The order of persons selecting 3 items for us to write around for the week are as follows:
Brien
Dave
Gabe ?
Helen ?
Kaleina
Leah
Marc
Rachel
Rebecca
Tiffy
Stories for the week are due Sunday.
Monday, the next person in line will post on this blog the new 3 things.
In the event that you don't post 3 things by Tuesday, it will be wildcard week and we write about whatever. (You have relinquished your turn and the next person in line will pick for the following week).
If you can't participate some weeks, no worries!
Feel free to post anything else (poetry, etc.) that you just want to share.
Pen names are optional. We just did them for kicks the first week this started.
email Ray with any questions: nicerayray@yahoo.com
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Sunday, September 28, 2008
The Decision
by: Daryl Crass Water
Driving was his release. The most peaceful times he found were in the car, alone, driving with the top down. There was a lot on his mind today, and he needed to make a decision.
It had been 7 years since the beginning. An amazing, deep, heartfelt, troubled, hated, tear-filled, laughter-filled 7 years. This drive was his salute. It was to be his farewell to old things gone, and new things yet to come. He often used his car as a buffer, and his drives were the transitions of his life.
He drove past his elementary school, his little-league baseball field, and the park near his house. He drove past the zoo, so full of worldly animals and life, yet always so quiet. As if the mysteries of the world weren’t really that mysterious. He drove past Mickey’s Ice Cream shop, and Old Lady Hendersons house. She used to tend her garden every day, but now only tended to her chair and her memories (Old Age is Mean).
He bought a dozen purple tulips from Jimmy’s Dad. Purple Tulips were always her favorite flower. He was visiting the special places of their lives and leaving tulips to celebrate their moments. Flower #4: Downtown Movie Theatre. Flower #7: The River.
Flower #10: The Park near his house. This was a special one…. He sat on one of the many benches in the park and lost himself in the past. He must have sat there for over an hour. Rolling the pros and cons over in his head. It was one of those silent moments in a persons’ life. The type of moment that sparkles with clarity and content. It was beautiful…
The moment ended with a canary-like bird chirping. He raised his head and saw this singular bird looking down at him and he smiled. He had made his decision. He got back in his car as the sun began it’s descent from the sky. Looking over at the passenger seat he saw the remaining two purple tulips and smiled again. He knew where the last two were going, and he couldn’t wait to take them there.
Driving was his release. The most peaceful times he found were in the car, alone, driving with the top down. There was a lot on his mind today, and he needed to make a decision.
It had been 7 years since the beginning. An amazing, deep, heartfelt, troubled, hated, tear-filled, laughter-filled 7 years. This drive was his salute. It was to be his farewell to old things gone, and new things yet to come. He often used his car as a buffer, and his drives were the transitions of his life.
He drove past his elementary school, his little-league baseball field, and the park near his house. He drove past the zoo, so full of worldly animals and life, yet always so quiet. As if the mysteries of the world weren’t really that mysterious. He drove past Mickey’s Ice Cream shop, and Old Lady Hendersons house. She used to tend her garden every day, but now only tended to her chair and her memories (Old Age is Mean).
He bought a dozen purple tulips from Jimmy’s Dad. Purple Tulips were always her favorite flower. He was visiting the special places of their lives and leaving tulips to celebrate their moments. Flower #4: Downtown Movie Theatre. Flower #7: The River.
Flower #10: The Park near his house. This was a special one…. He sat on one of the many benches in the park and lost himself in the past. He must have sat there for over an hour. Rolling the pros and cons over in his head. It was one of those silent moments in a persons’ life. The type of moment that sparkles with clarity and content. It was beautiful…
The moment ended with a canary-like bird chirping. He raised his head and saw this singular bird looking down at him and he smiled. He had made his decision. He got back in his car as the sun began it’s descent from the sky. Looking over at the passenger seat he saw the remaining two purple tulips and smiled again. He knew where the last two were going, and he couldn’t wait to take them there.
Florence by Tulah Dixie
It was the summer of 1985, a sweltering June afternoon, and Mallory was hot and tired. She and her best friend Janna had ridden their bikes all over the neighborhood, somehow managing to ride by BJ Roddmer’s house four times. This had become a routine for the two girls, meeting at 10:00 and pedaling their bikes down Latmer Street, turning onto Grear, then Monclair, and slowing down to a snail’s pace when passing number 8774. They followed this route at least four times, usually more, in the hopes that BJ would be outside watering the rosebushes or something. They had been out of luck that day. The only person they’d seen was BJ’s grandpa, walking his decrepit grey poodle down the sidewalk. The old man was getting a bit senile, which was fine with Mallory. Otherwise he might have told BJ about the two girls he’d passed several times on his walk.
After saying goodbye to Janna, Mallory parked her bike under the carport and ran inside to the kitchen. She filled a cup with water and gulped it down, then refilled it and sipped it as she walked through the house towards her bedroom. She said hello to her mom who sat sewing in the spare room, and tiptoed past her little sister’s bedroom so she wouldn’t get hassled into playing dolls. As she passed her brother Bruce’s room she listened for the friendly chirping of his canary,
“Mom,” Mallory called, “Mom, Mom,
“What happened to her?” Mallory whispered.
“I don’t know,” her mom answered. “She wasn’t that old, was she?”
“Where’s Bruce? We need to have a funeral.”
Mallory’s mom found a small empty box and placed
“Yeah, I’ll be back as soon as I can.” Mallory went outside, hopped on her bike and raced down
“Bruce, Bruce, come quick!” He didn’t seem to hear her, so she called again, louder.
Finally Bruce jogged over to her. “What do you want?” he whispered harshly. “I’m busy playing baseball with the guys.”
“Oh Bruce, I was riding my bike with Janna, and when I got home I went to my room, and I noticed that
“Hurry up, Mallory. I’m busy.”
“Bruce,
“Hey Bruce,” one of the baseball players called, “You’re up next to bat. Come on!”
“Gotta go, Mal,” Bruce said, turning away.
“Bruce,
When she reached home her little sister Kim was waiting on the porch, holding the little box on her lap, tears rolling down her freckled cheeks. She looked up when Mallory stepped onto the porch.
“Where’s Bruce?” she asked, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “Mom showed me a good spot in the backyard where we can bury
“Bruce was too busy playing baseball,” Mallory answered, pulling her sister up. “We’ll just have to have our own burial.”
The two sisters went to the backyard, and Kim pointed out a spot by the fence that had been cleared. A shovel leaned against the fence, and Mallory went to work digging a hole. She wanted it deep so the neighbor’s dog wouldn’t dig
“We need a marker,” Mallory said, looking around. She went to the shed and dug around until she found a small piece of wood. She took a rusty nail and scratched “
“I think we should sing a song,” Kim suggested.
“How about “God Be With You ‘til We Meet Again?” They sang it quietly, and then Mallory picked two of her mom’s purple tulips and laid them on the grave.
“Too bad Bruce couldn’t be here. He missed a lovely service.”
