Matthew Eric Vital

Chad Willenborg

GE30980: Creative Writing

10 May 2012

Enter the Circus

“Ladies and gentlemen! Boys and girls! Step right up; step right up! Come closer, you won’t

believe your eyes behind this curtain you will witness something you’ve never seen, heard, or dreamt

before—the amazing show on earth!” the master of ceremonies announced from the spotlight of the

arena.

Lions and tigers roared, fire eaters spit flames from their mouths, acrobats did somersaults in

the air, and a group of clowns went about doing their crazed antics. It seemed if the whole scenario

was straight from a performance of Cirque du Soleil on acid. The lights and colors of the arena filled

the interior. The audience gazed in amazement, applauding for an encore performance.

As the day eased into nightfall, the color had faded from a sunset blood orange into the deep

indigos of the night sky. Although visually pleasing, there was an eeriness that seemed to pierce the

serenity of the carnival setting. Pings from nearby church’s bell tower set in the evening bells. There,

an uncanny melody from across the fairgrounds; it was filled with the plays of the tambourine,

accordion, and harmonica.

The rhythm of the night brought about a mix of jovial moods, yet still placed with a sense of

impending uneasiness. It was a celebration of the Carnies. Opening day was a success, the fanfare of

carnival performers joined in song and dance. Dancing in the moonlight until the possible break of

day, the carnival folk let the tempo take control of their spirits. A feverish merriment began to soothe

within their souls.

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The clanks of booze bottles soon turned to a smashed explosion. The induced songs of the

carnies came to a sudden halt. Eyes pierced through the darkness of the woods, their glaring and keen

sneers penetrated through the woods as if directed towards her vulnerable soul. She was caught. No

longer could she partake in viewing this bohemian festival.

The sun came alive.

Waking up and feeling like a hot mess, Poppy gazed out in an utter state of shock. Incoherent

dreams of a carnival-induced delusion lingered in the back of her mind until the streaming rays of

sunlight scoured her eye sockets, eventually, causing the morning blinks to commence. Obviously,

today’s agenda would begin with the painful awakenings of the beaming and determined sunlight

prying her out of bed. Sitting up from the side of the squeaky sprigged mattress, she grabbed an

oversized hoody off the disheveled floor and put it on. Looking like the epitome of grunge at

7:05AM, Poppy grabbed her purse and threw it over her makeshift ensemble.

Suddenly, swept with an incredible sensation from last night’s bar adventures, she raised her

hands to her head to soothe the migraine that was forming. Once regaining her composure, she

looked down at last night’s target of sexual desires. Poppy gazed at the sleeping naked man who had

lain next to her all night, wondering her escape route. He lay there peacefully. What had she done?

Better yet, Who had she done? “I’ll call you ‘Jeremy’ for now.” Most likely not his correct name;

nonetheless, Poppy’s goals were to hope to God that she wasn’t about to contract some genital

disease from this stranger. At this point, Operation: Escape was in full gear.

Not even feeling the urge in attempting to piece together the puzzle of the past night’s fiasco,

she began to tiptoe towards the exit. Upon shutting the door, she bid adieu to Jeremy. Somehow find

her way out of this guy’s temporary humble abode. The motel was straight out of a CSI Investigation

scene. The grimy pool and caked-on filth exterior set the morning scene. Passing the cleaning ladies

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maneuvering their go-carts of cleaning supplies down the corridors, she grabbed a mint candy to ease

the taste of morning after breath until she got home to her own bathing quarters.

The ultimate scenario just became her nightmare. Glancing at the time, the infamous walk of

shame commenced at 7:32AM passing through the lobby. The concierge at the front desk took notice

to her and greeted her with an early morning salutation. Fiddling through her purse, which was

blatantly destroyed with the zipper completely missing and the one end of the strap just being held by

a thin link chain, she pulled out her phone. Glaring into the screen she realized that Quinn had called

her along with a few text messages. Having a buddy system when going to the bar was a procedure

that hardly stuck once a few drinks hit the spot. The tolerance for drinking excessive amounts of

alcohol was evident by her current composure. Hooray to those four long years of college, way to

build up that tolerance she thought to herself. Poppy responded to Quinn’s text message, “Walk of

shame. Blindly strutting down the street in hopes of finding my car. Desperate need of sunglasses

and a toothbrush.”

Finding her way down the street from the shabby motel to her hoopty of a motor vehicle, she

began to gain swiftness in her stumbled walking. Thinking to herself that the choice of the stiletto-

esque pair of shoes that she had chose for last night definitely makes for the topper of the cake for

her hungover self. And in that instant, that awkward moment when everyone is out and about doing

their daily morning routine; here, the still-drunken and tousled clown of a misfit strolls down the

block looking like a grunged-up hoochy.

