Target Girl

When I left the circus I had been bunking with Judy, the contortionist, for three years, and I didn't think she could last much longer. She was thirty-four and, I imagined, would pull a hamstring any day. Her toes had started cramping, for example. One toe would pop up, sudden and all wrong, and she'd scream and push it back into place.My toes do this sometimes, too, now that I'm older. Unlike Judy, I enjoy the curiosity — at least until it hurts. I enjoy the temporary feeling of an out-of-control toe.Judy tried to be motherly, or big sisterly, maybe. She gave me advice. “Whatever you do,” she said, “don't fuck the lion tamers.” Stuff like that. Our trailer always smelled like lavender oil and witch hazel. It was decorated with Judy's things — wooden snake figurines, mostly, plus the flowers Blajev kept bringing. I didn't have anything. I just slept there, except later, when I couldn't, because Blajev was always spending the night.I joined the circus when I was fifteen with dreams of walking the tightrope. I imagined myself on the high wire, balancing, walking slowly at first, then tipping to gasps and running to the other side. It never happened. I became the target girl. The knife thrower's assistant. They called me “Francesca, the Knife Thrower's Assistant!” My real name is Claire.Blajev the Great was not the best knife thrower in the world, just as Tinkowski Bros. Circus was not the greatest show on earth. Still, it was a circus. We had a guy who rode a motorcycle through a flaming hoop, we had the flying trapeze, we had Lobster Boy, a fish lady, a strongman who lifted everything, including me. We had spectacular, death-defying, magnificent wonders. But we were not the best.They called him Bruno Blajev, but there was nothing Italian or Russian about him. His real name was Bob. He gained weight steadily during my time with the circus. When performing, he wore a fake mustache that looked like a furry brown caterpillar lounging on his upper lip. Poised to fall off at any moment.I didn't like Blajev, but I trusted him, because I had to. If you don't trust the knife thrower, you can't keep from flinching, and if you can't keep from flinching, you can't be the target girl. I didn't like him, but no one could have guessed it. I was a professional. I smiled adoringly as I handed over the knives he would throw at me.But I could have walked the tightrope. I was born with remarkable balance. When I showed up at fifteen with a duffle bag and a dream, I tried to prove it. I knocked on the ringmaster's door. His name was Doc.“I want to join,” I told him. He tipped his head to the side, like he didn't understand. “I want a job.”Doc squinted at me. “How old are you, honey?”“Eighteen,” I said. “Nineteen.” He smirked, then looked me over.“What can you do?” he asked.“I want to walk the tightrope,” I said. He laughed.“Little girl,” he said. “You don't just show up and walk the tightrope.” Doc shook his head. “That's not how it works.”“But I can do it,” I said. “Watch.” I ran to the temporary chain-link fence behind the trailers and climbed up. I stood on one foot. I closed my eyes and stayed like that for what felt like five minutes, when I heard a lighter flick. I opened my eyes. Doc's back was to me.“Look,” I yelled. “Look at me.”He blew out a stream of smoke and slowly turned around. “Get down from there,” he said, waving his cigarette. I jumped down.“Won't your mommy miss you?” he asked.“My mom's dead,” I told him. It was true. She died when I was born. I get my green eye from her.“Your daddy, then?” he asked. I shook my head no. I get my blue eye from him.“Tell you what,” he said. Doc had a real mustache, which he stroked thoughtfully. To prove he was thinking. He also wore a top hat.“We need a target girl,” he said. “We just lost ours.”“Who?” I asked. He smiled.“You get knives thrown at you.”“Oh,” I said, and thought about that.He tossed his cigarette to the ground and pointed to a yellow trailer. “You can room with Ursula.” Ursula was Judy. In the morning, I was issued a red sequined bustier with matching hot pants, fishnet knee-highs, and red patent leather pumps.I took Judy's advice — I never slept with the lion tamers. I slept with a juggler, however, and the sword swallower. And a clown. The clown assumed I'd want to be blindfolded and tied. It was understandable, considering my job, and I forgave him. A lot of them made that mistake. But I wasn't into it.I never slept with the magician, either, although I wanted to. Or maybe I just wanted to be his assistant once. I wanted to be the girl who got sawed in half. In quarters. I know it's a trick — I know how it's done — but I wanted, just once, to have my head in one box and my wiggling toes in another, and be sawed and sectioned, duplicated and mixed up, and then put back together. Fresh and new.My first night there, Judy gave me what appeared to be an oversized baby blanket, yellow with pink and blue elephants.“I've seen a lot of girls come and go,” she said. “And I always ask them this — ” She eased herself into a back bend. “What are you doing here?”“I want to walk the tightrope,” I said.“Bullshit,” Judy said, and then she was a circle. “Nobody runs away from home to walk tightrope.” Now she rolled forward, but not far, because the trailer was small and cramped. When she stopped, she looked up at me, from between her feet. “If height's what you're after, go home and climb a tree.”Circus superstitions: Never count the audience. Never sleep in the tent. Never look back during the parade. Never whistle backstage. A bird in the big top is unlucky. Accidents always happen in threes.Was height what I was after? Judy wouldn't let up. On my second night, she grilled me: What did I think I would find up there? Solitude? Admiration? Shock? Fear? Did I think I would find myself? Judy taught me how to do the splits and listed off other options I had for pursuing height: rock climbing, mountain climbing, steel worker, airplane pilot, fire fighter, tree trimmer, window cleaner, bridge painter, roller coaster technician.