When Bruce came home a few hours later, he was mad at his sisters for burying
Mallory was about to give a snotty remark, but then noticed tears in Bruce’s eyes. She realized he was just trying to look cool in front of his friends, but inside he was hurting badly. She walked to him and put her hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Bruce. I should have waited.”
“We’ll do it again, Bruce,” Kim said, putting her arms around his waist. “It will be better with you there, too.” The trio walked reverently back outside, and had the sweetest second farewell to the beautiful canary,
Thursday, September 25, 2008
The Last Saturday by Iris Rosewater
On the last Saturday of the month (as well as every last Saturday), Martin waited with anticipation in the crowd of onlookers to see his little girl. He was tall, which put him at an advantage as he searched the gush of passengers for a mousey brown ponytail and the feminine version of his own face. Spotting Anna finally, he waved until she caught sight of him, her face lighting up, her smile carving out the dimples in her cheeks. Martin rocked up on the balls of his feet and back, his hands stuffed in his jean pockets. When she reached him, he gave a ceremonial soft yank to her ponytail as they hugged. She was growing fast now, looking more like a young woman than a little girl, he thought to himself.
Nearly 9 years had passed since the messy divorce. Virginia had moved on, she said, and she didn’t love him anymore. When exactly had she moved on? He wondered. Was he at work when it happened, changing oil and fixing transmissions for 10 hours a day? Or was it at home, when he fell asleep on the living room chair while they watched TV at night, waking to darkness in the early hours of the morning, and trudging groggily up to their bedroom. The 4 years they’d been married were quiet. There were few fights. He loved her dearly but silently, and just assumed that she returned his affection without feeling the need to be demonstrative about it. So, it came as a shock when she calmly informed him that she was leaving. She had found someone else and he was moving to Colorado (hundreds of miles away) and she wanted to go with him. And, by the way, she would be taking Anna with her. While Virginia had cycled through several relationships as the years passed by, Martin stayed single. Marriage was something he had tried and failed at, and had no intention of failing again.
Poor Anna, he thought, glancing at her sideways as they drove out of the parking complex. Only 3 years old when their marriage dissolved, it was really all she remembered of her family. This visitation business was all she knew of the fathering-part of family life. She was a good sport about it. Easygoing. Never kicked up a fuss about sacrificing a weekend to stay with her dad in his crummy apartment. He tried to make it special and traditional when they were together. On Saturdays, he brought her to games when it was baseball season, and they always had a hot dog and a bag of peanuts. Other times, he would just take her to the neighborhood diamond and they’d play catch. She had a good arm, even when she was a little bitty thing, but she never joined any team in Colorado. Maybe because baseball belonged to the two of them. Or maybe she only liked it because he did and she was placating him. Whatever the reason, he treasure their time together, however sparse it was.
Driving home was Anna’s favorite part about visiting her Dad. The whole weekend lay ahead of them. A whole two days. Sitting in the front seat of his Plymouth Horizon, she watched the Idaho scenery go by, never seeming to change any, and she liked it that way. She also liked the catching up they always did as they puttered home. He always asked the right questions about school and friends, sensing somehow when to stop, and gently redirecting if she fell silent. Especially when he asked, out of politeness, how her mother was doing. Or Earl. She would answer as briefly as possible and look away to hide her blatant dislike for both of them. She almost plucked up the courage to tell her Dad what was happening in 6 weeks, and then took a deep breath and decided to wait and let him enjoy the trip for a while.
When they got home, Anna greeted Chip in his cage by the front window. Martin bought her the canary for her 10th birthday, and she insisted that they keep the bird at his house. He was grateful in the end to have someone to come home to and make noise in the lonely apartment. They fixed up some omelets for brunch. No onions, of course… just some cheese and mushrooms. The tiny kitchen filled with the sulfuric aroma of eggs, the electric burners on the avocado-green stove glowing red and warming the house. Martin opened a window. The yellowing ruffle of a curtain flopped a little in the gusty breeze. It was spring in Idaho, and blustery. He wondered for a moment if it was a bad day for catch.
“What do you want to do today, Ann?” Martin asked, spearing the last few clumps of egg and mushroom with his fork.
Anna smiled. “I dunno, Dad. What we did last time and the time before that, I guess.” He could see she was teasing him and felt a bit sheepish.
“I just wondered if you were getting a little bored with the routine. We could do something else, you know. Just say the word, Kid.” Martin liked to test the water every now and then to make sure she hadn’t grown out of anything she used to like without him knowing it. They were together so rarely.
Despite his offer for a change of pace, they both grabbed their worn-out baseball gloves and a ball from the hall closet before getting in the car. It was breezy. They didn’t talk much, Martin taking her lead. Playing catch was pleasantly monotonous, like the ticking of a clock, and they fell into the familiar rhythm quickly. But, Martin sensed an undercurrent and it made him uneasy today. Her eyes were serious and she was throwing a bit harder than usual. He waited for her to break the silence.
“He’s moving in, you know. Earl is. They’re getting married in 6 weeks.”
The ball rolled out of Martin’s glove as he sucked a tight breath into his chest and held it. The men in her life hadn’t seemed threatening before. They flitted in and out in an annoying way that irritated him because it irritated Anna. But, someone was about to become a permanent part of her life. A man who she would live with and see every day and eat dinner with… a father. He crouched down to pick up the ball and consciously rearranged the expression on his face. Hopefully, it would look indifferent at worst.
“Well, that’s news. Are you going to be a bridesmaid, or something?” he asked with forced interest.
“Are you kidding? She’ll be lucky if I even go to the stupid thing.” Anna responded, holding up her mitt impatiently. He floated it to her like a softball.
“You’re not excited about it? Your mom finally settling down and all that? No more first dates and her ‘acting silly.’ I thought you’d be happy that was all done with.”
“You try living with Earl. No, I take it back. You try being in the same room with Earl for fifteen minutes. I hate his guts, dad. I don’t want to live in the same house with him. I’m happy for mom, but not enough to be a martyr for her.”
“Oh,” he said, releasing the rest of that air he was holding in the bottom of his lungs. He was ashamed at the relief he felt in her dislike for the man who would replace him. She should be happier than this. She deserved it.
“That’s kind of what I wanted to talk to you about, Dad.” She fidgeted with the ball, examining the faded stitches as she talked. “I want to come live with you.”
He should have answered right away, but he didn’t. They played without speaking for a half hour longer, listening to the whir of the ball as it sailed and thumped into the glove, back and forth.
Anna tried not to take it personally. She could see the gears in his head working to figure it all out, and she honestly appreciated his taking it so seriously. She imagined his planning. Was their school a good one? Would they wait for Summer to move her in?
They wandered around the desert for a while after plopping their mitts into the backseat through a window that was stuck halfway rolled up. He pointed out animal tracks in the sand – a lizard, a rabbit, a coyote? And identified some of the vegetation. She already knew all of it, but she pretended not to, because she enjoyed listening to him.
Dinner that night was one of the three dinners he knew how to make: Chili and cornbread. They rented a movie (he let her pick) and he fell asleep on the chair (as always). She left the light on for him, so he could see to get to his bed when he finally woke up.