Beep-beep. Text message: “You must feel like a whore. LOL”

“I’m assuming it was like a rendition of a terribly executed burlesque show mixed with some

amateur Kama Sutra,” Poppy mentioned to Quinn as they began to catch-up on last night’s events.

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“Poor Jeremy, I can imagine his confused expression on his face. Possibly intensely thinking that he

was so drunk last night that he imagined meeting me.”

“You’re a mess,” Quinn retorted.

“It happens. I woke up with a massive migraine and walked my drunken body to the car—

which was completely parked over the sidewalk. Oh, well, I’m giving up drinking till Christmastime.

I need to de-tox from the boozing. The hangovers are progressing to ticking time bombs of hell.” The

two continued to converse as they sat on the porch with a large glass of water.

“The world needs to know that there are jumbled messes like you out there.” Quinn laughed

as she took out her phone and began to read an incoming text.

“My little brother is all hyped about this carnival-circus thing that’s in town. Get ready.

We’re going to have to chaperone the little monster and his friends.” Quinn said after listening to a

voicemail message from her mother.”

“The carnival? Hmm… Maybe it’s some sort of a sign. I woke up from that intense dream

that was carnival-esque,” Poppy replied. Then a smirk came about her face as she looked at Quinn.

“Maybe I’ll find me a circus freak. I need a new target to check off the list.” Poppy jumped up from

the porch chair and rushed inside to get ready for a night out.

The carnival had been in full swing, up and running for about two weekends. This gave her

the excuse to trip on some acid while she was on her booze fast and to watch some interpretation of a

Cirque du Soleil-esque performance. The euphoric-induced state at this setting was sure to be the

highlight of her night. Arriving at the picturesque scene of a mid-October carnival ambiance, the

group began to squander towards the ticket booth. The aromas of popcorn and funnel cakes filled the

site with an array of cliché festival music playing in the background from each ride. A myriad of

rides and the various booth vendors scattered the location.

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Taking a stroll through the eclectic crowd of adults, children, teenagers and the elderly,

Poppy detoured towards the carousel. The feeling of going around in a constant steady motion put

her under a sort of spell, in addition to keeping her high from a bad trip. The idea of constant moving,

yet actually going nowhere was something that raided her attention span.

Turning around she walked back towards Quinn and the boys. Her brother’s eyes began to

light up—the infamous funhouse mirrors was in direct view. Poppy stood staring at the group of

children jumping up and down practically about to rip off Quinn’s arm. “Before they start to whine

themselves, just go ahead in. One more muchkin who freaks out in public is in for a verbal

whooping. Like, no, you can’t have another cotton candy. Why? Well because you’re clearly

bouncing off the walls like a raging hoard of baboons,” Poppy responded back.

Quinn agreed and began to drift away toward the funhouse of mirrors with the group of boys.

It’s like these kids were completely compelled by shiny things. They ran into the illuminated hallway

looking at non-proportional images of them giggling and laughing uncontrollably. “We’ll meet you

on the other side.” Quinn’s voice loitered to Poppy’s ears. Quinn knew that to Poppy the idea of

being stuck in a maze of bended mirrors mixed with a bunch of children gallivanting around on an

acid high was not something she’d like to experience. It gave her anxiety of an inevitable death from

a classic slasher movie. She would wait for them at the exit.

Ripping a piece of her cotton candy spool, she decided to kill time at one of the booths.

Maybe she could win the kiddies one of those obnoxiously plushed and enormous animals. Handing

three dollars to the man dressed in red and white button-up shirt, she took her first swing at the

eminent bottles stacked in a pyramid. “Go ahead, Miss, take a swing at it.” Miss. She was determined

to strike the bottles down. Taking a deep breath, she took a pitcher’s stance and threw. Miss. Curses

she thought, looking down at the sole ball she was struggling to pick up. Then a whistling noise flew

by, followed by the sound of the empty bottles falling upon one another.

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Glancing behind her, she spotted a figure of a man. The sunlight peering behind him looked

quite picturesque as if he was surrounded by a glowing aura. “Way to be a douche. I could have

clearly knocked those bottles over,” she spat out at the male enigma. She was in awe; it was the guy

she claimed to name Jeremy.

“That was quite an escape this morning, Ms. Houdini. Any other tricks up your sleeves?” The

olive skin-toned man with intense brown eyes seemed to view her every motion. Trying to hide her

initial shock of this morning’s nude mystery male actually seeing her that day made her slightly

blush.

