Cirque

4: 𝑰𝒏𝒗𝒊𝒕𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒕𝒐 𝑴𝒂𝒅𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒔

I opened my eyes, and found myself faced with the familiar sight of my trailer living room. Gasping for breath, I wiped streams of water out of my eyes, blinking to clear them. No, that wasn't right. It wasn't water on my face, it was more brown, and it felt sticky. Leave it to my mum to wake me up with diet coke.

"Oi, wake up, will ya! Are ya' crazy? Blimey, you just made me proper mad, girl! Here, here, just let me make you some tea. Just sit there will you? Oh and don't try to talk now, that's the last thing we all need, a rambling, dead-tired girl!"

"Mum-"

"Oh don't ya even start," mum bustled back and forth, passing me a worn woolen blanket. "Just eat your food, and shut your mouth. Oh, and after that don't be that way and tell me you're sorry, because I don't want to hear it. I'm happy enough just to have you alive!" she rushed into the kitchen to put on the kettle, still chattering away. "I can't be arsed about that bloody letter, oh don't give me that look! You'd sooner see me throwing a fit than caring what sorts of letters you get. You just need rest and some good food."

"Mum, honestly, I'm all right." I ran my hand through my hair. It was wet and sticky, and smelled suspiciously sweet. Great. Now I would have to have a shower again.

Mum shoved a steaming cup of tea and a generous helping of beans on toast towards me. It smelled great, just like I remembered from when I was little. Beans had always been my favorite comfort food. I still felt uncomfortable and unsettled by those dreams, but I couldn't help but dig in.

"That's right, eat up, girl. Blimey, you had me worried." Mum shook her head as she puttered around this way and that around our small kitchen, putting dishes away and wiping away crumbs from the countertop. I took a sip of warm and strong black tea. I desperately wanted to apologize, no matter what mum said. I must have worried both of them sick, passing out like that all of a sudden.

I also wanted to apologize for the future, because I knew eventually I would be going back. I had to return to that carnival. Every bit of sense I had left was telling me that I needed to run far, far, away, but I knew that sooner or later my feet would be taking her back. It was like it was pulling me forward like a deep ocean current.

Carlos strummed a guitar from his place across from me on the other brown-and-orange checkered couch. "And Cass, that carnival, I think you shouldn't go back. We might have to call the cops after all."

It was like he had read my mind.

"No!" I put the teacup down with a clang. Carlos and Mum looked over, surprised at my sudden outburst.

"Are you out of your mind, girl? This whole business is dodgy, if I don't say so myself." insisted Mum, shaking her head.

"Cass, understand," sang Carlos in his rich, gravely voice. "That carnival is something bad."

I laughed despite myself. Carlos always had that effect on me. "Ok, ok, I know. You're right, I'm not going to go back. Send as many letters as they want! I'm done." I tried to mean what I was saying, but it felt so much like a lie that I still felt guilty.

"That's my Cass!" Carlos laughed, giving the guitar another strum.

I smiled and picked up my teacup. This was all I needed. Mum, my slow and simple life, and of course Carlos. Maybe I'd start taking university seriously again...

I picked up my thick piece of toast heaped with sweet and savory brown beans and prepared to take a generous bite. But then I stopped. Something wasn't right. Mum never put brown sauce on my beans and toast, she knew that wasn't how I liked it. I took a closer look at the piece of toast, and then almost dropped it.

I froze, and my heart began to thump in my chest faster and faster. Carlos continued to play his guitar and Mum puttered away in the kitchen, but I was hardly breathing, staring at the toast.

Because, written in brown sauce in perfect cursive writing were the words: "11:30, Tomorrow Night".

It was an invitation.

"What the hell?" I shouted in alarm as I read over the message for the second time, making sure I wasn't imagining it. But no matter how hard I looked, the message remained distinct and very clear. The last of my hope that all of this was fake went down the drain in an instant.

Carlos looked up. "What's the problem Cass? The toast too hot?"

I looked at him for a couple seconds. I couldn't form any words to say. I swallowed and quickly muttered, "Oh....no..I mean, yes! Yes, the toast was too hot, that's all!" For some reason I had the feeling that I shouldn't tell anyone else about this. I put the toast down and leaned back into the couch, letting the soft backrest envelop me as I closed my eyes tightly shut.

"Yeah. I know that feeling, everytime your mum makes toast it's like eating a bubble of fire!" Carlos said, chuckling.

I laughed as well, but something in the back of my mind caught on to the word 'bubble.' Oh, of course. The man who had turned into bubbles in that awful dream. I shuddered at the memory, and closed my eyes harder, hoping when I opened them this terrible nightmare would have ended.