wider and has a higher peak than all the rest. It’s where the main attraction is held. This place is magic, the kind of magic that grips hold of a child’s imagination, and allows it to spin wonder.

  “Yes.”

  “Meet me outside of there in one hour, and we’ll see about staying longer.”

  Excitement cascades through me, and I beam at the darkly glowering man who won’t look at me. I am grateful for his compromise. I know it didn’t come easily. When he continues to frown, I lightly shove his shoulder, feeling hard muscle and bone. He doesn’t budge. Blake turns his stiff features on me and I instinctively put more space between us.

  “Hey.” I try to smile. Fail. “Thanks for…you know…the circus and everything,” I say hesitantly, suddenly unsure under the intensity of his ire. For the first time, I wonder about his life. Where he’s coming from, where he’s going. What he does from day to day, and who is a part of that life. I know as much about him as he does me. Close to nothing.

  His eyebrows lower, practically obliterating his eyes. “Enjoy the circus. I always do.”

  That’s all the encouragement I need, purposely ignoring the double meaning. He can’t mean my personal circus; he hasn’t been around me long enough to know how crazy things can get in my world. With a wave and a bounce to my step, I head toward the fun-filled melee, calling over my shoulder, “You got it.”

  As I become part of the mass of people, I glance over my shoulder once. Blake is striding toward the front of the gated-off area and the exit. Even from the back, it’s obvious he’s agitated and in a hurry. There is a second where I feel fear and wonder if he’s leaving right now. It’s something I might do—less drama, no responsibility, better for the other person. In fact, isn’t that what I did? I blink, the veins inside my neck tight, and then I turn with a deep exhalation. Blake isn’t me. He isn’t running from something. He won’t leave me.

  And what if he does? So what? You can fend for yourself. You’ve been doing it all your life.

  I blink again, my confidence fortified, and study my surroundings. The trick is to act like I’m not up to something. I follow a group of kids who, even though they look about a dozen years younger than me, aren’t that much shorter. A blonde glances over her shoulder at me and I widen the distance between us. There doesn’t appear to be an adult with them, but none of them look old enough to drive, and we’re somewhat in the middle of nowhere. They didn’t walk here. This makes me think there has to be a money machine—adult—somewhere close by.

  I follow them for a while, listening to them chat about clothes and movies, before determining it isn’t going to get me anywhere. Think younger. Less worldly. One of the guys eyes me, winking when I hold his stare. His face is chubby-cheeked and devoid of facial hair. I’d be surprised if he is past fourteen. I lift an eyebrow, not lowering it until his face goes pink and he faces forward. Think less hormonal.

  One of the group points to a pen where an elephant is walked in a circle by a harness with a rider on top. With a shout and ensuing laughter, they take off for the elephant rides. I watch them for a moment. I wonder what it’s like for them to have stability, to have friends. To know their roots. I wonder if they realize how fortunate they are. I study the elephant, taking in its rough and dry gray skin, the slow gait, and wonder what it thinks about all of this.

  Finding an area set apart from the chaos but close enough to be noticed, I tuck hair behind my ears and remove thick drawing paper and the last of my charcoal pencils from my backpack. There are two small green tents behind me—one for a magician and another for “strange and peculiar oddities.” They’ll do for bringing interest my way. I don’t want to use up the last of my precious supply of drawing utensils, but I won’t get anywhere if there’s no product for people to see. Sighing, I study kids and adults alike, looking for suitable prey.

  It doesn’t take long to find a target.

  It’s a young girl around the age of five. Her hair is blonde and styled in silken ringlets. She has on a sky blue top and a cherry red skirt. The girl is beautiful, everything about her face symmetrical and wholesome. She tugs on her dad’s hand and begs for cotton candy as her mom looks on with exasperation on her face. Eyes fixated on her, my hand begins to create. I tune out the scorching sun as it heats my flesh, and sweat forms on my lower back and chest. Sounds fade, and all I see is the girl with the large brown eyes and bowed mouth.

  A female voice, sounding distraught and directly behind me, breaks through my concentration. My hand slips as I jump, a line of gray sliding across the page. “I didn’t know there was shrimp in it.”

  “Do you feel okay?” a deep voice replies.

  “No. I’ve been to the toilet twice now. I don’t know how I’m going to perform.”

  “You have to, if you want to get paid.”

