Sunglasses 6: The Greatest Show in Kansas

The sunlight and my phone’s battery were dying at the same rate, so I halted my amateur research just before sunset. The truth was I had to stop. My head was a mess of scattered facts and clouded emotions. The only thing in sharp focus was the newly returned pinpoint throb between my eyes. 

Outside, the sunset was thready, its red glow filtered through a sky as moody as I was. I felt like I’d been untethered, my life shaken like the Wizard of Oz snow globes on the nearest endcap. Was this an impending breakdown? Had some fracture been lurking since I lost Grams?

I grabbed the broom behind the counter. Maybe busywork would distract me from this restless uncertainty.

Heading down the main aisle, I started sweeping. I say “sweeping,” but honestly I managed about one back-and-forth motion before gripping the broom in both hands and leaning on it like a staff. I gazed at the flickering drink case at the end of the aisle, but I wasn't seeing it.

Out of the corner of my eye, the lights from the Gas N Snak’s canopy snapped on as full darkness fell. 

Mel was already on the highway by then, but I didn’t know that. While her roadster was busy eating up the miles between Hoisington and Drywell, I was staring into nothing and trying to understand the nervous energy twisting around my limbs. 

My thoughts kept returning to the past, to a certain carnival tent and the pair of lion shifters who had made it a wonderland for an hour.

Derry had made jokes when I tried talking about it, so I’d let it drop. Sometimes it was better to guard the things that mattered, hide them the same way you would your heart. That performance had meant so much at the time, and now, for whatever reason, it was reemerging in vivid detail.

I hadn't even planned to be there that night. Raymond had invited me.

My boss and I weren’t exactly friends, but Ray was a good person. The year after I lost Grams, it was Ray who had gotten an unwanted front row seat to my grief. He drove up from Hoisington to check on Oz Gas Supply every Wednesday, so I guess it was more like a series of weekly snapshots to see how I was coping.

On that Wednesday, the day the carnival arrived, he witnessed one of my “bad” days. Shit…that first year felt like it was mostly bad days. Whatever Ray saw at that week’s inspection had prompted him to spontaneously invite me to join his family. I think the offer made him as uncomfortable as me, but he’d refused to take no for an answer. 

With nothing but easygoing charm, Ray eventually coaxed me into his decade-old BMW, and we drove to Hoisington to pick up his family before heading to the carnival.

The term “carnival” was a stretch. It was a tiny collection of game booths and rides that had rolled in on tractor trailers and were up and running by nightfall. But inhabitants of the Great Plains don't turn their noses up at entertainment, and a sizable chunk of the town showed up with us.

Affable Ray and his affable family—a nice wife and their surprisingly well-behaved son and daughter—were nothing but affable. I did my best to be affable back. We were all so damned affable that it was strained and awkward. I think that was why Ray had pointed to the only proper tent in the entire carnival and declared, “Let’s go see the show.”

An intriguing sign next to the ticket-seller depicted a man and woman flanking a male and female lion. Someone had paid a lot to have it painted like an old-fashioned ad from the 1920s—even the web address at the bottom looked vintage. The dark-skinned man on the left wore safari clothes and was brandishing a chair, while the woman on the right wore a beautiful dress of vivid reds and golds that complemented her dusky brown skin. She was cracking a whip over the heads of the roaring lions. “The Amazing Lion Tamers!” read the grandiose lettering at the top.

The interior of the tent smelled like canvas and popcorn. I relished the dim half-light as we found our seats, and finally relaxed the rictus smile I'd been sporting most of the night. The tickets had been expensive, but I’d scrambled to buy my own and not make my hanger-on status even more obvious. Within minutes the place was packed, like everyone knew something we didn’t. A strange anticipation began to whisper along my limbs. 

The lights came down fully and the crowd hushed. A spotlight snapped on to illuminate a simple ring in the center of the tent. It wasn’t more than thirty feet across, with a few raised hoops and platforms decorating the sides.

CRACK.

The entire audience jolted at the sound of a snapping whip. Then a man leapt into the ring in the exact same khaki hunting outfit he’d been wearing on the poster.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he intoned, his voice rich with an accent I would later find out was Kenyan. “My name is Samuel, and I welcome you to our show.” He spun to address the other side of the crowd. “Throughout time, man and animal have been locked in a struggle for control. But which has the advantage? Animal…or man?”