The next morning, they ate breakfast together in their pajamas – some off brand of Lucky Charms and whole milk. Martin hadn’t slept all that well. His tired eyes swept over the kitchen… over the linoleum floor which reminded him of his middle school cafeteria, over the oil-splattered wall above the stove, the refrigerator without a handle. The living room sofa was orange plaid and threadbare. Her tiny room (which doubled as his office most of the time) had no pictures on its white cinderblock walls. Why on earth did she want to live here? They had a nice house in Denver. He’d seen it in pictures. He worked long hours… who would keep an eye on her during those afternoons just after school? An enormous sense of inadequacy washed through him and settled uneasily into his stomach. He got up and plunked the remaining Marshmallow Maties into the sink. He looked up and sighed. In the windowsill sat a red ceramic pot she’d made at school. She made two of them, she said, and its twin sat in her kitchen windowsill at her mom’s house. She taught him how to poke the soil and check when it needed watering, and how much to give it. Secretly, he worried that it wouldn’t survive in his care. But, he could see now that it was flourishing. A green shoot rose out of it, slender and graceful, leaves beginning to part from the stalk. And, at the tip, a purple bud promised glory in his humble kitchen. He looked across, catching Anna’s expectant gaze and smiled.
Nearly 9 years had passed since the messy divorce. Virginia had moved on, she said, and she didn’t love him anymore. When exactly had she moved on? He wondered. Was he at work when it happened, changing oil and fixing transmissions for 10 hours a day? Or was it at home, when he fell asleep on the living room chair while they watched TV at night, waking to darkness in the early hours of the morning, and trudging groggily up to their bedroom. The 4 years they’d been married were quiet. There were few fights. He loved her dearly but silently, and just assumed that she returned his affection without feeling the need to be demonstrative about it. So, it came as a shock when she calmly informed him that she was leaving. She had found someone else and he was moving to Colorado (hundreds of miles away) and she wanted to go with him. And, by the way, she would be taking Anna with her. While Virginia had cycled through several relationships as the years passed by, Martin stayed single. Marriage was something he had tried and failed at, and had no intention of failing again.
Poor Anna, he thought, glancing at her sideways as they drove out of the parking complex. Only 3 years old when their marriage dissolved, it was really all she remembered of her family. This visitation business was all she knew of the fathering-part of family life. She was a good sport about it. Easygoing. Never kicked up a fuss about sacrificing a weekend to stay with her dad in his crummy apartment. He tried to make it special and traditional when they were together. On Saturdays, he brought her to games when it was baseball season, and they always had a hot dog and a bag of peanuts. Other times, he would just take her to the neighborhood diamond and they’d play catch. She had a good arm, even when she was a little bitty thing, but she never joined any team in Colorado. Maybe because baseball belonged to the two of them. Or maybe she only liked it because he did and she was placating him. Whatever the reason, he treasure their time together, however sparse it was.
Driving home was Anna’s favorite part about visiting her Dad. The whole weekend lay ahead of them. A whole two days. Sitting in the front seat of his Plymouth Horizon, she watched the Idaho scenery go by, never seeming to change any, and she liked it that way. She also liked the catching up they always did as they puttered home. He always asked the right questions about school and friends, sensing somehow when to stop, and gently redirecting if she fell silent. Especially when he asked, out of politeness, how her mother was doing. Or Earl. She would answer as briefly as possible and look away to hide her blatant dislike for both of them. She almost plucked up the courage to tell her Dad what was happening in 6 weeks, and then took a deep breath and decided to wait and let him enjoy the trip for a while.
When they got home, Anna greeted Chip in his cage by the front window. Martin bought her the canary for her 10th birthday, and she insisted that they keep the bird at his house. He was grateful in the end to have someone to come home to and make noise in the lonely apartment. They fixed up some omelets for brunch. No onions, of course… just some cheese and mushrooms. The tiny kitchen filled with the sulfuric aroma of eggs, the electric burners on the avocado-green stove glowing red and warming the house. Martin opened a window. The yellowing ruffle of a curtain flopped a little in the gusty breeze. It was spring in Idaho, and blustery. He wondered for a moment if it was a bad day for catch.
“What do you want to do today, Ann?” Martin asked, spearing the last few clumps of egg and mushroom with his fork.
Anna smiled. “I dunno, Dad. What we did last time and the time before that, I guess.” He could see she was teasing him and felt a bit sheepish.
“I just wondered if you were getting a little bored with the routine. We could do something else, you know. Just say the word, Kid.” Martin liked to test the water every now and then to make sure she hadn’t grown out of anything she used to like without him knowing it. They were together so rarely.
Despite his offer for a change of pace, they both grabbed their worn-out baseball gloves and a ball from the hall closet before getting in the car. It was breezy. They didn’t talk much, Martin taking her lead. Playing catch was pleasantly monotonous, like the ticking of a clock, and they fell into the familiar rhythm quickly. But, Martin sensed an undercurrent and it made him uneasy today. Her eyes were serious and she was throwing a bit harder than usual. He waited for her to break the silence.
“He’s moving in, you know. Earl is. They’re getting married in 6 weeks.”
The ball rolled out of Martin’s glove as he sucked a tight breath into his chest and held it. The men in her life hadn’t seemed threatening before. They flitted in and out in an annoying way that irritated him because it irritated Anna. But, someone was about to become a permanent part of her life. A man who she would live with and see every day and eat dinner with… a father. He crouched down to pick up the ball and consciously rearranged the expression on his face. Hopefully, it would look indifferent at worst.
“Well, that’s news. Are you going to be a bridesmaid, or something?” he asked with forced interest.
“Are you kidding? She’ll be lucky if I even go to the stupid thing.” Anna responded, holding up her mitt impatiently. He floated it to her like a softball.
“You’re not excited about it? Your mom finally settling down and all that? No more first dates and her ‘acting silly.’ I thought you’d be happy that was all done with.”
“You try living with Earl. No, I take it back. You try being in the same room with Earl for fifteen minutes. I hate his guts, dad. I don’t want to live in the same house with him. I’m happy for mom, but not enough to be a martyr for her.”
“Oh,” he said, releasing the rest of that air he was holding in the bottom of his lungs. He was ashamed at the relief he felt in her dislike for the man who would replace him. She should be happier than this. She deserved it.
“That’s kind of what I wanted to talk to you about, Dad.” She fidgeted with the ball, examining the faded stitches as she talked. “I want to come live with you.”
He should have answered right away, but he didn’t. They played without speaking for a half hour longer, listening to the whir of the ball as it sailed and thumped into the glove, back and forth.
Anna tried not to take it personally. She could see the gears in his head working to figure it all out, and she honestly appreciated his taking it so seriously. She imagined his planning. Was their school a good one? Would they wait for Summer to move her in?
They wandered around the desert for a while after plopping their mitts into the backseat through a window that was stuck halfway rolled up. He pointed out animal tracks in the sand – a lizard, a rabbit, a coyote? And identified some of the vegetation. She already knew all of it, but she pretended not to, because she enjoyed listening to him.
