Unlocked

by Margo Kelly

  “Slowly inhale, expand your diaphragm, and hold it.” I followed Master Gira’s instructions, but I faced straight ahead and avoided eye contact with him as he paced the stage. I wanted him to assume I was under his spell. “Gently release the breath out through your mouth.”

  The music changed again. A familiar tune, but a few seconds passed before I recognized the anthem of “La Bamba.”

  “We’re listening to one of your favorite songs,” Gira said. “You love it so much; you want to be a part of it, right?”

  Not really, but I was willing to join in for the show.

  “Imagine your favorite musical instrument: drums, trumpet, guitar, anything that makes you happy. On the count of three pick up your favorite instrument from your lap and play along with the music. The more you participate, the more relaxed you’ll feel.”

  I could do that. One. Two. Three. Trumpet up. Lips puckered. Fingers moving. We played our instruments for a few seconds. Then Master Gira quickly said, “One. Two. Three. Sleep.” My body drooped, and my chin sank to my chest. I relaxed.

  The hypnotist called on other participants to do random silly things on the stage: pretend to be a duck, pretend to juggle fire sticks, pretend to be naked. Then he had a group of five lying center stage sunbathing. He told them the temperature dropped below freezing. While they reacted and the audience laughed, the hypnotist stood in front of me. He gave more monotonous instructions to the group of sunbathers and told them to cuddle together. The crowd clapped and whistled.

  Master Gira swung the microphone behind his back, leaned in close to me, and whispered, “Open your mind and allow your subconscious to hear me. I want only goodness for you. Open your mind and let my voice in. Experience this peace.”

  His breath, moist against my ear, smelled of cigarettes. Part of me worried about his intentions, but a larger part of me sensed an overwhelming degree of comfort. I took a deep breath and released the remaining tension from my muscles.

  Gira moved back to center stage and suggested to the group that the temperature had become warm again. He counted to three, and an Irish dance song replaced the previous melody.

  The hypnotist spoke rapidly with the cadence of the Celtic music and told us how much we wanted to move to it. I had been sitting a long time. I was ready to stand up and stretch. He counted to three, and everyone onstage popped out of their chairs at the same time, including me, glad to do it. We stepped around a bit, and as he suggested, we kept our arms glued to our sides and moved our feet to the music like Irish dancers. It felt energizing to prance around. I grinned and sent a mental message to Lily: This one’s for you, sister. I tapped my feet to the rhythm.

  Lily’s voice rang out from the crowd, “Yay! Hannah!” My smile grew.

  Master Gira counted in a smooth-textured voice, and the music changed to a harp.

  “You are so relaxed after dancing, the only thing you want to do now is rest. So, float like a leaf, to your chair on the stage, and go to sleep.”

  I drifted across the stage, and then I sank into my seat, delighted to rest. The guy to my right leaned into me. I wanted to push him off, but it was too much effort.

  “Remain asleep,” the hypnotist said, “but sit up straight and open your eyes.” I followed his instructions and sat taller in my chair.

  Gira summoned a guy to center stage. “You’re a famous exotic male dancer, highly paid and highly sought after for your perfect physique.”

  The music changed to a darker jazz sound with an accentuated beat.

  The guy flexed his muscles. The crowd cheered him on, and he shifted from pose to pose.

  Master Gira turned to us. “Ladies, you’re excited to have this famous performer here tonight. Pull your wallets from your purses and take out all your dollar bills.”

  I went along with the fantasy and pretended to find my purse under the chair and pull money from the make-believe wallet.

  “The more cash you find in your wallet, the more relaxed you feel. One. Two. Three. Four . . .” He continued counting and moved closer to our chairs. Then he swept his arm forward. “Come on ladies! Show your gratitude for the performer. Tuck the dollars into his shorts.”

  We swarmed the guy, and the other girls tucked imaginary money into the waistband of his shorts. One of the girls even offered me some of her pretend cash and encouraged me to participate. In my peripheral vision, the hypnotist watched, so I reached out and tucked the bills into the back pocket of the guy’s shorts. Then I clapped and cheered to display my appreciation for his performance. He tugged his shirt up and over his head and flung it out toward the crowd. They rewarded him with whistles and cheers.

