Among the Wonderful by Stacy Carlson

like a cap. The fingers fell down over her eyes. We sat together until Charity Barnum called them back. Children being the strange creatures they are, they each gave me a kiss, demanded one in return, and asked to be lifted up to the ceiling before they left.

Ten
    If I hadn’t caught a flicker of movement out of the corner of my eye, and if I hadn’t wondered what that movement was, I never would have stopped in that gallery on my way back to my booth, and I would have missed the show entirely. This one was smaller than the other galleries, a foyer for the theater and empty of visitors. It didn’t need a giantess. I reached the doorway and the flash of red movement turned into an usher, emerging from the theater doors. He set out a sign on a metal stand: TODAY’S PERFORMANCE, THE HUMAN CALCULATOR, WILL COMMENCE AT TWELVE NOON .
    For the second time in one day I was invisible. The usher, in his brass-buttoned tailcoat and close-fitting cylindrical cap, propped open the doors leading to the museum’s theater. He disappeared, only to reappear and straighten the sign. This man tended to his task with a singular concentration; he did not even notice the giant standing in the doorway. I was about to turn away when the usher began to perform.
    He positioned himself beside the theater door, facing away from me now. He straightened his jacket and hat in a somewhat exaggerated manner. Then he began to react to a great crowd of imagined people. He smiled. He gestured. He murmured words to the invisibles that I could not make out. I took a step back but I did not leave. There was a charm in what he did. He stepped kindly aside for an invisible guest, even extending his arm to assist what perhaps he saw as anelderly matron bound for the show. His gestures communicated gentle concern as he pantomimed his duties; something in the slight hunch of his shoulders. He bowed and nodded continuously. The only time he ignored his patrons was when he took a moment to rearrange his shirt cuffs and adjust his cap.
    He didn’t see me, so he performed for no audience. Even when, as I imagined would soon be the case, an actual audience filled his theater, it would not acknowledge him. Patrons would accept his courtesies without a thought, and yet here was this flushed performer with an embarrassing eagerness; he emanated a weird hope that even I, to whom hope was usually an uneasy abstraction, could actually feel. I wanted to look away from him, but I was entranced. Here was an optimist. They should put
him
in a cage.
    As if by categorizing him I had somehow broken his concentration, the usher looked up, mid-gesture. His gaze swerved directly to mine. Because he was an employee of the museum and someone I would meet again, I decided to speak. As I approached, the usher, who was certainly taken aback not only to be observed but to be observed by me, gave me one of the most common surprised expressions. His face then deepened to a blush that matched his uniform. He recovered slightly, adjusted his lapel, and concluded his reaction by surprising me: He grinned.
    “I’m not deranged, if that’s what you’re wondering.”
    “Not at all. I had the impression you were … practicing.”
    “Yes.” The usher blushed again. I thought he was young, maybe twenty-five, but the bright spots on his hairless cheeks gave him the air of a schoolchild. He had waxed the ends of his wispy mustache, and the resulting comedy could not have been what he intended.
    His eyes darted up to my face again. He cocked his head, eyes squinting.
    “Are you one of the …” Don’t say
exhibits
, Optimist. “Residents of the fifth floor? They told us to expect new faces and we’ve … all of the ushers, I mean … have been wondering.”
    “Yes.”
    “And you’re working now?”
    “I am assigned to stroll through the galleries.”
    “You’re just walking around the museum?” The usher took a gleeful look over his shoulder as if we were fooling