Matt & Zoe

by Charles Sheehan-Miles

  I don’t have to ask where Mamma or Tony or Lina are. Everybody can see them. Tony and Lina stand side-by-side on one platform. Lina has a pained expression on her face. They both wear worn practice tights which will be replaced later with some glittering and showy uniform. Tony needs a shave, and looks annoyed but respectful somehow simultaneously. On the other platform is Mamma. Swinging between them are two catchers.

  Mamma shouts, “You think you can do whatever you want, Tony? You think you run the show? I already lost my husband and one son. I won’t lose another. You listen to me!”

  Her words are like a punch in the gut. I know what she means. She hasn’t lost a son. But I’m not part of their life anymore. It’s not just that I’m not with the circus, I haven’t even showed up for holidays. I’m stricken with guilt. Why haven’t I visited?

  The answer is simple. Because every time I smell the oil or hear the creak of the ropes, I feel the sickening loosening of hands, I see my father slipping away, and hear the clanging of the jail cell.

  “I’m sorry Mamma,” Tony says, a sheepish expression on his face. “I just want to try the quadruple.”

  “The quadruple killed your father. And you know not to try new tricks without warning your catcher. You could have gotten somebody killed.”

  The quadruple killed your father. I suppose in some sense that was true. With each somersault in the air, the G forces increase. The coroner had speculated that Papa died of a heart attack. His body just couldn’t take the stress anymore.

  I coughed into my right hand, just as I hear Mamma say, “Do it again. And this time do it right.”

  She sounds just like Papa did. The two unfamiliar catchers start, one offset slightly from the other, as they swing in opposite directions. I stay quiet and watch. When the show is running, the lights will be down, spotlights on the family, music playing. None of that is happening now—instead, it’s light, everybody is sweaty and dirty, and there are no smiles.

  Lina steps off first, taking the bar with one hand and swinging out with the other hand extended, her pose casually deliberate. She makes it look easy, even though I know that the pressure on that one wrist and hand holding her up is intense. As she reaches the apex of the arc, she seems to slowly turn in a circle, bringing her body around in the other direction. Now she takes the bar with both hands and kicks her feet out, and she swings, much quicker this time, back in the other direction, just as Tony leaps to the other trapeze.

  It’s all gracefully done. Beautiful. Dad would have approved, I’m sure. On her return swing, Messalina lets go of the bar and does an easy double, her hands slapping against the wrists of her catcher. Tony is right behind her with a triple, then they both swing back to their own trapezes and return to the platform.

  The catchers drop to the net, followed by Tony, Messalina, then Mamma, signaling that practice is over. I step to the edge of the ring and into the light.

  Messalina sees me first. She stops at the edge of the ring, puts her hands on her hips, and murmurs “Matt.”

  Tony’s eyes jerk to me. I can’t tell if his expression is relief, wariness, or anger. His features seemed to smooth out as if he’s trying to hide his reaction, but the slight downturn at the corner of his mouth is unmistakable.

  As reserved as my two siblings are, Mamma is anything but. She lets out a cry, drops out of the net and runs to me throwing her arms around me. I return the embrace which lasts all of thirty seconds before she steps back and shouts, “Matty, why don’t you ever come see me? What’s wrong with you? You think you’re too good to come see your mother?”

  “No, Mamma. Things are just busy at work…”

  “No excuses. You’re never too busy to see your Mamma.” She looks at me critically, eyebrows drawn together, and pronounces, “At least you haven’t let yourself go to seed. I thought when you came you’d have a beer belly, but you stayed in shape. It’s a miracle.” A miracle? Mamma is always tactful. I remember the summer before my junior year, Tony, Lina and I spent a rare vacation at grandma’s place in Fort Lauderdale. It was two weeks of amazing relaxation, playing on the beach, and sleeping in. The first words out of Mamma’s mouth when we rejoined the tour were directed at Lina. “How did you get so fat in two weeks?” Mamma had said.

  I don’t think Lina ate for six months after that.