Dinner that night was one of the three dinners he knew how to make: Chili and cornbread. They rented a movie (he let her pick) and he fell asleep on the chair (as always). She left the light on for him, so he could see to get to his bed when he finally woke up.
The next morning, they ate breakfast together in their pajamas – some off brand of Lucky Charms and whole milk. Martin hadn’t slept all that well. His tired eyes swept over the kitchen… over the linoleum floor which reminded him of his middle school cafeteria, over the oil-splattered wall above the stove, the refrigerator without a handle. The living room sofa was orange plaid and threadbare. Her tiny room (which doubled as his office most of the time) had no pictures on its white cinderblock walls. Why on earth did she want to live here? They had a nice house in Denver. He’d seen it in pictures. He worked long hours… who would keep an eye on her during those afternoons just after school? An enormous sense of inadequacy washed through him and settled uneasily into his stomach. He got up and plunked the remaining Marshmallow Maties into the sink. He looked up and sighed. In the windowsill sat a red ceramic pot she’d made at school. She made two of them, she said, and its twin sat in her kitchen windowsill at her mom’s house. She taught him how to poke the soil and check when it needed watering, and how much to give it. Secretly, he worried that it wouldn’t survive in his care. But, he could see now that it was flourishing. A green shoot rose out of it, slender and graceful, leaves beginning to part from the stalk. And, at the tip, a purple bud promised glory in his humble kitchen. He looked across, catching Anna’s expectant gaze and smiled.
Sunday, September 21, 2008
Grandma's Company
By Dotti Dahlia
Mia brought her cold white hand to her nose and pinched it shut before submerging herself in the river water. The water was unusually warm and her jet- black hair glistened silkily as she rose out of the water. Wearing a red and green plaid bathing suit the whiteness of her skin seemed exaggerated, like the white river stones sliding beneath her feet as she walked with the current. She stopped beneath a canopy of cottonwoods and smiled as a breeze rushed over her damp skin, she could feel autumn sneaking through the leaves, blowing the clouds across the sky.
Before arriving at Lake Merwin, Mia had spent five years caring for her grandmother without relief. Mia was the only one left in her family and found the loneliness surprisingly comforting. She was her only responsibility. And frankly, Mia was ready for some time alone, without the smells of Vicks Vapor Rub, chicken broth and sounds of mucous winning an arduous battle.
Floating on her back, Mia stared into the thick canopy above her; King Fishers ignored her as they dove head first for their dinner – their calls begging her to return to camp for her own dinner. She could smell camp from where she was, though she was considerably far away, having let the river and her thoughts carry her far. She could also hear her boom box, “69 Love Songs” by the Magnetic Fields was spinning over and over, stuck on repeat, bouncing off the trees and the boulders. Her grandmother hated her music, especially the Magnetic Fields. The last five years were a blur of Sinatra, Chopin and Paul Harvey – Mia was celebrating all of her senses tonight.
Marking her campsite, Mia swam to her baby blue beach towel and wrapped it close around her body. The temperature had dropped considerably within the gloaming hour. The fire needed stoking but the embers were ripe for cooking. After quickly throwing on her same-old faded black jeans and navy blue hoody with a hole in the armpit, Mia took out the turkey sausages she had purchased earlier that morning. The cast iron skillet was ready for cooking and the sausages browned the instant they hit its hot surface; dinner would be done in no time at all, the benefit of cooking for one.
Mia pulled a bottle of white wine from the cooler and poured some into her tin camp mug. Remembering she had shared the first half of the bottle with her grandmother on New Years, Mia quickly poured the contents of her mug onto the river sand. It was their bottle. She laughed as she murmured “One for my homie.” Slowly, a tear bulged at her lower lid, and her lower lip tugged itself into a pout. Mia breathed deeply and let the moment pass. She poured the last mug for herself and sipped it while her sausage simmered. It had gone off and tasted like their refrigerator and smelled like a Thanksgiving day sponge after all the dishes have been scrubbed. She drank it anyway, finding it bittersweet.
Dinner was exactly what she wanted. Hearty and warm – perfect after swimming. With the boombox still spinning, Mia brought out the James Agee novel her grandmother gave her for her last birthday. Finding her grandmother’s taste if not bad when it comes to literature but morbid to the most possible extent, Mia laughed at the realization of the title, A Death in the Family, which meant nothing at the time of her birthday, made an outpour of tears surface from what felt like the depths of her feet. It was the first time she had cried in years, and it was a remarkable release.
Her sobs were quickly interrupted however by the shuffling of two fat, gray field mice who found their way to the warmth of her fire. They were cute and friendly, running around the fire pit and over her exposed red-painted toenails in her sandals, looking for crumbs and investigating their new neighbor. Mia was glad to have their company.
The combination of tears, libations and swimming inspired Mia to ready herself for bed. After brushing her teeth and washing her face with cold water she zipped herself inside her tent and into her sleeping bag, then switched her tent lantern on for her regular bedtime reading. Agee quickly lulled her into a deep sleep where she dreamed of her grandmother.
Mia woke herself up laughing. She was laughing so hard she had to roll herself into fetal position to ease the pain in her sides. She laughed herself out of her tent and up a nearby hill where she watched the sunrise. The sky was the same hew of bubblegum pink and ice blue, celandine and violets rolled over the surrounding hills, preparing to open up to the sun. The Morning air nipped at her bare skin as she pulled the navy blue hood over her head; her freckled white face and ice blue eyes peering out onto the green expanse in front of her. Peace settled over her, all around her, and over the rest of her day as she drove back to their house to start her new life, to the blue house on Olive Street, with the yellow shutters, and lavender-lined sidewalk.
Mia brought her cold white hand to her nose and pinched it shut before submerging herself in the river water. The water was unusually warm and her jet- black hair glistened silkily as she rose out of the water. Wearing a red and green plaid bathing suit the whiteness of her skin seemed exaggerated, like the white river stones sliding beneath her feet as she walked with the current. She stopped beneath a canopy of cottonwoods and smiled as a breeze rushed over her damp skin, she could feel autumn sneaking through the leaves, blowing the clouds across the sky.
Before arriving at Lake Merwin, Mia had spent five years caring for her grandmother without relief. Mia was the only one left in her family and found the loneliness surprisingly comforting. She was her only responsibility. And frankly, Mia was ready for some time alone, without the smells of Vicks Vapor Rub, chicken broth and sounds of mucous winning an arduous battle.
Floating on her back, Mia stared into the thick canopy above her; King Fishers ignored her as they dove head first for their dinner – their calls begging her to return to camp for her own dinner. She could smell camp from where she was, though she was considerably far away, having let the river and her thoughts carry her far. She could also hear her boom box, “69 Love Songs” by the Magnetic Fields was spinning over and over, stuck on repeat, bouncing off the trees and the boulders. Her grandmother hated her music, especially the Magnetic Fields. The last five years were a blur of Sinatra, Chopin and Paul Harvey – Mia was celebrating all of her senses tonight.
