They would bring him to the surface, lay him on a stretcher, and the paramedics would work on him, then cover him with a sheet with a body form on it so that as he slips down into a secret compartment below the gurney, it looks like he’s still on the stretcher. Then, when the taller of the two paramedics pulls the sheet back, the body has vanished, and when the paramedic looks up at the crowd and pulls back his cap, the audience sees that it’s me.
A bow.
Applause.
Curtain.
But not tonight.
The fish went after the wound on my arm with a frenzy, and I knew I needed to get out of the water. So, I got out of the manacles and weight belt, went through the passageway early, got Seth to do a quick change in my place to appear as the paramedic, and then, after the curtain rose, take my place bowing to the audience.
At least with him here we’d salvaged the show, but my arm was a mess. I had a few bites on my hands and neck, but those weren’t serious. The fish had targeted the location of the wound, and my arm was not looking pretty. Those fish just do not like to let go after they dig in their greedy little teeth.
Thankfully, my clothes and the gel on my face, which didn’t attract the fish at all, protected the rest of me.
However, now I feel like I was slow, sloppy, and that everyone on the team knows it.
The real paramedic frets over me, and after I get my arm bandaged, I assure him that I’m fine, even though I’m not feeling fine at all. I have no idea how I’ll perform tomorrow night with my arm in this condition, but I don’t tell anyone that. In the morning I’ll see how it’s doing and make a decision then.
I thank Seth for covering for me and then meet up with Charlene and Xavier to debrief what happened.
All around us, thick cables snake along the floor, and stagehands work at replacing props, resetting effects for tomorrow.
“We shouldn’t have let you attempt the escape.” Charlene seems more upset with herself than with me. “We knew you weren’t feeling 100 percent, that your arm was injured.”
“It was my choice. I thought it would be okay.”
She shakes her head, and her tone turns to one of concern. “Are you alright? Be honest with me.”
“Yes.”
Xavier scratches at his goatee. “We’re not finishing with this escape tomorrow night unless Seth does it.”
“I can do it.”
“No.” His tone is firm. “I don’t want to chance it.”
“Seth isn’t ready to do the straightjacket escape yet.”
Tension that I don’t like bristles through the air.
Neither of them looks convinced that I’ll be okay doing the effect tomorrow, and at last I tell them, “I’m going to get changed.” They don’t respond, and I leave for my dressing room.
I can hear them discussing something between themselves as I walk away.
While I’m pulling on my dry clothes, my dad calls and explains that something came up and he won’t be able to fly down after all to visit on Monday. He doesn’t tell me what it was, and that doesn’t necessarily surprise me.
When he asks me about tonight’s show, I don’t bring up the incident in the piranha tank or my wounded arm, but rather highlight some parts of the performance that went well.
It’s not easy to know what to say. On the one hand it eases my stress level a little that he’s not coming, but on the other hand I know spending time together, even if it’s awkward, is good for us.
Ever since my mom left us when I was in sixth grade, my father and I have been struggling to find our place in each other’s lives. Sometimes the past has the power to send ripples forward through time, affecting the trajectory of a relationship forever, and that’s what happened with us.
“I heard about Emilio,” he tells me, “what happened overseas. I’m sorry. I should have called earlier.”
“It’s okay.” I don’t specify if I’m referring to how I’m handling the loss or the fact that he didn’t call earlier. “When do you think you might be able to make it down to Vegas?”
“Not sure. The airline said I can take up to six months to use the ticket.”
“Okay.”
The conversation dies off. Maybe both of us are waiting for the other one to speak, maybe we both just can’t think of anything to say.
“So, I’ll talk to you soon,” I say at last, because that’s the kind of thing you’re supposed to say, although I doubt we’ll connect for another couple weeks.
“Okay. Have a good week.”
“You too.”
“Goodbye, Jevin.”
“Bye, Dad.”
I hang up. Only when I look up do I see Charlene standing in the doorway.
“You heard that?”
“Part of it.”
“He can’t make it. My dad, that is.”
“Is everything alright?”
“I didn’t ask.” I hesitate as I realize how odd that might sound. “But he sounded okay.”
“Well, that’s good.”
“Yes.”
“How did it go, talking with him?”
“Pretty much the same as usual.”
“Awkward.”
“Yeah. Awkward.”
She takes a step into the room. “Listen, back there, a minute ago, when I was… well, you just… you need to take care of yourself. You always try to push things and it worries me.”
I pocket my cell phone and join her at the door. “Have you ever heard of Alex Honnold?”
“Who’s Alex Honnold?”
“He might be the greatest free soloist to ever live.”
“Free soloist? You mean at some sort of musical instrument?”
We start down the hallway.
“At rock climbing. Free soloing is where you climb without a rope. Alex has free soloed some of the hardest climbs in the world, some more than three thousand feet high, without a rope.”
“He scales these cliffs with no safety system?”
“That’s right.”
“Three thousand feet?”
“Yes.”
“And what if he falls?”
“He doesn’t fall.”
“But what if he did?”
“He doesn’t, Charlene. That’s my point.”
“But if he did. He would—”
“He would die. Yes. But he doesn’t fall.”
She backs up and gives me a look that speaks volumes. “Jevin, I don’t even understand what you’re talking about here. You have a death wish?”
“No, of course not.” It seems too cliché to say that I have a life wish, so I hold back. “I have too much to live for. But if we don’t risk, we don’t live. Alex doesn’t want to die, neither do I. But I’ve always gambled—”
“For more than you can afford to lose. Yes. I know.”
“We all talk about taking risks, but what does that really mean? It means taking the chance that you won’t come out unscathed. Life without risk is just sanitized death. I can’t play it safe. I’m not designed to.”
“I think it’s something you might want to learn.”
“Charlene, this is—”
“I’m not saying you can’t take risks, but you can’t be risking everything. Alex could fall. He could. Sometimes I think you’re more addicted to adrenaline than you are to…”
“To you.”
“To us.”
Her words leave me with nothing to say. Regardless of what I should have done at the cliff in the Philippines, I have the disquieting feeling that she’s right.
“Play it safer for me,” she says softly. “If you get hurt, you’re not the only one who would get hurt. If you were to die, I would too. Inside.”
I don’t want to make a promise that I can’t keep, and I really have no idea what to say.