“I had to leave this morning. Sorry I didn’t tell you. I had some things to do on the agenda.”

In the back of her mind, all she could think was: how could this guy seriously be standing in front of

her? Could she not have just left it as a simple one night-stand and keep it with no strings attached?

She thought that she needed to construct a contract of some kind.

That would be something completely out of the ordinary prior to sex. It would probably read:

Before you begin, just sign at the dotted line. This just ensures that you won’t be emotionally

attached and when you see me in public places, the exchange of greetings and salutations are

sufficient. She began to smirk, no wonder she had felt as if this guy had acted like a freak in bed. He

was practically a self-made Carnie. All dressed up in a white button-down shirt covered with a

buttoned vest with worn-in gray denim and suspenders. And to top off the ensemble a fedora lay on

his head. Dressed to the nines of what would seem to be carnival attire.

With a confused look on Jeremy’s face, he quickly changed his expression in midst to veer

the awkward conversation, “You should come see the fortune teller. She’s my aunt. She’ll probably

give you a free reading.”

A free psychic reading—sure, it seemed fun. Knowing that Quinn and the children would be

stuck in that monstrous trapped maze of mirrors for another fifteen minutes, Poppy began to walk

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with Jeremy. Peering through crowd of the adjacent booths and rides, a lonesome vintage-covered

caravan stood calm. “Aunt Sorina, I’ve brought you a guest! She wants to have her reading done,”

the brown-eyed man exclaimed.

“Psychics and gypsies are nonsensical. It’s a scam to take your money and for them to make

you believe anything,” she said under her breath to Jeremy.

He looked back and smiled, gesturing for her to step on up.

The sign above had some sort of symbol language with the supposed translation underneath,

Madame Sorina’s Psychic Readings. Entering the gypsy caravan, Poppy was instructed to sit and

clear her mind. Madame Sorina began lighting the candles one by one, she began to chuckle and hum

a Romani tune. She drank from a silver chalice engraved with the same language as the front sign.

“Dragon’s blood. Synthetic, of course,” Sorina calmly spoke out, “Would you like to try?”

“It’s grape juice spiked with some vodka. It keeps her in-tune to the spirits.” Jeremy softly

chuckled, then shut the caravan curtains and took a seat.

Normally, something as peculiar as being offered some dragon’s blood would be the first

trigger to book it out of the stuffy caravan, but for the sake of Jeremy, Poppy just wanted to get the

deed done. Telling her some fancy mumbo-jumbo of the eminent future to foreshadow her life

seemed to cliché. “No thanks, we’re just here for a psychic reading.”

Madame Sorina was a middle-aged woman, with fair skin and extremely frizzed out soft

bleach blonde hair. Her table where she did her readings was covered with the essentials: a crystal

ball, a set of Tarot cards, incense, candles, and some good luck charms. Madame Sorina extended her

hand for Poppy’s palm. Setting her hands on the table, Poppy asked, “Well, what do you see?”

“Ah! Gunner, you bring me a pushy one. Why so eager to know your future, my dear?” It

was not the matter of eagerness for the future, but the fact that Quinn was probably out of the

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funhouse mirrors wandering the whole carnival for her with a group of rambunctious sugared-up

children.

Staring intensely at her opened palms, Madame Sorina began to gaze and outline the

markings of her hands. Some lines on her palms were pronounced, others not so much. However, a

distinct marking began to trouble Sorina. It was evident in her stare; her eyes were caught in a

clouded state of shock. Pursing her lips, she began to murmur some Romani gibberish. Furthering

this insane and possibly drunken woman’s outburst of foreign language, she mentioned, “You shall

seek the path to the man with no voice. Beneath the crystal stars, a lonely face will come upon a

moonlit smile. Far away, the heart of this man beats alone.”

Poppy, placed in a state of stupidity attempted to translate the confusing fortune. Having

enough of the mystical innuendos spitting out of this woman’s mouth, Poppy eagerly rose and

headed towards the door thanking her drunken psychic. Sorina began her climactic spiel of hocus

pocus. “Wait my dear, I haven’t dealt your cards,” she shouted out to Poppy after mumbling a

Romani chant of some sort—her eyes then lit up with a sense of urgency.

She dealt two cards, a Queen and a three. “There is something amidst—a new character has

come into play,” Sorina said, “Heed my warning: the costume makes the clown.”

Wow. A riddled fortune cookie analysis of her life that she would have to piece together in

order to seek her inner self, how this mocked her persona. Thanks, Madame Sorina, you just

confirmed that I believe you’re a nutcase, Poppy thought to herself.

