Inside the main tent, the night air was cool. Above them an elaborate green-and-blue chandelier, resembling a Chihuly creation, dangled heavily from the center. From the props to the sound and concessions, Lara admired their attention to detail. The performance was always elegant and sophisticated, unlike some two-bit carnival that made its way through each fall, giving kids rides on rusted Ferris wheels and serving watered-down Coca-Colas.

On cue, the tent went dark and the light show flashed blue and green, like something out of Las Vegas. This was one of the rare circuses that still traveled with a full orchestra. There was a dark, dramatic pause. Somewhere in the audience a man coughed, then a child wailed. A small spotlight appeared at the top of the tent—where the form of a blond girl dressed in a chartreuse sequined leotard descended, lowering herself smoothly on a fabric rope, coiling then uncoiling herself down its length. As she moved, the fabrics twisted with and then against her body, giving her the illusion of winding and then letting go of the line before catching herself in a dramatically staged free fall. From the orchestra below, a lone singer crooned a melody in French, a set of electric strings accompanying her.

That a performer would fall was not out of consideration at the circus. Ropes ripped, hands slipped, but precision and practice as well as luck and talent stacked the odds in favor of tonight’s seasoned performer, now twirling from a rope gripped in her teeth. While there was slim chance of disaster, with every spin and twist of the aerialist’s back and each pump of her biceps, the audience was rapt and on the edge of their seats. This act was the perfect combination of spectacle and tension; beauty entwined with danger.

And then there were two of her. A twin second performer in a royal-blue leotard joined. They twisted and spun in unison, some silent count driving the precision with which they intertwined and switched their ropes in an elaborate aerial scheme. After they established their rhythm, a third acrobat appeared.

Lara craned her neck and noticed there was no net under them, only a soft padded floor resembling a gymnasium wrestling mat that wouldn’t stop a leg from breaking or a body from being crushed if the timing was off. And that chance created such a marvelous spectacle that Lara found her heart racing. She was someone who cried at Broadway shows, caught up in the art and emotion of a live performance, yet even as a child, she couldn’t recall ever watching an act with such wonder as she did now. The motions were fluid, like she was seeing dance in the air—what birds might do if they sprouted limbs. The three acrobats slid down into a dramatic finale, and the crowd went wild.