  But when he unbuttoned his shorts and showed some hip, the hypnotist reined everyone back in. The music changed to a softer melody, and the hypnotist counted everyone down.

  “Relax and float back to your seats,” he said.

  I glided across the stage, relieved to sit. The guy to my right leaned into me again. After a few seconds, his mountain of a body shifted my balance, and I pressed into the guy on my other side. His posture gave way, and we slid lower on the chairs. Embarrassing. But surely the show was almost over. I could go along with it for a few more minutes. I kept my eyes closed.

  “When I count to three, you’re going to experience more relaxation than you’ve ever felt in your life, as if you’ve had a five-hour massage and an eight-hour nap. When I touch your forehead and say, ‘Awake,’ you will be fully conscious and feel amazing. One. Two. Three.” His feet shuffled along the stage. The crowd gasped as he said “Awake” to each participant. The guy next to me lifted his own weight and sat upright when the mystic told him to awake. But when Master Gira reached me, instead of touching my forehead and saying “Awake,” he leaned in close to my ear and whispered, “Open your eyes, Hannah.”

  I hadn’t deceived him. He moved to the next person, touched his forehead, and told him to awake. I stretched and wondered how he knew my name.

  “A big round of applause for our amazing participants!” Master Gira yelled to the crowd. Everyone burst into cheers, and the lights evened out, illuminating the entire tent interior. Rock music, once again, blasted from the speakers. My friends rushed up onto the stage and started talking all at once, but the song was too loud for me to understand a thing they said. Manny looped his arm through mine, and we maneuvered toward the exit.

  Once outside with the music behind us, Manny asked, “Funnel cakes?”

  “Yes, please.” I took a deep breath, rejuvenated.

  We walked toward the fairway and the food alley. Lily chattered on about my hilarious performance and how she felt jilted for getting pulled off the stage.

  “Robbed. Just robbed,” she said.

  We lingered in line at the funnel cake trailer, and Lily rocked from foot to foot.

  “Did the deep fryer spring a leak?” Jordan stepped to the side and gawked.

  “I’m starving to death.” Lily kicked the dirt.

  “You guys can go get your food,” I said, “and then we can meet over there.” I pointed across the fairway to a covered area with picnic tables.

  “I’ll wait with you,” Manny said.

  “What?” Lily asked. “Are you so codependent you can’t let her stand in line by herself?”

  Manny narrowed his eyes.

  Before he could get into another argument with her, I said, “I’m fine. Go get your food.”

  He glanced at Lily, then back to me. “You’re sure?”

  “Go,” I said. He snaked through the crowded fairway, and a shadow fell across him. I lifted my head skyward to see the cause, but only the moon filled the heavens and the fairway lights blocked out any sign of the stars. I faced forward again and studied the menu: scones, donkey droppings, Indian fry bread, and funnel cakes.

  I reached the front of the line and recognized Eugene, a boy from school, working inside the food trailer. He wore penny-sized plugs in his earlobes, a silver ring in his lower lip, and more trinkets on his fing
ers, in his nose, and in his eyebrows. The pits of his gray V-neck T-shirt were wet, and his cropped black hair glistened in the heat and humidity of the trailer.

  “What can I get for you, Hannah?”

  “Funnel cakes.”

  “Hmm.” He leaned forward and drummed his fingers against the countertop. “You’d rather have one of my Indian fry breads.”

  “You think you know what I’m craving?”

  “Best fried food at the Western Idaho State Fair.”

  I couldn’t help but smile. “What makes it the best?”

  “Secret family recipe.” He peered to his left. “Right, Grandma?”

  An elderly woman, with thick gray braids extending to her waist, peeked up. “Stop flirting. Just work.”

  I laughed and couldn’t resist him. “I’ll try it.”

  “All right!” He patted the counter and turned toward a coworker.

  I pulled a $10 bill from my pocket to pay, but when I lifted it, two ants darted across its edge and onto my wrist. I gasped, dropped the cash, and shook off the ants.

  “Three dollars,” Eugene said.