CRACK. The audience jumped again as a woman stepped into the spotlight, already coiling her whip. Unlike her partner, she wasn’t wearing her dress from the sign. She was barefoot, and clad in a much looser garment, a kind of poncho in thin gleaming leather with wide sleeves.

“I think the answer is obvious,” she said with theatrical flair. Her melodious Indian accent was warm and sultry, carrying to the back row almost as well as his.

Samuel spread his arms. “Is it? Then tell me the answer, Kashvi.”

She cocked a hip. “In a fight between animal and man, the winner will always be…the woman.” The audience laughed right along with Samuel.

He shrugged. “Ah! In that case…”

Samuel spun in a sudden motion, tossing the chair toward Kashvi. In mid-spin his entire form blurred. I gasped as his clothes exploded into sparkling dust! I knew that all plant-based fabrics disintegrated during a shift, but his costume must have been specially treated to catch the light. When the glittery cloud faded, a lion with a massive mane stood in the circle. 

In the meantime, Kashvi had expertly caught the chair and now brandished it in front of the beast. The lion roared loud enough to make my fight-or-flight instincts twitch. I watched, spellbound, as the two circled each other. Kashvi played the role of lion tamer to the hilt, nervously jabbing the chair legs at the stalking lion, her whip at the ready.

With another roar, the lion charged! Kashvi dropped the chair, spun, and tossed her poncho high. Her form was already an eye-confounding blur as she moved, the warm brown of her skin turning into gold as it lengthened into the massive form of a sleek lioness!

Samuel halted where she had been and his leonine body bunched down before springing straight into the air. Another blur, and suddenly his human head appeared through the neck hole of the descending poncho.

“That was close!” he said, mugging for the crowd. “Good thing leather isn’t affected by shifting, or we would receive complaints!” He waggled his eyebrows. “Or perhaps I would get admiring texts instead?” Several raucous shouts from women and one perfect wolf whistle answered the question for him.

His laugh was cut-off by a quelling growl from his partner.

“Uh oh. Now I’m in trouble!” Samuel picked up the chair and cast about. “Where is the whip? Has anyone seen it?”

The lioness began to lope around the ring like a ruling queen, tossing her head to make it clear she still had the whip clenched in her jaws.

“Hey!” Samuel called. “Give me that! It’s my turn!” 

An incredible game of “keep away” ensued as the two dodged between, around, and onto the platforms. They switched roles two more times, shifting in perfect coordination so that the poncho was perfectly placed, and always playing to the crowd. At one point Kashvi wagged her finger at the men making disappointed sounds when she expertly inhabited the poncho in human form.

“Not every man is a shifter,” she joked, “but all of you are dogs.” She shook her head as we all laughed. “Maybe you’ll pay better attention to our feats of skill if I…give you a peek?” The crowd hooted and hollered. A few mothers went to cover their children’s eyes as Kashvi gripped the hem of the poncho. She slowly raised it…and transformed just when it passed her knees.

The exaggerated sounds of male disappointment quickly faded as the couple—now both lions—began to race around the ring in opposite directions. They carried out a series of rapid leaps, flying over the platforms and through the hoops. My pulse was hammering with exhilaration. When both massive animals leapt through a narrow hoop at the same time, we were all stunned into spontaneous applause.

The show went on like this, with rapid transformations and impressive feats coming non-stop. I began to notice an electrical smell in the air, like fresh ozone after a lighting strike. I hadn’t realized the act of shifting left a scent, but it was surprisingly pleasant.

At one point Kashvi vanished, while Samuel continued to show off agile turns and jumps. He roared a few more times for good measure, and it never ceased to floor the crowd. When his partner reemerged, she was wearing the dress from the painting. I eventually figured out it was a sari when I looked it up after the show.

Samuel laid down behind her like a giant purring house cat, giving his attention—and ours—to Kashvi.

She began to perform a dance of sorts with her arms, sinuously waving and twisting them as she slowly spun in a circle. All at once she crossed her forearms back-and-forth, and there was another unmistakable blur as they changed!

Kashvi held up her hands, splaying fingers that had turned golden and fuzzy. Atop each digit was a pale curved claw narrowing to a needle point. Fur covered the backs of her hands and curled up her forearms, catching the light as she showed off her “weapons” with stylized gestures. At the same time, a painted sheet of black plywood lowered from the ceiling on a thick rope.

