Page 20 - 2015-08.pub

The very same guard who had released
Tracy from his fetters was returning from
the brush when he looked to the back of
the truck to find a bucket sitting on the
ground under the spout, slowly filling, with
Tracy Ray nowhere in sight.
The search for Tracy Ray spanned counties.
Dogs were called in. Roads were closed.
Checkpoints were established. Barns were
searched. Nobody saw hair nor hide of
Tracy. It was as if he had evaporated, dried to
dust under the punishing sun. The guards
never could have guessed that Tracy had
memorized the train schedules, and the
local rail line that hardly saw an engine was
suddenly burdened with hundreds of cars,
each bearing the name Mad McClellan’s
Traveling Circus.
Now, Tracy was a serious man. He was born
with a frown etched under his nose, and
the only thing that made him smile was
the prospect of a profitable con. When
Tracy Ray snuck into those circus cars and
conned a pair of clowns into letting him
share a swig of hooch and a barrel to sit on,
he felt an alien sensation—the upturning
of his lips into a child-like grin, as he stared into the bright clown faces painted on the sides of
the carnival crates. As he picked through the train car he saw swaths of colorful canvas, pictures
of exotic beasts, gaily painted signs promising bearded women and trick ponies and flying
acrobats, and he watch a demonstration of dexterity as his new friends displayed their juggling
skills to Tracy. By the time the train stopped Tracy had re-tied his striped pants and fashioned
himself a new vest out of sack cloth. He was ready to begin his new life in the Circus.
For three beautiful weeks Tracy Ray shoveled muck from the horse stalls, sold cotton candy to
kids with smudged faces, guessed people’s weight at the entrance booth, took oil to the strong-
man and sharpened scissors for the bearded lady. He was having the time of his life, and made
friends of every person he shared a bag of peanuts with.
It was not to last, however.
By the time Tracy was ready to be promoted to driving the tiny clown car under the big top, the
sheriff had tracked him to Mad McClellan’s Traveling Circus. Tracy Ray was cleaning the mirror
maze with a squeegee and soap when he caught the glint of blued steel in the reflection, and
the sheriff gave him the monosyllabic command Tracy had learned to hate over a lifetime of
petty crime.
“Freeze.” The sheriff grunted.
“Nope.” Tracy said, and dashed off in a hundred directions at once. The sheriff’s bullet destroyed
the mirror he’d leveled his gun at, thinking it was Tracy Ray in his iron sights.
Tracy ran, using the hustle and bustle of the circus to his advantage. He stood behind the cowboy
cutouts with his face in the oval, while a carnie snapped his picture and demanded a dollar. The
sheriff looked at him, turned away, looked again, and just as his head was confirming what his

20 Volume 2 Issue 2 - AUG 2015