with guests, wineglasses, and confetti from the juggling act that appears during dessert.
Teatro della Notte combines a unique circus performance with a fine dining experience, and most of the guests turn up in suits and gowns. It’s the warmth of a vintage postcard combined with the decadence of 1920s glamour, with all the twists and turns of my parents’ imaginations.
I smile like I’m a child seeing the circus for the very first time.
Lights flicker all around the ceiling like an enchantment of stars, and I watch Tatya make her way to the center of the ring. She does a piqué turn and moves her arms through the air with the grace of a dancer.
I look at the faces in the crowd, lit up by the lights of the stage. They’re already enamored by her, and she hasn’t even started yet.
Tatya takes a seat on the static trapeze and flashes a wide smile toward the audience.
Dad’s beloved “Bird of the Night” begins to play from the live wind orchestra showcased at the back of the room. Each musician is dressed like they’re part of a haunted masquerade, and when the music erupts from their instruments, I picture my dad in his office, humming to himself and striking at the air like he’s conducting an orchestra of ghosts.
Even though sometimes it feels like he’s a ghost too.
Tatya grips the ropes as the trapeze lifts higher, and suddenly we’re at eye level, though she’d never be able to see me through the one-way glass. Besides, Tatya is never distracted when she performs. She’s too busy existing in another world.
A world I desperately wish I were a part of.
She pulls herself up, tucking both feet around the ropes and stretching her legs out in perfect form. With every shift of her body, she holds each pose, keeping in time with the music like it’s nothing more than a dance.
I know the moves—the monkey roll to sit, the mermaid on the bar, the lamppost, the drop to half angel. I know them because I rehearse every pose in my head while I count the days until the next time I can spend an afternoon at Teatro della Notte’s backstage gym. Usually there’s time when my parents are too busy counting numbers and going over expenses for a business they seem determined to suck the magic out of.
When they aren’t paying attention, I feel like I can be myself.
When I’m on the trapeze, I feel whole.
When I’m in the air with the ropes between my fingers, I feel like I’m everything I ever want to be in the world.
Tatya does a barrel roll over the bar, and I hear clapping when her body stills into a perfect horizontal split. The silver gems on her costume flicker like she’s covered in glass, and there are so many white feathers exploding from her skirt and braided hair that she really does look like an ethereal bird lost in a graveyard, ready to take flight.
It’s funny to think she had the same dream as me when she was my age—because look at her. She’s out there, living in the very same clouds a thousand people probably told her weren’t even real.
Tatya does a plank in the rope, and I can see the joy erupting from the crowd below.
This is what I want. It’s all I’ve ever wanted.
I only wish my parents could see what this means to me.
What it would mean to hold a dream in my palm, press it tight against my heart, and never let it go.
* * *
I find Tatya backstage when the show ends. She’s sitting at her dressing table, the mirror in front of her lined with big, round light bulbs and gorgeous white flowers. She spots me in the reflection and smiles, just as she removes the fake lashes from her left eye.
“Fancy meeting you here,” she says with a laugh.
I half skip toward her and fall into one of the empty chairs. “You were amazing. Like, I haven’t had chills like that since Zelda’s big reveal in Ocarina of Time.”
Tatya unpins the feathered crown from her hair and sets it on the table, patting at the stray red strands that come loose. “I hope you’ll still visit me even when you’re busy with classes. I’ll miss your weird little compliments too much if you don’t.”
I hide my grimace. She still thinks I’m going to college in a few weeks. She doesn’t know about my change of plan.