Marking her campsite, Mia swam to her baby blue beach towel and wrapped it close around her body. The temperature had dropped considerably within the gloaming hour. The fire needed stoking but the embers were ripe for cooking. After quickly throwing on her same-old faded black jeans and navy blue hoody with a hole in the armpit, Mia took out the turkey sausages she had purchased earlier that morning. The cast iron skillet was ready for cooking and the sausages browned the instant they hit its hot surface; dinner would be done in no time at all, the benefit of cooking for one.
Mia pulled a bottle of white wine from the cooler and poured some into her tin camp mug. Remembering she had shared the first half of the bottle with her grandmother on New Years, Mia quickly poured the contents of her mug onto the river sand. It was their bottle. She laughed as she murmured “One for my homie.” Slowly, a tear bulged at her lower lid, and her lower lip tugged itself into a pout. Mia breathed deeply and let the moment pass. She poured the last mug for herself and sipped it while her sausage simmered. It had gone off and tasted like their refrigerator and smelled like a Thanksgiving day sponge after all the dishes have been scrubbed. She drank it anyway, finding it bittersweet.
Dinner was exactly what she wanted. Hearty and warm – perfect after swimming. With the boombox still spinning, Mia brought out the James Agee novel her grandmother gave her for her last birthday. Finding her grandmother’s taste if not bad when it comes to literature but morbid to the most possible extent, Mia laughed at the realization of the title, A Death in the Family, which meant nothing at the time of her birthday, made an outpour of tears surface from what felt like the depths of her feet. It was the first time she had cried in years, and it was a remarkable release.
Her sobs were quickly interrupted however by the shuffling of two fat, gray field mice who found their way to the warmth of her fire. They were cute and friendly, running around the fire pit and over her exposed red-painted toenails in her sandals, looking for crumbs and investigating their new neighbor. Mia was glad to have their company.
The combination of tears, libations and swimming inspired Mia to ready herself for bed. After brushing her teeth and washing her face with cold water she zipped herself inside her tent and into her sleeping bag, then switched her tent lantern on for her regular bedtime reading. Agee quickly lulled her into a deep sleep where she dreamed of her grandmother.
We’re on a bus to the Saturday farmer’s market in Pioneer Square and grandmother, who always loved bubblegum, pulled out a fresh bag of Big Chew bubblegum and put it quickly in her mouth as though it were dip. Grandma continued to do this, never offering me any, until she had the entire bag of Big Chew in her mouth. Grandma couldn’t talk, in fact she couldn’t even blow a bubble her mouth had no room for air! She just sat there on the bus in her normal gray housedress and blue cardigan, little rivers of pink juice dribbling and gurgling out of the corners of her mouth as she chewed and chewed and chewed! And suddenly she looks at me over her glasses, the light from the bus windows making her eyes an ice blue and I knew she was about to laugh but couldn’t open her mouth to do so, so the tears of her contained laughter started streaming down her wrinkled cheeks!
Mia woke herself up laughing. She was laughing so hard she had to roll herself into fetal position to ease the pain in her sides. She laughed herself out of her tent and up a nearby hill where she watched the sunrise. The sky was the same hew of bubblegum pink and ice blue, celandine and violets rolled over the surrounding hills, preparing to open up to the sun. The Morning air nipped at her bare skin as she pulled the navy blue hood over her head; her freckled white face and ice blue eyes peering out onto the green expanse in front of her. Peace settled over her, all around her, and over the rest of her day as she drove back to their house to start her new life, to the blue house on Olive Street, with the yellow shutters, and lavender-lined sidewalk.
Saturday, September 20, 2008
Am I Blue?
By Tulah Dixie (R.F.)
Levvy Tillers sat on the bus, watching the town go by, but not really noticing. She was too embarrassed, too upset to think about anything but her hair. What was left of it was stuffed under a ski cap, even though it was July. Thank goodness Judy had an opening that day.
The night before Levvy had fallen asleep on the couch, her long brown hair falling over the side of the cushions. She had been growing out her hair for as long as she could remember. It had always been long. When she woke up, she’s gone to the bathroom and tried to run a brush through her tresses. That was when she discovered there was something sticky and hard on the back of her head.
A scream, several tears, and a mother-wielding-scissors later, Levvy held a piece of gum with long hair attached to it in her hand. The gum was blue, her little sister Heidie’s favorite color. What bad luck that Heidie thought Levvy’s head would be a good place to store it for the evening. It was hard to be mad at the little girl. She was only four, and the sweetest four year old in the world. She had cried until her blue eyes were red and puffed, she felt so bad, so some of Levvy’s tears were for her sister, too.
Now, sitting on the bus, Levvy felt the familiar prick behind her eyes. She had to think about something else. She glanced around the bus, and her eyes stopped on a man wearing a blue tie under a pinstriped suit. Then on the blue-painted toenails of a large woman wearing sandals that showed too much of her plump toes. The girl in front of her had black hair, but did she detect a bit of blue undertone? Levvy pulled her hat over her eyes. She was making too big a deal out of the whole thing, and now she was hallucinating.
Finally the bus reached 6th and Oak streets, her stop. A short walk down the block brought Levvy to the Wizard with Scissors hair Salon. Taking a deep breath, she opened the door, walked up to the reception desk, and announced her presence.
. Levvy closed her eyes as Judy put her remaining hair in a ponytail, then cut it slowly off. When she was finished, Judy held up the long ponytail for a moment, then placed it on the counter in front of her. Levvy reached out tentatively for it, sniffing back tears. She held it in front of her face, and suddenly she smiled.
“Look how gross my hair was! It was all split-ends and frizzles!” She shook her head around “My head feels so light.” As Judy snipped away, Levvy’s smile only widened. She had never realized how nicely her face was shaped, how bright her eyes were.
When Judy was finished, Levvy was left with an A-line haircut, the back layer in the middle of her head, sloping down to her chin in the front. She gazed at herself in the mirror with unbelief. Who knew she could look so good with short hair? Why had it taken her 15 years to realize that change was good? She hugged Judy, paid, and walked out the door, thinking of how she was going to say thank you to Heidie.
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
Names By:Iris Rosewater (R.K.)
Opening her window, Laura leaned toward the fresh coastal air as it rushed in, relieving some of the stuffy heat in the bus’ cabin. She shifted the weight of her belly uncomfortably, the baby inside stretching her feet into Laura’s ribs. Melanie, her five-year-old daughter, blew a pink bubble beside her, and they giggled when it popped and pasted itself over her nose and cheeks.
“How long ‘til we get there, Mama?” she asked, swinging her feet.
Laura smiled, watching the little blue jelly sandals bounce, pink nail polish peeping through the open-toes. “We’re getting closer, Mellie,” she replied. “Look! Seagulls!” They counted every one they saw as they drew into the quaint town of Seaside.