“I want to walk the tight rope,” I said, and pulled the elephant blanket over my head. “Goodnight.”But I was the target girl. And I did my best. I was nervous about the Wheel of Death at first. Not because it's more dangerous, but because I get carsick. I learned to focus on a point in the distance — a light in the tent, or a woman's bright pink hat. Something round. That way, no matter if I was at the top or the bottom or the side, spinning and spinning, strapped to the wheel, it would look the same and stem my nausea. But the Wheel of Death is more dangerous. The knife thrower must have both perfect aim and perfect timing. Twice as many opportunities for Blajev to screw up.All the traveling was a problem with my motion sickness, too, but I usually just tried to sleep through it. We traveled at night, so I went to sleep on the bus in one city and woke up in another. The scenery changed little.There were other positions. There was the one where I stood sideways and leaned back a bit, exposing my neck and breasts to danger. And there was the one where I did a handstand with my legs in a V and Blajev threw the knives around my legs, starting on the outside of my feet and finishing at my crotch. The audience really liked that one. And then sometimes I just stood with my legs apart and my arms in the air, my wrists crossed above my head.Everyone thinks they can be the target girl, but not everyone can. When Doc gave me a chance that night, I think he thought I wouldn't make it. He thought I'd freak out. He thought he'd teach me a lesson. But I was really good at it. And in my spare time, I learned everything I could. I did a backflip. I learned to crack a whip. I learned to juggle. I even learned how to throw knives. And whenever Doc wasn't around I practiced wire walking on the low wire behind the trailers. Later, I would climb up to the tightrope platform and sit there for hours, looking across to the other side.True things: (1) The target girl is nearly as responsible for not getting hit as the knife thrower. It's not as easy as it looks. One movement — a flinch, a hiccup, a chill — and you might get stuck. (2) The circus isn't all fun and games — everybody pulls their weight. You might be in the spotlight during the show, and you might look glamorous, but after the people have gone home, you're going to cook and clean and carry things. (3) Life on the road is hard, but so is life not on the road.Judy and Blajev started dating, and at first it was like we were a weird little family. Everything was wholesome and lovely. Blajev would knock at our door and hand Judy some flowers — sometimes it was a real bouquet, sometimes it looked like he wandered some field gathering weeds. Judy responded the same, regardless, with feigned surprise and immediate search for a vase. We'd play Uno.Then Blajev started spending the night. No one ever asked me to leave, but what was I supposed to do? Stay there while they sucked face? The first night, I wandered around the camp until my arms and legs felt both heavy and on fire, then I crawled under the tarp into the big top. I slept square in the center, where the ringmaster would stand. It seemed like the right thing to do.I didn't run away because of a boy. I ran away because I didn't need anyone. But it's true that I missed Judy after I stopped sleeping in our trailer. I don't know if I was jealous that she was in love, or sad just because things were different now. Did I start to hate Blajev because he took Judy away from me? After they became an item, I was on my own. Again. I'd screwed all the men I was going to screw there, and I'd gotten bored. Now that Judy was occupied, I had no one.We were somewhere in southern Illinois the night a bird got into the big top. Word spread quickly because no one was sleeping; it was too hot to sleep. Even the strongman, who had a trailer so air-conditioned you could store milk in there — even he wasn't sleeping. I was still up, because the night was clear and I was counting the few stars I could see through the light pollution. And it was muggy. Everything and everyone was sweaty, and the smell from the animals’ quarters just hung there. No wind, but if you were nearby when a horse kicked up some dust, it stuck to you. So nobody was sleeping, and then Minnie, an acrobat — a lifer, like Judy, sixth-generation circus performer — came running from trailer to trailer.“There's a bird in the tent,” she yelled, panting, her long blond hair tied in a bun. She knocked on every door. “A sparrow,” she said. “Or a robin. It doesn't matter!” Minnie's eyes were huge. “A bird!” she yelled.Soon everyone was outside, wondering what to do, and how to get it out.“If we get rid of the bird, does that get rid of the bad luck?” someone asked. Nobody knew.I wandered back to our trailer. So did Blajev. “Darling,” he said to Judy. “Don't perform tomorrow.”