“You don’t believe me?” she asked Poppy. Then shifting her attention to her nephew, she

said, “Gunner, why don’t you show her around the grounds. She looks like she’s in need of some

air.”

“I really should find my friend, she’s probably looking for me,” Poppy said looking out to

Madame Sorina, then shooting a stare back at the man, now, known as Gunner. Trying not to be rude,

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Poppy again thanked the gypsy woman for her time and eccentric talents and walked out of the

caravan.

As the night drew in, she sat on the carousel with Quinn. Gunner had returned to the main

office of the carnival, apparently he worked alongside of his aunt bringing in the business.

“A psychic lady, huh? Oh, whatever. It was a free reading. At least this Miss Cleo wannabe

didn’t mention that you’d become an unmarried cat lady harboring families of felines,” Quinn replied

after she caught up with Poppy’s carnival adventures. “I’m going to head home. These kids are in for

a rude awakening once their parents see them. Thanks for tagging along with the boys and me; I

appreciate you helping out. Hopefully their sugar high will crash the moment they get to their

houses.”

“I’m going to take another spin around the carousel,” Poppy answered hugging her friend

goodbye. She sat in solitude. Is it true what they say, ‘Is it all just fun and games? Or is there more

behind the make up and the faces full of paint?’

“Psst!” A noise came from behind her. It was Gunner.

“You’re really taking part of being one of them mysterious Carnies,” Poppy mentioned. The

carousel ride began to slowly shut down and the lights dimmed. Gunner instructed her to follow. This

is exactly what Poppy didn’t want to happen. Was her horrible slasher movie theory was about to

come true before her eyes?

Running over towards the main tent, Gunner sat on a side bench taking hits of a joint he

pulled from his pocket. “Come join me. The stars are out and the moon is glowing,” he said.

Taking a seat next to him, Poppy asks, “Do you really believe in that psychic stuff? Like, do

you actually think your aunt has these psychic abilities?”

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“She’s a woman of intuition. She speaks for the cards; you’re the one who picks your fate.

It’s not like she can read your mind or something.” Looking up at the sky, he exhaled smoke. “Blood

on the moon; quick, come with me.” The moon was full and bright; however, it had a red ring around

it.

It felt almost creepy to be hanging around a carnival site late at night, but that panic made her

heart rush. The high was setting in; it was like a rush of adrenaline relaxing her body. But now she

was off running after Gunner into the woods. Trying to keep up with the carnival-dressed man with

the lantern as their only light source. The light began to flicker and Gunner was out of sign. In her

mind, Poppy could see it now on tomorrow’s headlines ‘Girl Found Dead at Local Carnival’.

Looking deeper into the woods, she then began to smell an aroma of fire burning. She walked

towards the wood-burning smell that led to an opening in the middle of the woods. Madame Sorina’s

caravan stood in plain sight along with a clan of gypsies around a bonfire. They sat there laughing,

cracking jokes, and cheering. The whirlwind of smoke and alcohol engulfed the senses. Poppy’s

intense dream was about to come to life; she awaited the eminent death stares from the Carnie folk.

Taking a breath, realizing that her dream of intense stares peering into her soul was not about

to take place, she stood outside the caravan for Gunner. Running in and out of the caravan, Gunner

came out holding a leather stringed necklace with stone as a pendant. “It’s a tiger’s eye stone. Call

me superstitious, but whenever I see blood on the moon, I like to have tiger’s eye on me. It’ll bring

you insight and help your mind focus. Also, it’s a good luck charm.” The stone had different hues of

brown swirled and stacked in a marbled finish. He put it on her and smiled.

Joining the group of Bohemian laughter and celebration, Poppy was introduced to the

carnival’s main attractions. Poppy gazed from across the fire and took note of Gunner laughing with

his fellow Carnies. There was something about his smile. Something inside Poppy made her think

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that she was really beginning to develop a deeper connection with this boy. Looking down at the

stone around her neck, she took this as fate brought Gunner back to her for a second chance.

Later, after the party had subsided Gunner escorted Poppy home. The walk was serene with

chirps of crickets playing a midnight song. Arriving at her apartment, Poppy gently kissed Gunner on

the cheek and thanked him for making the end of her night enjoyable.

Gunner slightly blushed. “I’ll see you around, maybe one day you’ll join me as a Carny,”

Gunner replied playfully. He gave her a smile and began to walk back to the carnival site. Walking

into the house and shutting the door, she could see Gunner in the distance as the moon lit up a

silhouette profile.

Couple weeks had gone by and the carnival had packed up their buoyant set up and began

their travelling routine. She wanted to see Gunner again. No other guy has ever made her feel like

she was that special. Or maybe because this was the first guy that she had ever really talked to. She

held tight onto the necklace, hoping that she would one day run into Gunner in town.