  I bent to grab the money from the ground, but a man’s hand reached it first. I shrieked and straightened up, but there were no men anywhere near me. And no one had picked up the $10 bill. My chest tightened, and when I snatched the cash from the ground, another ant fell from it. I stomped on the bug and twisted my foot into the dirt.

  “Hannah?” Eugene said.

  The women and kids waiting in line gawked at me. I turned away from them and slid the money across the counter to Eugene.

  “You okay?” he asked and then bit down on his lip ring.

  I nodded.

  He gave me my change and passed me the large, round fried bread.

  “Enjoy!” he said.

  “Thanks.” I drizzled honey over the bread.

  Manny called from across the fairway, “Hannah!” He waved a corn dog smothered in mustard. I took one step along the side of the trailer, expecting to see a man standing there, but instead a family laughed and posed for a picture. I shook off the strange feeling and hurried over to the picnic table where Manny waited.

  “Why did you go behind the funnel cake trailer?” Manny asked.

  I swung my legs over the bench just as Lily and Jordan joined us with an onion blossom and chili cheese fries.

  “I didn’t—”

  “Carnival food is to die for!” Lily clapped her hands.

  “It certainly is.” Jordan dug into his fries.

  Manny rubbed his shoulder against mine and scooted closer. I wiped mustard from the corner of his mouth, and he pointed toward my fry bread.

  “What happened to funnel cakes?” he asked.

  “Eugene talked me into—”

  “Who?” Manny asked.

  “You know,” Jordan said. “That dude with all the piercings.”

  “Oh.” Manny studied me for a few seconds. Then he moved a drink toward me. “I got your usual.”

  “Dr. Pepper!” I took a long relaxing pull on the straw. Then I covered my mouth and let out a burp.

  “Really?” Lily asked. “Were you raised in a barn?”

  “Hey,” Jordan said, “at least a nervous belch is better than a nervous bladder.”

  “Speaking from experience?” Manny asked.

  “I don’t have nervous burps,” I said. “I have a recurring reaction to soda.”

  “Mmm. Hmm,” Lily said.

  “So, Hannah”—Jordan had chili covering his fingers—“what was it like to be hypnotized? Do you remember the stupid stuff you did?”

  “What stupid stuff?”

  “You don’t remember?” Lily said.

  “Of course I remember. I was awake the entire time.”

  “You were under his influence,” Lily said. “Your green eyes were frozen in an empty stare, and yet you were totally absorbed with everything he told you to do. Especially when you were lusting after that naked hottie!” Lily dunked her onion into some fry sauce and popped it into her mouth.

  “He wasn’t naked,” Manny said, but when Lily waggled her eyebrows he blushed.

  “Whatever helps you sleep at night,” Jordan said, “but Hannah can tuck money into my shorts any—”

  “Stop.” Manny pointed at Jordan. “Don’t talk to her like—”

  “Chill,” Lily said. “It’s not like she was going to actually do anything with the guy.”

  I clutched Manny’s extended hand and pulled him closer.

  Then Lily winked at me and continued, “Hannah’s holding out for a special someone.”

  Jordan laughed.

  I sighed and let go of Manny’s hand. “I played along to give you a good show,” I said to Lily.

  “They would’ve known if you were faking,” she said. “They made us leave the stage. Besides, you did everything he told you to.”

  I wanted her to know I was awake the whole time, but I also didn’t want her to be disappointed that the magical mystic of a hypnotist was a fraud.

  “You were hypnotized.” Jordan scooped more fries into his mouth.

  “Let’s enjoy our last night of freedom,” I said. “School starts Monday.”

  “I can’t believe we’re seniors!” Lily said.

  “I can.” Manny tilted his head toward me. “We have to get into the same college.”

  “We will,” I said. “Princeton would be nuts to reject you.” I used the last piece of bread to wipe up the honey from my plate. Eugene was right; it was the best fried food at the fair.

  “Maybe we could go to a local college and stay closer to our families,” Manny said.

  “Where’s the adventure in that?” Lily asked. “I know I won’t get into some fancy East Coast school with my grades, but I definitely want to get out of Idaho and see the world before I die.”