  Mamma doesn’t mean to hurt people—the opposite is true. She has a warm heart, and loves her children. She also has a thick skin, and assumes that everyone around her is the same. The wounds that my mother delivers are unintentional, careless. And I don’t know if carelessly injuring someone is even worse than doing it deliberately.

  After Mamma steps back, Tony approaches. “Matty,” he says. Then he throws his arms around me. “I’m glad you came.” Then he steps back, looks at Lina, and says, “Guess I owe you ten bucks.”

  Lina smirks.

  “I had bet you weren’t coming, Matty,” Tony says. “She won.”

  ***

  Tony introduces me to the catchers, neither of whom speaks very good English. When we break off to go get lunch, it’s family today. And that only serves to underscore how much things have changed.

  When I was eight or ten, and we were with Ringling Brothers, a family-only lunch needed a big table. Papa would be there with both of his brothers and his little sister, Mamma of course, and her cousin Lucia. Lucia eventually got married, pregnant, and settled down just outside of Houston, Texas. Papa’s oldest brother Mario lives outside Sarasota now, and spends his days drinking and reliving his days with the circus and mourning his wife.

  My youngest uncle Matteo—my namesake—quit flying after Papa died. The only member of the family with a college degree other than me, Matteo moved to Manhattan and went to work for a venture capital firm. Nowadays, his involvement with the circus is limited to a hefty investment in Binder and Mills.

  The act is smaller; the family is smaller. It’s just Mamma, Tony and Lina on tour. Soon enough Mamma will retire and that I think will be the end of the Flying Paladinos. I don’t know how I feel about that. Our family has been in the ring for five generations.

  As Mamma hands out the takeout Chinese, she says, “Matty, you must tell us everything. Are you still teaching? First grade?”

  “Third grade this year, and of course I’m still teaching. I actually love it.”

  “You never think of coming back with us?”

  I sigh. “Mamma…”

  “I can ask. You’re my son. I’m glad you’re happy, but you belong with your family.”

  “I belong right where I am, Mamma. I like what I do. I like teaching, I’m representing the union. I’ve made friends.”

  “You have a girlfriend?”

  I have to struggle not to roll my eyes. “I’m seeing somebody. I don’t know yet…” I trail off unsure what to say.

  “You don’t know what? Whether you like her? Love her?”

  “I just don’t know, Mamma. I care about her. It’s complicated. She was in the Army, and her parents just died. Now she’s taking care of her little sister.”

  Mamma looks puzzled. “In the Army? What did she do?”

  “She was military police. She went to Iraq, Mamma.”

  “I want to meet this woman,” Mamma says. “Does she carry a gun?”

  “Mom! For Christ’s sake! I don’t even know if we’re serious, it’s too early for that.”

  “Not too early. If I don’t like her you don’t get serious.”

  I shake my head and laugh. “No, Mamma. That’s not the way it works.”

  She shakes her head too, then picks up a fortune cookie in its plastic wrapper and throws it at me. It bounces off my forehead. Messalina laughs; Tony looks annoyed.

  I shrug, and open up the package and crack open the fortune cookie. Happiness is an activity.

  Well, that’s helpful.

  After lunch, Mamma says, “One more practice this afternoon.”

  Lina frowns. “Mamma, we never see Matty.”

 
“And think about how your brother Matt will feel, if you don’t practice and you break your neck tonight.”

  I shudder at her words.

  “Go practice,” I say. “I’ll watch.”

  Mamma looks at me, a frown on her face. “You come up the platform with me. I won’t have you sitting in the stands. Your brother has something he can loan you to wear.”

  I shake my head. “Mamma, I’m all done with that.”

  “You come up to the platform with me. You don’t have to fly. Come stand with your Mamma.”

  Lina looks at me, one eyebrow raised, as if to say, Try to defy her.

  I can’t. I shrug. “All right.”

  ***

  It feels strange putting on tights. It’s been years since I’ve worn them, years since I’ve been in the ring of a circus. Even if I’m only going to be standing on the platform for practice, it simultaneously feels right and wrong. Confusing.

  You’re going to be a catcher, Matty..

  People’s lives are in your hands. Take care of them.

  Take care of your arms and your shoulders. Someone’s life may depend on it one day.