“Don't be silly,” she said. “It's just a superstition.” She sat on the ground and began massaging her feet, and then looked up at Blajev. “Stay here tonight, will you?”I'd had enough. “Jesus Christ,” I said. They both looked at me. “It's my trailer, too. And I'm tired of sleeping in the tent.”Judy gasped. I thought it was her toe. “You sleep in the tent? In the big top?” she asked. Blajev groaned. “First the bird, and now this?” Judy was losing control of her limbs. So much for trivial superstitions. Where did they think I'd been sleeping?And then Blajev said, “You're going to kill us all!”And I said, calmly, “Well, why don't you two find somewhere else to fuck tonight.” I smiled. Judy looked shocked, but Blajev just glared at me. Then I walked into our trailer and locked the door. Nobody died in Illinois.Two nights later, we were in Memphis when Blajev hit me with a knife. I wanted to blame it on our argument, but I'm not so sure. Did he do it on purpose, because he was angry? Or did I flinch, because I didn't trust him anymore? Or was it the bird? I've never been able to figure it out, but I certainly didn't trust him after that, and that is all that mattered.It was only slightly more than a nick, but clean and deep. It didn't sting at first, until I moved to step away from the board and a chunk of skin peeled away from my inner thigh. I pulled the knife from the wood and tried not to limp as I walked over to Blajev. I offered up the bloody knife.“Shit,” he said.“Yeah,” I said. “Shit.” But I kept smiling. I smiled and smiled and nobody would ever have known but for the blood running down my leg and collecting at my feet. The spotlight shifted to a clown on a unicycle, and Blajev and I welcomed the darkness.Judy and Blajev rode in the ambulance with me. I thought an ambulance was unnecessary, but Doc called 911 and that's what happened. It's not like I was dying, just that it wouldn't stop bleeding. I think it would have stopped eventually, but the circus loves drama. That's all it is, drama. The paramedic looked bored.Blajev peeled off his mustache and picked at the adhesive left on his lip. “I've never hit a girl,” he said. “I've never hit a girl before.” He kept saying it, over and over, like a mantra, until I shouted, “Shut up!”The siren was loud and gave me goose bumps. I felt woozy from the motion or the cut. Judy smoothed my hair until it hurt. She kept saying, “Poor baby,” until I told her, too, to shut up. And then Blajev started to cry. He handed me the sheathed knife. “It's yours now,” he said, between sobs.The emergency room was the cleanest place I'd ever been in my life. All that white and stainless steel glimmered like something precious. I attributed it to the doctor because he was young and cute. His hair was black and curly. I don't remember his name. He gave me two shots of anesthetic in my thigh and I was grateful. I dangled my good leg, the left one, off the side of the exam table and stretched out my cut leg so he could do his job.“So you're in the circus,” he said, opening the suture package. I nodded yes. “That must be so exciting,” he said. The doctor smiled, and I could tell he meant it. So exciting. I returned the smile and he gently me back together. in had a that a knife thrower and a target girl for one after an so one of us had to And it was supposed to be me. But I wasn't about to and I told Doc He at me like he had just a and said there were no show but I could on and with and So I and things. And it out I'm I was things no one had even My thing was when I got to And for I got to the show from the picked up a target girl somewhere in I didn't not because I'm but I didn't her to I people thought the same of me. They called her too, like we were I that I was of a long of back to But the wasn't as good as I She looked was the on Minnie's trailer when I Judy and a a was on her so I was to be and I tried to their Judy hair and smiled, but I they said. I just them smile and for a few minutes, and then my for a When I looked up, Judy was an elephant asked her about it that day. you have an of elephant I asked. Judy looked you every an elephant Judy her hand to my hair and I it Judy said, “You're a and But the circus just isn't for She sat on her and pulled her left behind her head. I looked down and kicked my you think the circus is for I asked. it doesn't look like it to a she said. She pulled her other up and at me like that for a Then she looked at the “It's she not to the show that night. I offered to the in the behind the tent. I wore my target girl and put eye on I her up her hair and out the I practiced with the me and me for my When all gone I a black that two and it around It seemed remarkable to me that I done this the came out, with doing on their I over to the The spotlight stayed with the around and and I began my I climbed in and nobody me until I was to the top and the black The spotlight to me, and I at the When my eyes I smiled — my first smile of my — and The were still and I see my I have no what their looked or if they at me, because the of the light made them all I looked across to the other side, as I'd done but this time, I picked up the took a and the Then I took and another. I walked I I didn't have a of leather because I wasn't really a wire I went and my toes around the with I made it to the when I started to and I was of the because they all said, When my toes could no I I'd like to think that I would not have done it had there not been a but I'm not so sure. I hit the and I climbed out of the and the I wasn't Then Doc walked over to me, with his top and my and it up like I had just a I smiled, and he smiled, and then he looked at me and said, your things. had from that It looked but it hurt. Judy a for the — she had a for everything — and to me into one last I would in the there wasn't It would all still in my duffle of my two a wooden snake from Judy. The sat on the and felt my as I might have a I sat up. “That was really she said. I looked down at the blanket and a blue “That was really and you could have been And now you have to But you know what she I said, still the you did Now I looked at She was in a looking at me, I didn't think she made any She at me. I put my head on my and pulled my elephant blanket up to my I slept that night than I had in The was the was and I had walked the at least some of it. I didn't know where I was going but that was I with Judy at me and about and and In the morning, Judy was and then so was