It was the last Friday before Mellie’s first day of Kindergarten. The last Summer fling, just the two of them, for a long while. The baby girl would soon be joining them, and Laura found herself torn between the nostalgic ache of losing her singular closeness with Mellie and the thrill of meeting the new person inside her. Anxiousness crept in and clutched at her heart for a moment, and she took a few breaths to compose herself. Today belonged to Mellie, now leaping out of her seat as the bus grinded and whined to a halt. She practically danced down the aisle, her blonde hair flouncing around her ears as she galloped and skipped. Free to pick her own wardrobe, she donned a polka-dotted purple skirt (the kind that flattens out completely when you spin fast enough) and a lime-green top with snaps down the front and over the flowered pockets. Although the muggy heat of Summer still hung in the air, she chose to complete her ensemble with a peach tasseled poncho. Laura thought she was crazy, wiping beads of sweat as they plummeted down the sides of her face, and then reminded herself that she was carrying a little heater. Mellie was thin and willowy and seemed to Laura like a little sparrow as she hopped and sang made-up songs. Her heart caught in her throat.
They decided to eat first. Laura found a hole-in-the-wall fish and chips shop and sat at a yellow booth, their legs sliding over the greasy bench. Mellie wanted to know why French fries were called ‘chips’ when eaten with big fish sticks. And she spent five minutes pulling the pickles out of her tartar sauce before Laura finally asked for some plain mayonnaise.
“We have a problem, miss Mellie,” Laura started as they licked their fingers, “The baby is coming soon and we don’t have a name for her. Do you have any ideas?”
Mellie thought for a moment.
“How about ‘Chip’?” she asked, reflecting, as she held a tepid French fry.
“I think that’s more of a boy’s name,” her mother smiled, “Let’s keep thinking.”
With full tummies, they walked along the main street of the tourist town, looking in windows and people-watching. Mellie happened upon a kite shop. The wind had picked up since their arrival, and the windsocks hanging on display outside bellowed with long, colorful tails dancing behind them. Mellie squealed and pointed. Stuck in a barrel that served as a doorstop was a spiraling kite on a long stick, spinning the rainbow like a fractal in the breeze.
Prize in hand, the couple exited the shop and headed for the beach. Mellie ran circles around Laura with her eyes on the kite above her as they walked barefoot in the sand.
“Rainbow?” suggested Melanie, still working out a name for her sister. Laura hmmmm’d and Melanie recognized it as a ‘no.’
They found a tide pool and watched the microcosm of ocean life stir in the shallow water. Mellie held a starfish, fingering the tiny nubs that dotted its body. Laura crouched gingerly and concentrated on keeping her balance. They saw a couple of crabs chase each other with asymmetrical pinchers drawn menacingly. Mellie touched the rough spikes of an urchin.
“What’s that crusty stuff on the rock?” she asked her mother, “It looks like lots of little volcanoes.”
“Barnacles,” Laura answered.
“I like that word – ‘barnacle’! Let’s name her that!” she offered.
Laura laughed, “She’s a barnacle now, but she won’t be for much longer!”
She chased Melanie and her kite down the beach and they dipped their toes in the frigid water. Giggling, they held hands and leapt over the waves as they lapped up to the beach and then slid, bubbling, back into the vast depths. Laura laid out a blanket to rest while she watched Mellie build sand castles and narrate stories about princesses and dragons. After putting the finishing seashells on her castle, she curled up beside her mother and they listened to the ocean for a while, Laura running her fingers through Mellie’s hair absently. She marveled at the genetic lottery that produced her daughter. Despite her mother’s thick wavy hair – dark as baker’s chocolate – and brown eyes, Melanie somehow inherited her father’s white-blonde tendrils, which were still soft as a baby’s and hung straight to her chin. Her eyes were also her Daddy’s: icy blue. Her lashes were near white fringes that tangled into her thick bangs. Laura pressed her palm gently against her stomach, feeling the baby’s tiny elbow protrude from her warm skin. She wondered what her new girl would look like. A kick made her sit up.
“I think little one is hungry. How about her big sister?”
Mellie rolled over and shouted “Pizza!” over the roar of the ocean.
They wandered back to the main street, the kite’s stick tucked deeply into their beach bag, so that it trailed brightly behind them. They found a pizza parlor and ate their slices of greasy pizza hungrily. Her plate clean, Mellie decided she’d earned some dessert… which led them to an ice cream cart where they both got two scoops of rocky road.
With an hour or so left before the last bus home, they strolled and talked about Melanie’s new teacher and what school would be like. They imagined how big the baby would be and Mellie pledged to fetch diapers and bottles and sing her little sister to sleep. They stopped at a candy store window where a man inside was busy pulling taffy. Mellie gasped in delight and watched quietly for a few minutes before pulling Laura inside. Rows of clear bins lined the store’s striped walls, each filled with a different sugary treat. An entire stretch was devoted to their own house taffy. Mellie counted 25 pieces of taffy, pinching them by their twisted waxed paper ends with tongs and carefully plopping them into a paper bag. By now, the sun had begun its descent over the ocean. With time to spare, they chewed and sucked on their salt-water morsels and moseyed back to the bus stop.
Laura sat down with Melane nestling quickly in her lap. The bus pulled away.
“We never picked a name for your sister,” Laura pointed out.
Melanie yawned an answer.
“What did you say, Mellie?” she asked.
“Taffy,” Melanie replied, with a meaningful pat to Laura’s bump. The baby wiggled and kicked her approval.
“Taffy.” Laura repeated, and watched in the dimming light her oldest daughter slip in to a dream with her little hand still resting on her newly named baby sister.
“How long ‘til we get there, Mama?” she asked, swinging her feet.
Laura smiled, watching the little blue jelly sandals bounce, pink nail polish peeping through the open-toes. “We’re getting closer, Mellie,” she replied. “Look! Seagulls!” They counted every one they saw as they drew into the quaint town of Seaside.
It was the last Friday before Mellie’s first day of Kindergarten. The last Summer fling, just the two of them, for a long while. The baby girl would soon be joining them, and Laura found herself torn between the nostalgic ache of losing her singular closeness with Mellie and the thrill of meeting the new person inside her. Anxiousness crept in and clutched at her heart for a moment, and she took a few breaths to compose herself. Today belonged to Mellie, now leaping out of her seat as the bus grinded and whined to a halt. She practically danced down the aisle, her blonde hair flouncing around her ears as she galloped and skipped. Free to pick her own wardrobe, she donned a polka-dotted purple skirt (the kind that flattens out completely when you spin fast enough) and a lime-green top with snaps down the front and over the flowered pockets. Although the muggy heat of Summer still hung in the air, she chose to complete her ensemble with a peach tasseled poncho. Laura thought she was crazy, wiping beads of sweat as they plummeted down the sides of her face, and then reminded herself that she was carrying a little heater. Mellie was thin and willowy and seemed to Laura like a little sparrow as she hopped and sang made-up songs. Her heart caught in her throat.
They decided to eat first. Laura found a hole-in-the-wall fish and chips shop and sat at a yellow booth, their legs sliding over the greasy bench. Mellie wanted to know why French fries were called ‘chips’ when eaten with big fish sticks. And she spent five minutes pulling the pickles out of her tartar sauce before Laura finally asked for some plain mayonnaise.
“We have a problem, miss Mellie,” Laura started as they licked their fingers, “The baby is coming soon and we don’t have a name for her. Do you have any ideas?”
Mellie thought for a moment.
