“Leroy, have you seen my easel, that rickety old standing one I used to have?” My wife’s question floated down over the sounds of the program I am watching on tv. Technically I had heard her, but I didn’t register a word she had said. The television judge was about to hand down her ruling, after all, and I was listening intently to that.

“Leroy, did you hear me?” She insists on asking again when I don’t reply.

“Dolores,” I answer gruffly while hitting the pause button on the remote, “you know I’m watching my program, of course I didn’t hear you.”

She is standing beside my old recliner now, looking down her nose at me through her thick glasses with her hands on her hips. “I asked if you know where my old easel is, the standing one I used to paint on. I’d like to give it to Amelia if it’s still in one piece. You know she just started taking a new art class at school.”

“No, I do not know where that old thing is and you’d be better off buying her a new one anyway. Kids don’t like hand me downs these days. Everything has to be new.”

I move to hit the pause button and get back to my program, but Dolores speaks again, “Can you please go look in the attic and see if it’s up there?”

I turn my eyes to the tv and look at the judge on the frozen screen, stern of face with a harsh gaze and ready to mete out judgment. I knew that harsh gaze well, my wife’s would have made this judge shake in her shoes. Thirty years of marriage told me that it was smarter to just get up and look now rather than face that look or the judgment that came with it.

I slap my hands on my knees as a sign of my agreement and slowly get up from my recliner. Nodding at my wife as I walk around her, I make my way down the hall to the back of the house. The attic was a walk up and only one flight of stairs, but I didn’t relish going up there. I only went up a few times a year for the Christmas decorations or to switch out Dolores’ bins of warm or cold weather clothes. Otherwise, it was full of stuff we hadn’t touched in years.

Grabbing the knob and opening the door, I flip the light switch at the bottom of the stairs and make my way up. At the top, I am confronted with stacks of plastic containers and moving boxes, old pieces of furniture and lamps, piles of books and magazines, and dusty clothes hanging and draped about carelessly. The Christmas decorations are in the front so I push them forward and to the side to make a path leading into this mess.

Soon I’m pushing Dolores’ clothes bins to the side, moving end tables, and nudging books aside with my foot, but still don’t see the easel. Wiping a little sweat from my brow and looking around, I see a pile of curtain rods and other things in the back right corner that looks promising. I start shifting things over to make my way to that corner and finally get to the back wall. Rifling through the pile of curtain rods, leftover shoe molding, yard sticks and other assorted items, I find the old metal three legged easel Dolores was asking for. In my attempt to fish it out of the tangle, the whole lot crashes over onto the nearby boxes and floor.

“Everything ok up there?”

Dolores’ question is faint and sounds far away so I give only a grunt I know she can’t hear in reply. Cursing and tossing the easel to the floor in frustration, I begin gathering everything back up and leaning it all back into the corner. The last few curtain rods are still rolling back and forth on the floor to my right and as I bend over to pick them up, I notice an old trunk under the moving boxes. Not just any old trunk, but the trunk I used when I was in the circus.

That’s where I had met Dolores, in the circus, when we were both performing. I was the lion tamer and she was the acrobat that performed with the elephants. I remember the first day she walked into the practice tent, all confidence and smiles. My god, she had the most beautiful smile I had ever seen. I couldn’t help but watch her working with the elephants, I could barely take my eyes off her. She strode around the mammoths confidently, rubbing her hands along their sides and patting their faces affectionately. She looked into their eyes and talked to them like they were her children, but she was also loud and clear with her commands. And those gentle giants willingly returned her affection by obeying her every word. She never had to ask twice. The love she shared with those elephants was palpable.

That’s what made me fall in love with her. Yes, she was gorgeous, with her long dark hair, light brown eyes, and her big beautiful smile. And yes, she looked amazing in her pink and silver sequined leotard walking up long trunks, balancing on bent knees, and riding on backs. But it was her love of those animals and the way she communicated with them that did it to me. Dolores could understand what an elephant needed just by looking into its eyes.

I stood there in the dusty old attic remembering our circus days fondly as I stared at the old trunk. “Maybe Dolores would like to see some of our old things again,” I said to myself with a smile as I began moving the boxes off the trunk. Kneeling down and unbuckling the latches, the old trunk opened with a creak. My breath catches with delight as I see my red jacket right on top.

I run my fingers over the black lapel and gold embroidery as memories flood my mind. Having my old jacket in my hand is a thrill I can hardly explain and I struggle to take in all the details, the black and gold cuffs that match the lapel, the gilded gold buttons down the front, and the beautiful black satin lining. It’s a bit ragged from age and wear, but it’s still as beautiful a site as these old eyes have seen in quite some time.

Under the jacket I find my pants, black with a tuxedo stripe of gold running down both legs, and my vest, ivory with gold embroidery and buttons to match the jacket. My old boots are uncovered next, black knee high leather, worn and creased. I imagine there’s sawdust from the tent still in the treads and breath deeply recalling the unforgettable smell inside the big top.

It’s all such a wonderful surprise, seeing my old things and remembering our old circus life. Pulling my boots out of the trunk reveals the pink and silver sequin masterpiece that Dolores used to wear. She had four different leotards that she wore for performances, but this one was my favorite. I pick it up gently, sure that the sequins will be brittle with age, and hold it up in front me. My eyes wet with tears as I turn it around to look at the back too. Admiring the way the pink flows into the silver and the silver into the white and envisioning Dolores atop Tillie, her favorite pachyderm. Still smiling, I carefully fold it back up to place on top of the pile of things by my side, when I notice something strange sticking up from the side. I fold the shoulder strap down and notice what appears to be paper inside the leotard.

Carefully folding the top down I can see that it is an envelope that has been tucked inside a small pocket sown inside the leotard. Pulling the yellowed envelope out, I see the name “Dolores” written in messy slanted print on the front. Opening the brittle old envelope, I pull out the paper inside and unfold it. The first page is filled with the same messy slanted print and dated November 1970. I quickly flip to the last page to see how the letter is signed and my heart drops just as the pages drop from my hand.

It is signed, “with all my love and devotion, I am forever yours, Jack.”

**My breath catches in my throat as I try to make sense of what I’ve just read. Dolores and I were married in December of 1970 and Jack could only be referring to the handsome young ringer that I worked with for two years teaching him how to work with the lions. I’m dumbfounded and momentarily torn between wanting to read more and being too afraid of what those pages might reveal. **

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**Had my wife been in love with my ringer when we got married? **