  And that of course turned out to be absolutely true.

  It’s strange. I thought it would be worse; thought the simple act of changing into tights would cause some kind of panic reaction. But it’s fine. It boosts my confidence and I walk out to the ring with my family. Everything is fine.

  Until I touch the ladder.

  By the time I get there, Tony has already climbed up. The two new catchers are also up there.

  I get one foot on the latter and freeze.

  “It’s okay, Matty.” Mamma’s voice is soft.

  I shake my head. “No. It’s not okay. It’s never been okay.” I have to force the words out over a leaden tongue, but I get them out. My heart is beating wildly and I feel a drop of sweat on my forehead.

  Mamma comes close. “It wasn’t your fault,” she says.

  “I know that,” I say. But do I? I’ve lived my father’s death a thousand times. I’ve lived that moment of losing my grip a thousand times. He had a heart attack. A stupid heart attack. People live through heart attacks all the time. They get chest pain, they collapse, they go to the hospital, they get repairs to their arteries. They get bypasses and stents. And often they live. Yes, heart attacks kill a lot of people. But there’s a strong chance if you have a heart attack when you are around other people, that you’ll be able to get to medical help time and survive. That is, unless your seventeen-year-old son drops you from the height of a small building onto a concrete floor.

  “I tried to hold him.” I can’t look at her when I say the words. But my voice shakes.

  “I know, baby.” Her response is almost a whisper.

  There are a thousand things I could say. But where do you begin? She nods, as if she understands what it is that I’m trying to say, even if I don’t. And she puts her feet on the ladder, and climbs up to the platform. I don’t stand where I am for very long. My fear is irrational. It consumes. I don’t want to go up there, and that’s why I have to. I grip the ladder as Papa taught, set my foot on the first rung, and climb. With each step up the ladder my view expands until eventually the entire arena is below. We’re no higher here than we were in the center ring of Ringling Brothers. It feels higher because of the intimacy of this venue. When I finally take my position, I see Tony on the other platform. He nods, as if in approval. I’m not going to go out there—that’s already been established. But getting to the top of the platform is a breakthrough.

  Another time (Matt)

  It’s not until I get back to my car much later in the evening that I realize I left my cell phone in the car. I have two missed calls from Zoe.

  In the first message, she says, “Hey, Matt. We just finished up with the students for the day. Jasmine asked if we could go to lunch with you, so I figured I’d call. Call me back!”

  The second message—according to my phone that one came in at 5 p.m.—she sounded a little wary. “Hey… Matt… Just checking in since we haven’t heard from you today.”

  I guess I should have realized. We’ve seen each other almost every day for the last two weeks.

  I start the car and leave the crowded lot, immediately finding myself in snarled Boston traffic. I’m stuck on a narrow one-way street which is going in the opposite direction of where I want to go… I’ll have to wait until traffic clears enough to make it around the corner so I can turn around.

  When I think about the last couple of weeks, I’m not sure how to feel. The time I’ve spent with Zoe has meant a great deal—but even more so, it’s made me realize just how isolated I was. Sure, I hung out with Tyler, and that’s been a lot of fun. Tyler’s a great guy—but I’m starting to realize that I kept him at arms length too. Something… Maybe the fact that he reminds me a little of Red… has kept me from opening up. He doesn’t even know I grew up with the circus. It’s not that noticeable I guess, most guys don’t talk about anything but getting laid and drinking beer anyway.

  It’s different with Zoe. It’s easy… She probably knows more about me in two weeks than anyone else has learned in two years.

  That’s still precious little. Several times in the last week, I wanted to tell her about Papa, about the jail… but every time I try, my throat just closes up. The effort to do so has raised some disturbing dreams—more dreams about my father, and falling, than I’ve had several years.

  I don’t like those dreams.

  I flip my phone open and dial Zoe’s number. Usually I don’t talk on the phone while driving, but it’s not like I’m moving anywhere anyway.

  She answers on the second ring. “Hello?”

  “Hey, calling you back. I’m sorry I didn’t get back earlier, I just got your messages.”

  “Oh… I didn’t realize. What have you been up to?”