Suddenly turning, she struck! The sound of tearing wood echoed off the canvas walls. The board began to twist like a confused pendulum. Again and again, Kashvi’s claws flashed out, gouging the wood as it swung past and keeping its momentum high. I saw bright scratches multiply on one spinning side. 

Finally, she thrust out both hands and plucked the chaotic board with effortless grace.

There was a gasp from the other side of the tent. Kashvi then flipped the plywood so we could see the reason. She’d scratched a stylized lion into the surface, perfectly executed despite the board’s nonstop motion and spin. We all broke out into enthusiastic applause. Kashvi grinned…and then faced the board again. With four muscular strikes, she shredded the sheet in two. The bottom half thumped into the dirt and flecks of wood swirled in the spotlight.

We were silent with awe…and maybe a little fear, but then she shook her arms and waved, showing off normal human fingers. “That’s why my manicurist hates me!” she quipped.

The tension broke with a laugh, and she kept the humor going for the next segment, a comedy bit where she invited children to join her for “lion tamer training.”

“Who is brave enough to put their head into the mouth of a lion?” Kashvi asked. Then she turned to the audience, speaking in an aside. “It’s more dangerous than it seems, because Samuel loves garlic!”

The final part of the show was a callback to the beginning, with Kashvi wielding a chair and whip to cajole a seemingly reluctant Samuel back into human form. When the final transformation was done and Samuel was once more in the poncho, he held up his arms in triumph.

“I am Samuel, and this is my wife and mate Kashvi, and if you haven’t guessed it yet…” They shared a look and grinned. He turned back to the crowd. “Our last name is ‘Tamer’! We are the amazing lion Tamers!”

The audience erupted into a cacophonous roar that shook the tent. Samuel and Kashvi stood in the middle, waving and smiling. Their skin was gleaming with sweat, and I got the impression that shifting that many times had been exhausting on all their forms.

I just sat in stunned awe, too mesmerized to clap. That energy that had begun to dance over my skin from the moment I'd entered the tent had only grown stronger. I felt enthralled and captivated and…impatient. It was as if I’d gotten close to something after searching my whole life, except I hadn’t known I was searching.

It’s not that I felt like some long-lost shifter or anything—I was “baseline human” through-and-through—but this electrifying yearning was undeniable, an abstract want I couldn’t put into words. 

The unusual feeling lasted for days, and it seemed to offer its own stabilizing warmth. I visited the Tamers’ website many times, memorizing every page on it, and for a while I felt soothed and hopeful instead of sad and adrift. Even after the odd sensation faded, the worst of my grief didn’t return. Ray’s impromptu invite and that incredible show had gotten me through my roughest patch.

In the months after, I sort of forgot the strength of my reaction that night, how it had lit me up from within. I hadn't felt that way before or since.

Except…

Back in the present, my body jolted. Realization flushed my limbs as I gripped the broom tight. I had felt that sensation again. In fact, I was feeling it. And I instinctively knew when it had started. Two weeks ago, a barely noticeable hum had come to life at the back of my head the moment Mel Wade had walked into the Gas N Snak.

Shit…was I some kind of shifter fetishist?

My mind rebelled at the idea. “No,” I murmured. “I didn't even know she was a shifter…I still don't.” The invisible sparks running up and down my arms ignored my logic.

I angrily swept the floor, mentally brushing the mystery away at the same time. It could sit in the same unexamined pile as the mate bond nonsense. No sense frying my overloaded brain when I probably just needed a good night's sleep.

A flicker outside drew my attention.

I stared through the windows, seeing nothing beyond the two pumps and the rectangle of light cast by the canopy. I waited. Another blue-white stutter revealed the road and the Wagner residence on the other side of the street before it all vanished into the dark. The weather to the south must be drifting closer. 

Feeling more restive than ever, I pulled my work apron off and tossed it over the counter. The metal of the front door was cold as I pushed it open and stepped into the chilly night air.

The sky above Drywell was alive. Exhilarating pulses of lightning illuminated distant cloud formations while isolated cascades of arcing blue bolts made my breath catch. The thunder returned with the storm, booming low and powerful. I frowned. There was another noise hidden inside it, something much closer than the rumble overhead.

An engine.

As soon as I realized it, a pair of double headlights rose into view from the almost imperceptible rise along the southern highway. 

