Clip-clop, Clap-clap

A trail of sweat slid down Steven's neck and along his spine. It would have tickled him except he was busy being miserable and nervous. August in Florida makes everyone question their life choices, and Steven was no exception. He surveyed the crowd of waiting performers. Most tugged at their elaborate and heavy costumes to create some tiny bit of air circulation. The more heavily made-up cast members already had streaks of sweat cutting through the artful face painting. Steven was lucky in that regard with his simple, lightweight uniform. The coloring, designed to meld him into the background, hid the many blotchy sweat marks.

Steven turned forward again, towards the two-story solid gate blocking their route, and his eyes fell on Isaac. Or what he knew to be Isaac. He wore a tan overcoat and above it, a white collar and a red scarf made two stark lines in the night. The white and red underscored the absence of a head. Looking at that headless space, Steven thought streaky make-up wasn't such a bad option. At least the others could see and breathe freely.

But then, no one else made an entrance like Isaac. That is why he and Bandit were at the front. Why Steven himself had applied for that role. And why Steven had lied to his family.

The Horse Capital of the World. When Steven told Isaac that was the nickname of his hometown in Florida, the Englishman had laughed out loud. Perceived teasing easily triggered the youngest of four brothers, so Steven rushed to defend himself and Ocala. He rattled off the usual suspects of Thoroughbred farms and name-dropped the most famous champions. All his family, Steven included, had worked at one equine operation or another. Steven slipped in a dig at the end, wondering aloud how Issac could have worked in Florida and not known this.

Isaac countered by asking in his charming English accent about the farms. He listened with a cocked head, and asked Steven more details about his own work. Annoyed, Steve wondered if he was genuinely interested. Sincerity and curiosity would make it difficult to dislike Isaac, and Steven intended to dislike him. Aloud, he detailed the precise grooming procedures he followed for the thoroughbreds. It was this experience that had earned him a spot at Disney.

Truthfully, Steven had hoped for Isaac's role in the performance. Riding Bandit would help his family understand. Leaving reliable work in his hometown to be a performer at Disney World did not impress them, but horses always made sense. Horses equal power, prestige, and money -- symbols of success to anyone, Steven was certain. Simply riding Bandit in front of hundreds would excuse tonight’s otherwise silly dancing and singing performances.

Again, Steven admired the haunting image of Isaac and Bandit. The Englishman held Bandit calmly on the bit. The Percheron’s muscled black neck arced and gleamed under the lamp lights. But Isaac sat too rigid for a seasoned horseman and performer. With no face to read for clues, Steven pushed his silver, custodial cart towards the pair and approached at a slow angle to not startle Bandit.

"Hey, Isaac - you all right up there?"

The headless body did not move, but Isaac's muffled voice floated out through the vents of the costume.

"It's this bloody heat. I can't drink much before the parade - can't be bloody needing to piss. But this bloody humidity…" Isaac trailed off, and Steven noted a small sway in his body. In full costume in August in Florida. Would the fool fall off before the show even started?

Isaac half-deserved to suffer for such a rookie mistake, and Steven imagined saving the day by stepping into the role and saving himself from being a liar. Then he reached under his cart for one of the extra waters he'd stashed under there. He threaded a straw into the bottle and passed it up to Isaac. He admired the tidy braids in Bandit's mane, nearly as good as his own handiwork. He traced the carved details of the jack-o-lantern tied to the saddle.

"Thanks, mate. You're a life saver." Steven took the bottle back, patted Bandit’s neck, and returned to his spot in the line-up.

Any minute.

The wooden gates groaned open and in rushed the smells of popcorn and melted chocolates. Crowds three rows deep lined either side of Frontierland. Silent and still, as if beathing had been forgotten and nothing stirred the hot, humid air. Invisibly, Isaac urged Bandit forward and the Headless Horseman began his walk to open the Halloween Parade.

Clip-clop -- the Percheron’s massive hooves struck the path and created its own haunting cadence. The Horseman sat well, with his right hand holding up the glowing jack-o-lantern, and the audience questioned if the rider was a real human or not.

Three car lengths back and to the right. Far enough to not detract from the Horseman, close enough to clean-up. Watch the audience and stay alert. Steven repeated the instructions to himself as he pushed the custodial cart onto the parade route.

The crowd had turned to follow the Headless Horseman’s route through Frontierland, and no one noted the custodial cart’s initial progress. But passing under the lamp lights, the silver cart shone and called attention back to him. Steven pushed his nerves down into his gut and made a mental note to suggest a matte wrapper for the cart.

Clap-clap – light and random like the first raindrops of a Florida afternoon storm. Spaced just enough apart to be his imagination. Why would anyone be clapping now?

He picked up his pace to dodge the rogue clapping and swallowed hard to squash the embarrassment pinching the back of his throat. He glanced ahead at Isaac’s frame commanding awe and envied him. No pity claps for the Headless Horseman.

Isaac and Bandit turned into Liberty Square, leaving the whole crowd of Frontierland to watch Steven’s promenade. Steven knew how to close his ears to teasing, how to conjure the humming of his own blood flow to drown out the jeers of his brothers. He focused on creating his own soundtrack – clip-clop, hum-hum, clap-clap, hum-hum.

The clapping had become a ripple of its own and filled the wake of silence left behind the Headless Horseman. Steven made eye contact with some of the audience on the right, and they let loose a hurrah. The clapping morphed into whoops and Steven balked. He glanced to the left and that crowd beamed back at him. He reflexively gave a small head tilt of acknowledgement, and the people cheered him on.

The audience was with him. He and his little silver cart ushered in the release of silence and a shift to light-heartedness. Steven picked up his pace again, spurred by the warmth of the audience. He nodded and winked at folks in the audience, catching some whispered explanations of his role. An involuntary smile stole across his face, and he struggled to return his expression to neutral. The Headless Horseman was the grand opening, but custodial support was its own micro act.

The Headless Horseman and his custodian crossed the bridge and entered the glowing hub in front of Cinderella’s Castle. Steven matched his steps to Bandit’s clip-clop and hugged the audience line. One man reached out his arm, and Steven returned the fist-bump. Around the Hub and down Mainstreet, Steven admired Isaac’s confident riding. Bandit knew his business as well and that carrots and sugar cubes awaited him. They turned right at the end of Mainstreet, leaving an awed audience behind another set of tall, solid gates.

“First parade in the books!” shouted Isaac as he thumped Bandit’s muscular neck. “Well, of the season for me. Of ever for you, mate.” He added, swiveling his headless body in the seat.

Steven had turned back towards the tall gates and with eyes closed listened to the parade music. He knew the dancers and the floats but now he could picture the audience. He imagined fist-pump-guy and his family swaying to the waltz of the Haunted Mansion Ghosts and clapping as the gigantic Pirates of the Caribbean ship floated past them.

“Thanks, Isaac. That was awesome. That is why I wanted to work here.”

“And that’s why I wanted you for the custodian role. You need to walk the route before you ride. You need to see the audience to understand the experience. You’ll be up here next. I know that’s what you wanted.”

“Actually, I liked being on the ground. I like being on my own two feet.”

Steven would explain that to his family. No hiding, no downplaying, no excuses. He was a performer. His entire uniform had gone black from sweat, but he didn’t notice. He was busy dreaming in the sticky heat of the evening. August in Florida makes everyone question their life choices, and Steven was no exception.