  Of course she would ask one question I couldn’t answer. I fumbled for a second, then said, “I had some things to take care of.” That’s illuminating, Matt. The fact is, I’m a terrible liar, and I always have been. This wasn’t a lie, but it certainly wasn’t telling her anything.

  “Oh… Well, I called you earlier to see if you wanted to grab lunch. Obviously it’s much too late for that. Although, if you wanted to swing by…”

  I hesitate. After an awkward two seconds, I say, “I’m actually in Boston right now. Just getting ready to drive home. It’ll be… around eight?”

  Her voice is rigid when she answers, nothing like the lyrical rich voice she normally uses. “I see. Jasmine will already be in bed by then. Another time. Are we still meeting for the fair? We’ll see you at ten.”

  She didn’t leave room for anything there. And I can’t invite myself over. I’m disappointed—I’d planned on heading back to South Hadley by two or three in the afternoon, reasoning that I could still get back home in time to have dinner with Zoe. Well, I blew that. She’d made it pretty clear that I wasn’t welcome to come over tonight.

  And that only highlights just how emotionally attached I’ve become.

  He knows he scares me (Zoe)

  I hang up the phone softly. I’m an uncomfortable swirl of emotions right now, disappointment mixed with anxiety mixed with curiosity. It’s not like I know Matt. And I’ve been down this road before, cared about somebody, depending on them, then having them suddenly get flaky. Chase stopped being reliable well before I found out he was going out with that other girl. We would have plans, then he would not show up. He always had good excuses—things with work, or he was sick, or a friend was in trouble and he had to help, or he had a toothache. I don’t even remember all of the excuses. I do remember the feeling of disappointment. I don’t like that feeling, and I have it right now.

  I’ll still give Matt a chance of course. But I don’t like his evasiveness. I still don’t know that much about him. And that bothers me a lot.

  I walk to the back door and open it. Jasmine is in the barn—we let the horses inside just a little w
hile ago, and she’ll be busy getting them fed and put down for the evening. I assume a smiling face, jump down the stairs, and walk to the barn. Looking into the darkness, I see her on the top rail petting Mono on the snout.

  “Hey, want to go to Chick-fil-A for dinner?” That’s usually a winner, because she can play in the indoor playground there.

  “Yeah!” She jumps down from the railing, and says, “Can I get a milkshake?”

  I grimace. The thing is, I kind of want a milkshake, but I know that as the stand-in for Mom, I’m supposed to make her drink juice or something. Right? Isn’t that what Moms do?

  I sigh, then shrug. Why not? It’s Saturday night, and I make her eat healthy most of the time. “Sure,” I say. “You should leave some room for ice cream for dessert. I thought we’d head over to McCray’s farm.”

  Her eyes widen, then she shouts, “Hooray!” Her shout startles the horses, and Mono lets out a near roar, throwing his head back.

  I think he knows that he scares me.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Amherst Fair (Zoe)

  My entire childhood, the Amherst fair was something I looked forward to. There are carnival rides, fun houses, all kinds of food, and other fun. It may not be as big as a state fair somewhere, but it’s a lot of fun for the kids. Jasmine has been talking about it for days—she may not be in school right now, but enough of the kids that she sees at Paul Armstrong’s farm have kept her clued in on what’s going on around the area. We make a day of it.

  It’s about 10 a.m. when we take the minivan and pick up Matt at his apartment next to the post office. He looks tired, but cheerful, when he comes running out from the parking lot and hops in the van.

  “Jasmine!”

  “Mr. P.”

  I feel a tension when I look over at him and meet his eyes. He gives me a faint smile, and says “Zoe.”

  It’s a 20 minute or so drive to Amherst from South Hadley. Along the way, Jasmine sings one of Taylor Swift’s new songs at the top of her lungs. When she doesn’t know the lyrics, she just makes up her own. Honestly, Jasmine’s are better. And definitely funnier. The three of us ride north, laughing the entire way, and I’m glad, because it helps cut the tension from last night. By the time we get to Amherst, I’ve decided to let it go. He had things to do. I need to give him a chance.