Harley in the Sky

by Akemi Dawn Bowman

  Vivien looks like she was on her way to our trailer when a conversation stopped her. I think it’s something Maggie said, who’s standing a few feet away. Dexi is beside her, with Vas, Jin, and a few other people too. It’s hard to make out everything they’re saying, but Maggie is waving her hands in the air like she’s refusing to do something, and Dexi seems to be pleading with her.

  Vivien looks annoyed, turning like she’s trying to get closer to the trailer, when Maggie’s voice booms through the window.

  “If you invite her, then the three of you can go find a different restaurant to eat at. She’s not part of our group, and if you don’t like that, then you don’t have to be in it either.”

  I see Vivien roll her eyes, and Dexi drops her shoulders. She says something else—something that seems to irritate Maggie even more—but then they’re all walking away from the trailer toward the parking lot.

  They don’t come back.

  I know I shouldn’t take it to heart. I’m new—it takes time to make friends when you’re new.

  But the rejection feels like a sucker punch to the gut.

  I’m wallowing in loneliness and self-pity for at least thirty minutes before I remember I was in the middle of a conversation with Chloe.

  I pick up my phone and look at the most recent messages.

  Chloe: Are you there?

  Chloe: HARLEY.

  Chloe: Okay, well I guess you’re busy.

  And even though I know I’ve let her down by not replying, I’m relieved I don’t have to pretend to be excited when I feel like a ghost with no friends, haunting a house that nobody wants to live in.

  * * *

  Another day passes, and there’s another email from Mom.

  To: FlightOfTheRedPanda@gmail.com

  From: Delilah.Milano@teatrodellanotte.com

  Subject: The time you decided to start a business

  I remember the flyers you made: Harley’s Pet-Sitting Service. And you drew a different pet on every single one. I think the one with the guinea pig was my favorite.

  You were so focused on the details. You were focused on everything, really. Because whenever you’d get an idea in your head, it would take over your world. It was like nothing else mattered except your new business. It never occurred to you that it might fail—all you saw was a new adventure and the world at your fingertips.

  And then your dad said he’d walk you around the neighborhood so you could tape flyers to the mailboxes. I told him not to—I’d heard it was illegal to advertise things on mailboxes. I think it gave you a complex, because suddenly you didn’t want to hand out flyers anymore. You were always so serious about rules. I think you got that from me. And that was all it took—I said one thing, and it was like all the lights went out, and your dream died.

  I wish I hadn’t said anything. I should’ve just let you put your flyers up. I took the fun out of something when I didn’t mean to. You’ve said I do that a lot, but I never used to understand what you meant until today.

  But it’s not on purpose. I don’t mean to. It’s just that sometimes you don’t look at the details. You don’t think about the potential risks. You don’t think about what could go wrong.

  I look at the details because I don’t want you to get hurt. I don’t want anything to go wrong. And because it’s my job to think about these things, when I know you don’t.

  I regret telling you about those flyers. But I don’t regret telling you to go to school. I wish you could see the difference.

  And despite what you think, I do want you to have fun. I just wish you didn’t have to run so far away from your parents to feel like you could.

  I miss you, Harley.

  Love, Mom

  I didn’t have to run away, I want to reply. But you tried to take the trapeze away from me. I had no choice.

  Except I know, deep down, there’s always a choice.

  And talking to Mom might make me feel like I made the wrong one.

  My parents aren’t bad parents. Maybe, with another daughter, they might have been happier. She might have listened to them, and trusted them, and been okay with venturing down the path Mom and Dad had set out for her.

  But I don’t want to follow anybody’s path. I want to make my own—through the woods and beyond the mountains and into the stars. I want the circus, with all its ups and downs. With all its uncertainty.

  Because even with everything going wrong, I still know I’m more content here than I’d ever be at school.

  Mom won’t see that. She’ll only see how I’m wrong, and how I’ve been a bad daughter, and how I’m not mature or responsible enough to take charge of my own life.

  She didn’t even trust me enough to tell me the truth about her life.

  But… still.

  I know I was wrong to hurt them.

  What I did to Dad can’t be justified with my dreams, no matter how big they are.

  And since I can’t defend myself, I shove my phone under my pillow and pretend I didn’t see the email at all.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  I don’t know why tonight is different.

  I shouldn’t look. I should stay by the popcorn machine, in the empty foyer, listening to the hum of the soda machine and Pia giggling with her boyfriend who’s busy showing off his juggling skills next to the corn dog stand.

  What’s going on inside the big top has nothing to do with me, and no amount of audience cheers should tempt me to leave this spot.

  But I’ve always been terrible at standing still, and worse at listening to my own advice.

  I move across the room, half expecting one of the other crew members to warn me away from the curtains, but they don’t. I think they’ve forgotten I exist at all.

  Pulling back the dark fabric with my hand, I peer inside and see Maggie, legs stretched into an oversplit, her weight held up by her arms. She moves like a feather dancing in the wind—a delicate creature covered in turquoise and gold jewels, with a headpiece around her forehead and a bundle of lilac curls. When she stands on the bar, I see the feather-and-sequin skirt, and the way she lifts her chin like a dancer, graceful and proud and strong.