  My hand pauses at the mention of money. I glance up and over my shoulder, noting a tall, bald man standing behind me with a petite blonde. The man is nondescript in appearance; even his outfit of blue jeans and a white T-shirt is plain. The woman has on khaki shorts and a yellow top, along with a grimace. She looks like she’s in pain. His hand rests on her elbow, as if helping her to walk, or stand.

  “I know.” The woman sighs. Her skin is tinged gray and there are bruises beneath her eyes. She slowly turns, cringing as she moves. “Come on, we need to get ready. The show starts soon.”

  “You can’t work like this.”

  Her lips thin. “Tell that to Radley.”

  As if my attention to them pulled his notice to me, the man moves closer, his gaze dropping to study the half-finished drawing. “Hey, look at this, Patty.”

  “Nothing to see here. Be on your merry way.” I protectively hunch forward, trying to shield my work from their eyes. They need to go, and I need to finish my drawing before the girl and her parents disappear.

  A sheen of sweat covers his bald head, making it shine. He blinks at me, and then turns to Patty, but Patty is racing in the opposite direction, most likely toward a bathroom. He frowns after her, and then focuses on me.

  “You draw?” he asks.

  “No.” Go away. My eyes jump to the blond girl, anxiety pumping through my veins in place of blood. This is my chance to make some money, and I don’t need this strange man ruining it with his ability to state the obvious.

  “Then what’s this?” One ginormous finger points to the artwork beneath my arms.

  “It’s nothing. I found it. You should go after your friend,” I urge, speaking fast.

  With one final look at the drawing and me, the giant finally turns and leaves.

  I heave a sigh of relief and continue on with my work. My eyes flicker down and up, down and up, the charcoal pencil capturing the wrinkle in her brow, the shine in her eyes. A cramp forms in my fingers, protesting the sharp and jerky movements. I ignore it, relishing the act of capturing a living being within the lines of a piece of parchment. When I have enough to hook them, I jump to my feet, toss my supplies back in the bag, and speed-walk to them before I lose the trio.

  I have to act like their decision means nothing, when in reality it can be the difference between me having money for food and me going without. It isn’t fun, but it is necessary. I stand with my shoulders loose and my knees slightly bent. Inside, my pulse spits and rears and gallops. Outside, my pose is calm and steady. The father, on the verge of giving in to his daughter, looks like the easier conquest of the parents. I stop by him and grin my w
idest grin.

  “Hi,” I greet.

  “Hello,” he replies hesitantly. He has black hair with silver at the temples, a strong jaw, and is dressed in a blue polo shirt and gray shorts. His eyes shift to the woman as if asking her if it was okay for him to acknowledge me.

  Reading hostility in her stance, I move my attention to the brunette and give her my most cheerful of looks. Her features would be pretty if not for the glacial look of them. “Are you enjoying the circus?” I ask her.

  “I am!” the little girl pipes up, beaming at me. I’d want to draw her even if I didn’t need the money.

  I crouch to put my gaze level with her happy eyes. Smiling, I tell her, “That’s good. Is this your first circus?”

  “Uh-huh.” She bounces up and down, ready to move.

  “Mine too.”

  Her head tilts. “It is?”

  “If you’ll excuse us,” the woman says, reaching for the girl’s hand. Her eyes don’t quite meet mine before sliding away. “We would like to go back to enjoying the circus.”

  This is going to be a hard sale. My skin flushes; my nerves spin in a haphazard dance of anxiety. I lift up the paper and show it to the brunette, praying my smile hasn’t turned brittle, and that my eyes do not show the desperation I feel. “I can finish this for you for twenty dollars.”

  With a derisive lift to her mouth, the woman shakes her head. Her eyes, brown and jaded, don’t even look at the paper. She turns to go. “No. We’re not interested. Thank you.”

  “But, Mommy, it’s me,” the girl protests in a high voice. “Daddy, please?”

  She pauses as the man steps closer to better see the drawing. Her tone is strident as she says, “John, come on. We need to find a seat before the show starts.”

  He ignores her, his eyes locked on the hand drawn image of his daughter. His gaze finds mine, a faint lift to his mouth. I see kindness in the eyes that look me over as thoroughly as they do the drawing. “You did this?”

  “Yes,” I say, swallowing around a dry throat.

  I can’t hide the grease stain near the shoulder of my shirt, or how scuffed and dingy my boots are. There is a hole in the right knee of the pants. My hair is wild and unmanageable. I look like a mess; I am a mess. The woman wouldn’t look at me, but this man sees all the flaws of my appearance, and he meets my gaze.