  Unlike Lily, it wasn’t about adventure for me. I had goals and a plan to achieve them.

  “Hannah, why do you want to break the bank with such an expensive school anyway?” Lily asked.

  “My dad went there.”

  “Is that where your parents met and fell in love?” Lily giggled. Then she leaned over and planted a kiss on Jordan. “Mmm. Chili.” She licked her lips and turned back to me.

  “Uh, no,” I said. “My parents had been married for years before my dad decided to go back for his master’s degree in psychology.”

  “Did your mom go there?” Manny asked.

  “No, she earned a business degree from a college in Atlantic City.”

  “You know,” Lily said, “Chelsea wants to go to Princeton, too.”

  “Did I hear my name?” Chelsea said from behind me, and I twisted around.

  “You want to go to Princeton?” I asked.

  “Yup.” Chelsea took a few steps and then perched on the end of the table. Mark wrapped his arm around her shoulders.

  “Why?” I asked.

  “Because it’s the ultimate, and only the best students are accepted.” Chelsea smirked.

  Manny whispered to me, “What if my SAT score is too low?”

  “Stop worrying,” I said. “We will be together.” I reached for his hand, but a small black ant crawled across the tabletop. I flicked it away.

  “Hannah?” Manny’s eyes darted between the table and me.

  “Just getting an ant off—”

  “Ants! What ants?” Lily jumped up.

  “Calm down, freakazoid,” Manny said. She leaned over and smacked his shoulder, leaving a smear of fry sauce on his polo shirt.

  “Don’t tell me to calm down! I do not want to get stung!” Lily said.

  “No chance—”

  “How do you know?” Lily asked.

  “Red fire ants infest southern states. Idaho is a northern state.”

  “So? Maybe it was a biting carpenter ant,” Lily insisted. She licked her fingers and dabbed a napkin against her lips.

  “Unlikely,” Manny said.

  “Whatever,” Lily said. “Let’s go. We
’d better start with an easy ride like the Ferris wheel until our food settles.” She turned to Chelsea and Mark. “Are you joining us?”

  Chelsea, apparently lost in her own thoughts, stared out at the people moving down the fairway. Mark drew his finger along Chelsea’s cheek and said, “We’re cruising over to the tunnel of love.” He did a little spin and mimicked the “exotic male dancer” from the hypnotism show. Then he struck a pose and flexed his biceps for everyone. We all laughed. Chelsea clutched his hand, and they sauntered away.

  Manny collected our trash from the table and threw it into a nearby can. A breeze blew across the fairway and goose bumps popped out on my legs, which was odd, considering it was an August night in the high mountain desert. It had to be at least ninety degrees. I linked my arm through Manny’s to steal some of his body heat.

  Jordan and Lily climbed into a car on the big wheel first. I was content to be separated from them for a while. Manny and I settled into the next car, and the wheel rotated, sending us backward. We crested and spotted Jordan and Lily in front of us. He combed his fingers through her long hair, leaned in, and kissed her. A deep, mouthy one. When he finished, he peered back at us and grinned.

  “He creeps me out.” I realized I had said the words aloud and tried to recant. “I mean—”

  “No, I agree,” Manny said. “I’ve never liked him. Just because he’s senior class president, he thinks he’s God’s gift to women. He’s supposed to be dating Lily, but he’s always watching you. I’d like to punch—”

  “No you wouldn’t,” I said. “Hurting him is not going to fix anything.”

  “You’re right,” Manny said.

  We reached the apex of the Ferris wheel, and soon after, Jordan and Lily’s car dropped out of sight. The wheel stopped in place, and we had the best view ever. We gazed out across the fairgrounds, being cautious not to rock our seat.

  “The flashing lights and crowds seem so far away,” I said. When Manny said nothing in response, I turned toward him. He fidgeted with his collar, and then his dark brown eyes burrowed straight to my heart. He fingered the ends of my hair and leaned in toward me. He paused a few inches from my face, and my breath caught. He closed the distance between us and pressed his lips to mine. He smelled like corn dogs and a hint of shaving cream. His fingers enclosed the back of my neck and shivers ran up and down my spine.