My pulse rate surged like I'd just launched off a race line. But instead of actually running, I barely managed a zombie-like shuffle towards the distant two-lane road.

It's Mel. She came back. Why did she come back?

I staggered as far as pump two, steadying myself with an outstretched hand as the question spun my mind like a broken top. The smell of gasoline mixed with anticipation and made me lightheaded.

The engine grew louder. The car was close enough to see the smear of its yellow paint behind the high beams. Unease curdled my stomach. The roadster was driving like a bat out of Hoisington and showed no sign of slowing.

“Mel?” A plea lost below a gunning motor.

With a deeper bellow, like she’d shoved the gas pedal to the floor, the roadster seemed to leap ahead. My jaw fell open as the car whipped past! I gaped at the receding tail lights in disbelief. The dashes of red and lowered pitch of the engine made it seem like the vehicle was narrowing its eyes and warning me off.

A pang of pure anguish squeezed my heart…before the sound of squealing tires released it. The red eyes flared as Mel stood on the brakes. The roadster slewed to one side as I watched, my mouth still wide. Her car skidded down the road…and shuddered to a jouncing halt.

It sat there, half off the road and fifty yards past the entrance of Oz Gas, idling. Exhaust curled up into the cold air. 

I began walking.

My steps were hesitant as I left the shelter of the gas station and strode into the night. Ahead of me, my distorted shadow rippled over gravel and discarded cans. The smell of burnt rubber marked the start of the skid, but the tire tracks were lost in the dark. My pace sped up as the light grew murky and I crossed into grass. The red eyes of Mel’s roadster watched my approach as lightning strobed across the prairie.

As I neared the passenger side, a bubble of fear caused my feet to falter. I wasn’t afraid of Mel…it was the thought that she might drive off that filled me with dread. My heart felt stuck in my throat as I pulled even with the window.  When the car didn’t move, I swallowed it. Leaning down, I peered inside.

Mel sat in the driver’s seat, her hands gripping the steering wheel so hard it was like a current was running through her. She wore her sunglasses, but the glow of the instrument panel caressed her other features, making every sharp and soft angle of her face lovely.

Her expression looked as lost as I felt.

With her head in profile, I caught the tiniest glimmer of one eye in the gap between the aviators and her face. She blinked, and the desire to know her eye color spiked so intensely it felt like physical pain.

I tapped gently on the glass.

Mel didn’t react at first. Then, in one sudden movement, she leaned over and cranked down the passenger side window. She almost flinched away, retreating back behind the wheel. Her face was strained and wary. I placed my palms along the bottom of the open window but didn’t quite lean into the car.

“Hi, Mel.” The words sounded breathless.

Her mouth compressed into a line…then her lips parted and she shook her head. “I don’t get this.” 

I grasped what she meant, but still asked, “Don’t get what?”

“Twenty minutes, Cal.” She sighed. “We talked for a total of twenty minutes.”

I lifted a helpless shoulder. “I think it was closer to twenty-five.”

She offered a single laugh, but there was no humor in it. “This is not…a thing I can do. I can’t—” She cut herself off.

The outside air seemed to freeze against my skin. “You can’t what?” I asked quietly.

“I…” She wet her lips, and I was hypnotized by their faint gleam before she located more words. “I have to go. I shouldn’t have…I shouldn’t have even stopped here. I’m heading to South Dakota early.”

An irrational twinge of panic spurred me. “For how long?” I blurted

Her brow furrowed. “I think two days.” She shook her head again. “At least two days. The weekend forecast for Kansas is promising, so I might be back then. Maybe I can…I don't know. We could—”

“Let me come.”

Mel’s eyebrows shot up while mine made a similar dash for my hairline. I don’t know which of us was more startled. 

“What?” she said. 

I quickly opened my mouth to take it back, to apologize…except I wasn't sorry. Impulse or not, I wanted to chase the excitement that was still crackling and fizzing across my skin.

“Let me come,” I repeated, more firmly this time.

We stared at each other’s stricken expressions while the roadster rumbled quietly. Then we heard nature’s counterpoint to the engine. Another roll of thunder circled around us in the dark like the purr of some immense stalking beast. 

Pat. A droplet hit the windshield.

More followed, tapping the hood and roof. I felt them on my back, precise little spots of cold.

Mel nodded towards the pull lock beside my hand. “Just get in,” she said. “Before you get drenched.”