The Circus

I swear this happened to me. The circumstances are vague, but the details are clear. One night, while I was living in Italy, I came upon a band of Gypsies. The Piazza de la Repubblica, normally sedate and heavily touristed, had turned into a swirl of sound and light. I saw the sparks from the fire, a block off, illuminating the silhouettes of the crowd. Closer, the beat of the drums seemed to pulse from the cobblestones. I was spellbound and walked toward the flame as if compelled. In the center was a barefoot girl, spinning to the music as if oblivious. She didn't look like the gypsy girls I saw at the bus stop with their torn clothes and bitter faces. In the red pulsing light she seemed superhuman, divorced from reality, gravity, convention. My heart beat to the rhythm, and the seconds seemed to slow, suspended in the thick, smoky air.
Could I live like that? Yesterday a distant memory; tomorrow an insubstantial dream. Could I loosen the chains that bound me to the earth? Would I live by my own dreams and find my own way?
I felt as I was turning head over heals. A breeze picked up and the light flickered. The dark wrapped itself closer around us and I turned to go home.