“How about ‘Chip’?” she asked, reflecting, as she held a tepid French fry.
“I think that’s more of a boy’s name,” her mother smiled, “Let’s keep thinking.”
With full tummies, they walked along the main street of the tourist town, looking in windows and people-watching. Mellie happened upon a kite shop. The wind had picked up since their arrival, and the windsocks hanging on display outside bellowed with long, colorful tails dancing behind them. Mellie squealed and pointed. Stuck in a barrel that served as a doorstop was a spiraling kite on a long stick, spinning the rainbow like a fractal in the breeze.
Prize in hand, the couple exited the shop and headed for the beach. Mellie ran circles around Laura with her eyes on the kite above her as they walked barefoot in the sand.
“Rainbow?” suggested Melanie, still working out a name for her sister. Laura hmmmm’d and Melanie recognized it as a ‘no.’
They found a tide pool and watched the microcosm of ocean life stir in the shallow water. Mellie held a starfish, fingering the tiny nubs that dotted its body. Laura crouched gingerly and concentrated on keeping her balance. They saw a couple of crabs chase each other with asymmetrical pinchers drawn menacingly. Mellie touched the rough spikes of an urchin.
“What’s that crusty stuff on the rock?” she asked her mother, “It looks like lots of little volcanoes.”
“Barnacles,” Laura answered.
“I like that word – ‘barnacle’! Let’s name her that!” she offered.
Laura laughed, “She’s a barnacle now, but she won’t be for much longer!”
She chased Melanie and her kite down the beach and they dipped their toes in the frigid water. Giggling, they held hands and leapt over the waves as they lapped up to the beach and then slid, bubbling, back into the vast depths. Laura laid out a blanket to rest while she watched Mellie build sand castles and narrate stories about princesses and dragons. After putting the finishing seashells on her castle, she curled up beside her mother and they listened to the ocean for a while, Laura running her fingers through Mellie’s hair absently. She marveled at the genetic lottery that produced her daughter. Despite her mother’s thick wavy hair – dark as baker’s chocolate – and brown eyes, Melanie somehow inherited her father’s white-blonde tendrils, which were still soft as a baby’s and hung straight to her chin. Her eyes were also her Daddy’s: icy blue. Her lashes were near white fringes that tangled into her thick bangs. Laura pressed her palm gently against her stomach, feeling the baby’s tiny elbow protrude from her warm skin. She wondered what her new girl would look like. A kick made her sit up.
“I think little one is hungry. How about her big sister?”
Mellie rolled over and shouted “Pizza!” over the roar of the ocean.
They wandered back to the main street, the kite’s stick tucked deeply into their beach bag, so that it trailed brightly behind them. They found a pizza parlor and ate their slices of greasy pizza hungrily. Her plate clean, Mellie decided she’d earned some dessert… which led them to an ice cream cart where they both got two scoops of rocky road.
With an hour or so left before the last bus home, they strolled and talked about Melanie’s new teacher and what school would be like. They imagined how big the baby would be and Mellie pledged to fetch diapers and bottles and sing her little sister to sleep. They stopped at a candy store window where a man inside was busy pulling taffy. Mellie gasped in delight and watched quietly for a few minutes before pulling Laura inside. Rows of clear bins lined the store’s striped walls, each filled with a different sugary treat. An entire stretch was devoted to their own house taffy. Mellie counted 25 pieces of taffy, pinching them by their twisted waxed paper ends with tongs and carefully plopping them into a paper bag. By now, the sun had begun its descent over the ocean. With time to spare, they chewed and sucked on their salt-water morsels and moseyed back to the bus stop.
Laura sat down with Melane nestling quickly in her lap. The bus pulled away.
“We never picked a name for your sister,” Laura pointed out.
Melanie yawned an answer.
“What did you say, Mellie?” she asked.
“Taffy,” Melanie replied, with a meaningful pat to Laura’s bump. The baby wiggled and kicked her approval.
“Taffy.” Laura repeated, and watched in the dimming light her oldest daughter slip in to a dream with her little hand still resting on her newly named baby sister.
Sunday, September 14, 2008
Excerpt from The Tall Tales of J. Timothy Tawny
by: Daryl Crass Water
***************************************
James Timothy Tawny was a doer. This quality, or trait you may call it sometimes landed him in hot water. On the playing field of his life there were no sidelines. His inability to say no took him many places that young boys should not go, and one place young boys go, and only men return……but not J. Timothy. He went and returned as much a boy as ever. Mother Nature herself couldn’t figure that one out. She just sat back and wondered…..”How did J.Timothy do that?”
***************************************
Epic would be a good word to describe him. Gargantuan is much too horizontal of a descriptor for a man of his vertical stature. It was fitting that the Finchley Traveling Circus have this giant. Their claim that he was the “TALLEST MAN IN THE WORLD” was probably true.
“3 WHOLE METERS” shouted Mr. Finchley, the Ringleader.
No one in town even knew how tall that was. It took Mr. Finchley a second to understand the confused look on the townsfolk faces, and he quickly did the conversion for them…..this giant was over Nine Feet Tall.
He ambled out from behind the curtain, having to duck his head to enter the tent. Using a flap that allowed a clown riding atop a clown riding atop a clown riding atop a bicycle to pass with ease. He did one awkward circle under the bigtop. Smiling and waving his small hands at all the children who looked on with open-mouthed amazement. Every now and then he winked at the crowd before turning to the train of clowns following him and pretend to scare them away in Godzilla-like fashion. . . only to have the procession reform behind him slowly.
The clowns finally gather the courage and a bucket of water, so when our Epic Giant gets back to the entrance and turns one last time to scare them, but they don’t scatter. Instead they send forth their boldest and bravest (funny description for a clown). He thumbs his nose at the giant and throws the bucket of water at him. In one motion the giant is doused and falls back through the open flap, disappearing in a singular gasp of the crowds’ breath. Leaving a shocked audience and a 3 METER memory….
It seemed simple enough; after all he doesn’t wear his pants when he sleeps. J. Timothy was seated under the bigtop long vacated. Kicking peanut shells and eating cotton candy he got from the concession area. The Circus had been over for 3 hours, and everyone had migrated back to town. Almost everyone…there was still Daryl Greenstreet, who lived on 5th Street, Caroline Crass who always lived down to her name, and Johnny Water from that ‘Sheep Branding Incident’ who thankfully lived UP to his name. They all stayed behind with J.Timothy daring him to sneak back into the circus after hours, and bring back a trophy. Bring back something so particular that no one would doubt he was there.
“Bring back the Tallest Man in World’s Pants?” asked J.Timothy.
He was answered with three excited nods.
J.Timothy was a doer, which in his eyes left him no choice. He headed off in the direction of the trailers where all the performers slept. Wishing he had some shoe-polish camouflage. It is a well known fact amongst young boys, if you want to become invisible at night, just rub shoe polish on your face, (works every time).
Lucky for J.Timothy each trailer was personalized and he spotted the trailer with the sign that said “The Tallest Man in the World”. He thought it strange that his trailer wasn’t larger than the others….but at least his had an awning. J.Timothy stealthily made his way over to the trailer, hiding in shadows and only moving when the coast was clear. He slid under the awning of the trailer and began formulating a plan on how he was going to get in, get the pants and get out.
