Not fucking ever.
He cues the orchestra to play a loud drum roll while he gives another theatrical wave. “And now my lovely volunteer will climb into the box,” he says with a tilt of his head and an encouraging smile.
I unconsciously back up a step, feeling queasy, and shake my head, my stomach churning.
He turns away from the audience and raises his eyebrows at me in question. “What are you doing?” he mouths silently, his face etched with concern.
“Sorry, I can’t,” I whisper to him, my voice shaky.
A worried expression crosses his face, his eyes darting around the stage. A reluctant volunteer must be something he’s never had to deal with before.
Show or no show, I’m not crawling inside a tiny box.
I can’t do it.
I don’t care how many people are out there watching me make a fool of myself. This is the stuff of nightmares. The box reminds me of caskets and funerals. Memories of my grandfather's funeral clash with memories of being a small, frightened child watching his casket lowered into the earth, and then the cold reality of foster care two days later. My life took a terrible turn back then, and the panic I'm feeling now feels eerily similar.
I can’t do this.
“My instructions must not be clear,” he says, feigning confusion, his eyes locked onto mine. “I’ll try this again. Please step inside the box, my most lovely and beautiful volunteer,” he pleads, each word laced with theatrical charm. “The fairest lady in the land.”
The crowd giggles at my reluctance. They’re not sure if my resistance is real or part of the act.
“I’ll show you how,” he offers. “It’s easy.” He rushes up the steps, his movements graceful and assured, and shows me how to get inside as if I can’t figure it out myself. “Do it this way. It’s easy. Put one leg inside, then the other one.”
“No, I’m not getting in there,” I say, more firmly this time, beginning to panic.
He exhales heavily, theatrically slumping his shoulders, addressing the audience. “My volunteer doesn't want to get inside. This is a peculiar situation. A little encouragement, please?”
The crowd obliges, clapping and cheering.
This is just fucking great.
He steps closer, his eyes intense and searching, and pulls the microphone away slightly so his words won’t be picked up. “Trust me,” he whispers softly into my ear, where only I can hear. His breath on my neck sends familiar, delicious shivers down my body.
I roll my eyes at him, refusing to be swayed by his assurances. When I continue to hesitate, he takes my hand in his, his grip firm and reassuring, pulling me closer.
“Remember rule number one? To never work with animals?” he says into the microphone. “Rule number two is never let the animal choose your volunteer. Thanks a lot, Elsa!” His voice rises as he casts an exaggerated glare at the off-stage direction of Elsa, bringing another laugh from the audience.
I’m trapped, ensnared in a situation beyond my control. If I don’t play along, I’ll be a jerk. A poor sport. I’ll ruin Seven’s show. This is entertainment, a magic show.
All for fun.
People are here to have a good time. They’ve paid good money for their tickets and I’m spoiling it because I’m afraid of tight, dark places.
I take a deep, calming breath and decide to do it. This is humiliating enough as it is. My anxiety is making it worse. The only way for this to end is to get it over with.
How long will I be in there? A minute? Two at the most? Surely, I can deal with my claustrophobia for that long. I can hold my breath longer than that if I can’t breathe.
“Okay,” I say with a tentative smile. “I’ll do it.”
“Whew! Thank goodness!” he says, wiping his brow with his hand. “I was worried there for a minute.”
He squeezes my hand in encouragement, the warmth of his touch steadying me, and helps me up the steps. I carefully climb into the box and lie down, noticing there is barely enough room for my legs if I bend them slightly. The interior smells of wood and varnish. He wasn’t kidding about it being a tight fit.
“All comfy in there?” he asks, peeking over the edge. “I hope so, because it’s too late to back out now.”
He doesn’t wait for my answer before shutting the lid and locking it into place. A shadow falls over me, then complete darkness.