  A cascade of blue silk ribbons hangs from the sky, and lights flutter around the room in time to piccolo arpeggios. Maggie wraps herself in the ropes, hitting pose after pose effortlessly. And then she’s hanging from the bar with one hand, feet moving in slow motion through the air like she’s underwater. She pulls herself back up, resting her body against the bar, and stretches her arms out like she’s spreading her wings.

  Up in the air, covered in sparkles and light, she looks like a princess from another world.

  And in that moment, the fragmented shell of my heart shatters, and emotion floods out of me in one powerful wave. There isn’t a thing I can do to stop it.

  I’m kidding myself, thinking I have any chance of ever getting to where Maggie is. I’ve been naive, and horrible, and I can’t make myself belong in a place that doesn’t want me.

  I don’t even remember leaving the foyer or making my way back to my trailer, but the next thing I know, I’m slamming the door and sobbing big, hot tears into my hands, grasping at my skin and hair like I wish I could take everything back.

  What would I have done differently if I could go back in time?

  Maybe train with Tatya anyway. Because at least Tatya saw something in me—even if it was something small.

  And then I remember how she hates me too. Because I ruin things. Because for some reason my brain won’t stop shooting words out of my mouth like we’re Commander Shepard under a Reaper attack.

  I have nothing left to go back to.

  I should call Mom. She’s good at fixing things—she likes fixing things—and maybe she could fix this.

  I call Popo instead.

  “Hello?” She sounds alarmed, maybe because she wasn’t expecting to see my name on her caller ID.

  “Hi. It’s me.”

  Popo must know I’m crying, because she makes a noise like
she understands everything. “Ah. Have you called your mother yet?”

  I shut my eyes tight and try to get all the words out. “I can’t. I don’t want her to know she was right, and that Dad was right—that I’m not good enough to do this, and it was a terrible idea. Because everyone here hates me, Popo. They won’t even give me a chance—they won’t let me anywhere near the trapeze to train, and they have me selling popcorn like this is some crappy summer job and I’m nobody worth paying attention to. And I know I sound like a brat, but I didn’t come here to sell popcorn—I came here because I wanted to become a better aerialist. And it’s not going to happen, and I know I have to come home, but I feel like I’ve messed things up so badly. With Mom and Dad, and Tatya, too, who will probably never agree to train me again. I feel like such a total and complete failure. I don’t know what to do. Tell me what to do?”

  It’s quiet for a moment. “So you’re at a circus. Where?”

  I let myself fall into a chair. I forgot they still don’t know where I am. I guess Chloe kept her promise after all.

  “Maison du Mystère,” I say, my voice sinking.

  Another pause. “At least you’re safe.”

  I don’t know what to make of her response. I know there must be disappointment somewhere, but I can’t hear it. Or maybe I just don’t want to hear it.

  “I saw the photo of Mom on the trapeze,” I say, like this is supposed to explain everything.

  “Your running away was my fault,” Popo replies, and she doesn’t say it like a question—more like an acknowledgment. Something she plans to file away for later.

  “It wasn’t your fault. Mom shouldn’t have kept such a big secret from me. Especially when she got to experience all the things I was asking to experience.” I flick a piece of lint from my apron.

  “Your mom has her reasons.” Popo sighs into the phone. Reasons nobody wants to explain to me. “It was very wrong of you to frighten your parents the way you did.”

  I swallow. “I know.” This is it—the part where she tells me to come home. The part where I give in, because my heart can’t take it anymore.

  “And you need to apologize to them. They were so worried—so was I. And they didn’t deserve that kind of worry,” she adds.

  “I know,” I say again, the tears soaking my cheeks.

  “But I don’t think you should come home,” she says.

  My heart thuds. “What?”

  “I don’t like the way you left, but you left for a reason. And I’m not saying it’s okay to disrespect your parents’ wishes, but sometimes following your own path isn’t disrespecting them. Parents feel like it is sometimes, but it isn’t. Because you have your own life to live, and your own path to follow. It’s never easy when you’re trying to prove yourself, and it shouldn’t be. Success is the end of a very long and bumpy road. Do you understand?”

  “I thought you were going to tell me to come home,” I say softly. At least I think I thought that. Maybe deep down I knew Popo would tell me I have to stay. Maybe that’s why I called her and not Mom.

  “I want you to be happy. But I think sometimes you try too hard to be happy—and when it doesn’t happen, you feel like your world is collapsing. But emotions aren’t black-and-white—you don’t have to be either happy or sad. There can be an in-between, you know.” The rasp in Popo’s voice is so familiar and soothing. I miss her. I miss being home.

  But maybe missing home isn’t the same as wanting to be there. Because I don’t want to go home—I want to stay here and train.

  “I don’t know what it feels like to be in the in-between,” I admit. Everything is always extreme for me, like when I’m happy, I need to be ultraviolet-elated, and when I’m sad, it’s like a vacuum is sucking away all the colors in the world and I’m drowning in black.