The days progressed and Poppy started to feel ill. She wondered that maybe Autumn’s

allergies we getting the best of her. Although, her sudden cravings for foods satisfied her every now

and again mood swings, she always found herself at the head of a toilet bowl. Flush. It was awful,

she was beginning to think that these allergies were way too intense for her to handle.

All was calm and still. The breeze of the new November air swayed through her room from

her open window. Beep, beep, beep. Poppy’s phone went psychotic with a seizing alarm. She had set

a reminder to meet up with Quinn for a mini brunch date. Standing up, she looked at her calendar.

She realized that she was late. Suddenly, her unexpected infirmity made some sort of sense—was she

pregnant?

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Rushing to the toilet, she prepared for the impending morning sickness. Quickly rushing to

get ready and meet with Quinn she realized that to drop this Steinway of a surprise began to filter

through her mind. On her way to the bistro, she contemplated her next move. The baby daddy was a

travelling Carny with no means of communication. Then it hit her, Madame Sorina’s fortune,

rambled through her subconscious. She tried to remember her reading; it involved: a man with no

voice, the stars and the moon and a lonely man’s heart from far away. Along with the impending

warning that ‘a costume makes the clown’ also rocked in her mind into a state of bewilderment. She

was about to breakdown and cry. Did she all of a sudden believe in fortune telling? She felt like she

was a clown; a clown, now, that was apparently harboring some cirque man’s baby.

The following day, she researched the carnival. Hoping to find some dates and locations of

the next carnival, she found that there was an upcoming carnival event a couple towns south this

weekend. She was now determined to find Gunner. Now, not only to share the news that he is all she

really thought about since she went to the carnival, but that inside her a child was to be born.

Gathering some travel essentials, she was on her way to venture to the adjacent town. Embracing her

call to become a Carnie, she drove off humming the jingles of the circus tunes.

What would she say when she was to actually be face to face with him? She contemplated

and worked out almost every possible scenario. The ‘Oh, hey… By the way, I’m carrying your baby

and I think I’m in love with you’ card read a little too much into the desperate baby mama. Poppy

was on a mission. She just figured that once she saw Gunner, she would know what to say.

Hopefully.

A couple days went by and still no sight of the carnival. Her roadtrip to find this travelling

circus was getting inevitable. Not even hints of its temporary residency—usually the scattered flyers

and remnants of popcorn kernels would fill the grounds of the town. Beginning to think she was out

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of luck she noticed that there was a run-down magic shop down the road. She pulled up off the road

and took a step out of the car. The area was like a deserted town. She paused waiting for the

infamous tumbleweed to stroll along in front of her. Walking into kitschy magic shop, she asked the

half-deaf man in suspenders if he’s seen a carnival in town or knew of Madame Sorina. Looking in

confusion the man opened his mouth, but silent words came from his mouth. He then gestured to

around the shop and smiled a happy smile. Poppy, confused as ever decided it wouldn’t hurt to check

the back parking lot. In utter amazement she laughed inside for the silent man had actually directed

her to Madame Sorina’s caravan itself.

Headed towards the caravan, her hands were clammy and a rush of adrenaline seemed to get

her heart racing. This was it. Out from the caravan curtains Gunner appeared; he then paused looking

at her. Poppy let out a sigh of relief that her search had ended and let out a smile back to Gunther.

The silence that erupted was a bit awkward for Poppy to handle; then she began to break the ice.

About to speak out, Poppy felt such a severe rushed feeling that seemed to have dropped

right through her. Gunner was now headed towards her with a panicked look. His panicked looked

turned to a worrisome display of emotions that read clearly on his face. Why was he acting so weird?

Then as she clutched the tiger’s eye around her neck, she looked down to see vivid drips of blood

seeping through her white-laced dress. The mood grew gloomy and the all she could do was stare at

him running towards her.

Poppy went into a state of shock. Almost about to loose her breath she knelt down on the

ground clutching the dirt in her hands as tears rolled down her face. All this way and she did not

think of this scenario. She was looking forward to actually getting to know Gunner and actually

settling down in her carousel life. Gunner had rushed over and began to soothe her patting her back.

He yelled out for Madame Sorina to appear.

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Poppy’s vision now began to cloud and she feverishly started to fade off into faint. Last she

saw were the caravan curtains being drawn back by Madame Sorina. Stepping down from the

caravan steps, she held her deck of cards. All Poppy could think was that her efforts to actually

finding love was wasted and spoiled by this shocking event. She was but a clown in this twisted love

story.