  Maybe that’s not normal, but it’s my normal.

  But it does make living hard sometimes, because I’m always chasing extreme joy rather than just “happy enough.” Crawling out of the darkness always feels like it takes so very long, and falling back into it can happen in a second.

  “It’s good to stay motivated, but if you’re putting so much pressure on yourself that you’re making yourself unhappy, that’s not good. Try not to be so hard on yourself, okay? Set a pace you’re comfortable with. Enjoy the journey.” Popo hums into the phone, like she’s said something even she’s proud of.

  “I don’t know what to do,” I say.

  “You work hard. You don’t give up. You keep trying. And you sell popcorn in the circus that agreed to give you a chance,” Popo says. “Because it is a chance, Harley Yoshi. A chance not everyone gets. Don’t let it go to waste because the reality of your dreams isn’t as pretty as you’d imagined.”

  I wipe my cheeks one more time, even though they’re mostly dry. “Look, I won’t ask you not to tell Mom and Dad where I am because I know you won’t agree to it, but will you at least not tell them I was upset?” I chew my lip. “I don’t want them to know I almost quit.”

  Popo chuckles into the phone. “I think I can work with that.”

  “Thanks, Popo,” I say. “I love you.”

  “I love you too. Now go and chase your dreams.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  I mostly keep to myself. I show up to Maggie’s rehearsals, sitting in the back like a ghost. I don’t ask questions, or interfere, or try to change her mind about training me. I accept her decision, like I’ve accepted my place here. I serve popcorn to guests during shows. I smile, and I never complain, and I don’t cause any trouble at all. I send Popo emails to let her know how things are going, because it helps to feel connected to family again.

  And at night I train in the big top, while Vas practices his violin.

  We don’t say a word to each other.

  Not even when he’s caught me looking at him.

  Not even when I’ve caught him looking at me.

  El Paso, Texas September—Week 3

  Amarillo, Texas September—Week 4

  Oklahoma City, Oklahoma September—Week 5

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  I text Chloe to ask how she’s been. It takes her hours to reply, but when she does, she tells me about her classes and a teacher she hates and the boy she’s now officially dating.

  And it usually takes me hours to write back too because I’m training or watching Maggie or at the Lunch Box trying to seem engaged with the people I desperately want to like me.

  Even though they don’t seem concerned about engaging with me.

  And we go back and forth like that for a while, until one of us forgets to respond at all.

  It should upset me more than it does, but I’m so busy trying to be busy that I mostly don’t even notice.

  After Thursday night’s show, I make my way to the big top. It still smells like buttered popcorn, and some of the floor is still sticky from where someone must’ve spilled their drink.

  I don’t know why it takes me so long to register what I’m looking at in the center of the ring, but when I finally do, I feel my chest tighten. The static trapeze has been lowered, the ropes barely swaying in the silent room.

  And I know the room is still lit up by a handful of spotlights from above, but for a moment the only light in the room is the one shining on the trapeze.

  It’s a flame in the darkness.

  A flame inside of me.

  Vas appears, and my world changes color once again. I wonder if he sees how ripped apart I feel when I think about not being able to train the way I want to. I wonder if he knows how much it hurts me to be so close to those ropes, only to know they’re still out of my reach.

  I wonder if he feels sorry for me.

  And I’m embarrassed to admit that for a fleeting second, I hope he does, because it might actually make me feel better to think that I’m not the only one who sees how sad this entire situation is.

  And just as quickly, I take the thought back and bury it with all the other emotions I’m trying to ignore.
<
br />   Because the truth is, I’d rather have Vas’s admiration. And people never admire someone they pity.

  “I can be your spotter,” he says, and his words throw me up into the air and around the room, disorienting me.

  Did I hear him right? Did he say…?

  He motions his hand to the equipment, his violin tucked beneath his arm. “I’m not going to coddle you or anything, but you can use the bar while I practice. I can vouch for you if anyone gives you a hard time about it.”

  I can barely find my words. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “You don’t need to make a big deal out of it.” He pauses, assessing me with his hardened green eyes. “Just… don’t break any bones. Especially in your neck. It would be terribly inconvenient to have your death weighing on my conscience.”

  “Thank you,” I blurt out, not wanting to give him the chance to take it back.

  I spend the rest of the evening practicing on the bar, and for the first time in weeks I feel my heart illuminate.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Every night I step into the big top wondering if I’ll get another chance to practice on the static trapeze, or if Vas will be too busy to show up and I’ll spend another day with a desperate ache in my chest.

  But every night he’s there, standing at the back with his violin and his sad songs and his hair pushed angrily to the side like he’s fighting the world behind his eyes.

  I wonder what he’s battling.

  I wonder what makes him so sad.

  And I wonder why he hasn’t skipped practice for a single night since he said he’d help me.

  Little Rock, Arkansas September—Week 6

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Maggie’s rehearsal doesn’t start for another ten minutes, but I like being early. It makes it easier to find a seat in the back and pretend I’m not there, which is how Maggie prefers it.