He was only there a minute when he felt a drop of water land on his shoulder. That first drop of rain is like an alarm in everyone’s mind. Sending a million thoughts through your head. How am I going to stay dry?, how am I going to get home? or how am I going to explain my wet clothes to my mother? Better yet, how is it raining on a crystal clear night?
That’s when it happened. Falling on him like a drop of water from the sky. He looked up and realized that he wasn’t sitting under an awning of a trailer. He was sitting under a pair of pants over 5 feet long drying in the nighttime air. Attached to the trailer at one end and supported not by two poles on the other, but by two stilts. Two long pieces of wood with pedestals to stand on and giant shoes attached at the base (The Giants shoes). He was staring at half of the Tallest Man in the World, taking cover under the very pants he was there to steal. J. Timothy started laughing.
He laughed like a barrel would laugh, if a barrel could indeed laugh. Round, deep, heavy, hard laughter. The kind of laughter that has no inhibitions. The kind of laughter that rolls.
He laughed that shortest “Tall” man awake. He laughed the lights of the trailer on, and the lights of the trailer next to it. He laughed the neighbors awake, and Mr. Finchley the ringleader. He laughed “The Bearded Lady” awake, who come to think of it, was probably just an ugly man in a dress, and he laughed even more. He laughed the circus animals awake, and all the clowns. He laughed the Strongman and the makeshift security over. He laughed as they grabbed him from his hiding place and began the procession that would lead him out.
This line of performers and animals moved like a parade on the Fourth of July with none other than J. Timothy’s laughter as the music. Marching through the circus like a funeral procession with mismatched music of rolling laughter. Finally ending this curious parade at the front gate. Across the street were his friends who, for the second time tonight, looked on with open-mouthed amazement.
With no pants in hand, but still victorious, because truth be told, at that moment, raised high above the circus performers heads, the Tallest Man in the World was none other than James Timothy Tawny (and he was wearing his pants) … mischief extraordinaire……and he laughed.
***************************************
James Timothy Tawny was a doer. This quality, or trait you may call it sometimes landed him in hot water. On the playing field of his life there were no sidelines. His inability to say no took him many places that young boys should not go, and one place young boys go, and only men return……but not J. Timothy. He went and returned as much a boy as ever. Mother Nature herself couldn’t figure that one out. She just sat back and wondered…..”How did J.Timothy do that?”
***************************************
Epic would be a good word to describe him. Gargantuan is much too horizontal of a descriptor for a man of his vertical stature. It was fitting that the Finchley Traveling Circus have this giant. Their claim that he was the “TALLEST MAN IN THE WORLD” was probably true.
“3 WHOLE METERS” shouted Mr. Finchley, the Ringleader.
No one in town even knew how tall that was. It took Mr. Finchley a second to understand the confused look on the townsfolk faces, and he quickly did the conversion for them…..this giant was over Nine Feet Tall.
He ambled out from behind the curtain, having to duck his head to enter the tent. Using a flap that allowed a clown riding atop a clown riding atop a clown riding atop a bicycle to pass with ease. He did one awkward circle under the bigtop. Smiling and waving his small hands at all the children who looked on with open-mouthed amazement. Every now and then he winked at the crowd before turning to the train of clowns following him and pretend to scare them away in Godzilla-like fashion. . . only to have the procession reform behind him slowly.
The clowns finally gather the courage and a bucket of water, so when our Epic Giant gets back to the entrance and turns one last time to scare them, but they don’t scatter. Instead they send forth their boldest and bravest (funny description for a clown). He thumbs his nose at the giant and throws the bucket of water at him. In one motion the giant is doused and falls back through the open flap, disappearing in a singular gasp of the crowds’ breath. Leaving a shocked audience and a 3 METER memory….
It seemed simple enough; after all he doesn’t wear his pants when he sleeps. J. Timothy was seated under the bigtop long vacated. Kicking peanut shells and eating cotton candy he got from the concession area. The Circus had been over for 3 hours, and everyone had migrated back to town. Almost everyone…there was still Daryl Greenstreet, who lived on 5th Street, Caroline Crass who always lived down to her name, and Johnny Water from that ‘Sheep Branding Incident’ who thankfully lived UP to his name. They all stayed behind with J.Timothy daring him to sneak back into the circus after hours, and bring back a trophy. Bring back something so particular that no one would doubt he was there.
“Bring back the Tallest Man in World’s Pants?” asked J.Timothy.
He was answered with three excited nods.
J.Timothy was a doer, which in his eyes left him no choice. He headed off in the direction of the trailers where all the performers slept. Wishing he had some shoe-polish camouflage. It is a well known fact amongst young boys, if you want to become invisible at night, just rub shoe polish on your face, (works every time).
Lucky for J.Timothy each trailer was personalized and he spotted the trailer with the sign that said “The Tallest Man in the World”. He thought it strange that his trailer wasn’t larger than the others….but at least his had an awning. J.Timothy stealthily made his way over to the trailer, hiding in shadows and only moving when the coast was clear. He slid under the awning of the trailer and began formulating a plan on how he was going to get in, get the pants and get out.
He was only there a minute when he felt a drop of water land on his shoulder. That first drop of rain is like an alarm in everyone’s mind. Sending a million thoughts through your head. How am I going to stay dry?, how am I going to get home? or how am I going to explain my wet clothes to my mother? Better yet, how is it raining on a crystal clear night?
That’s when it happened. Falling on him like a drop of water from the sky. He looked up and realized that he wasn’t sitting under an awning of a trailer. He was sitting under a pair of pants over 5 feet long drying in the nighttime air. Attached to the trailer at one end and supported not by two poles on the other, but by two stilts. Two long pieces of wood with pedestals to stand on and giant shoes attached at the base (The Giants shoes). He was staring at half of the Tallest Man in the World, taking cover under the very pants he was there to steal. J. Timothy started laughing.
He laughed like a barrel would laugh, if a barrel could indeed laugh. Round, deep, heavy, hard laughter. The kind of laughter that has no inhibitions. The kind of laughter that rolls.
He laughed that shortest “Tall” man awake. He laughed the lights of the trailer on, and the lights of the trailer next to it. He laughed the neighbors awake, and Mr. Finchley the ringleader. He laughed “The Bearded Lady” awake, who come to think of it, was probably just an ugly man in a dress, and he laughed even more. He laughed the circus animals awake, and all the clowns. He laughed the Strongman and the makeshift security over. He laughed as they grabbed him from his hiding place and began the procession that would lead him out.
This line of performers and animals moved like a parade on the Fourth of July with none other than J. Timothy’s laughter as the music. Marching through the circus like a funeral procession with mismatched music of rolling laughter. Finally ending this curious parade at the front gate. Across the street were his friends who, for the second time tonight, looked on with open-mouthed amazement.
With no pants in hand, but still victorious, because truth be told, at that moment, raised high above the circus performers heads, the Tallest Man in the World was none other than James Timothy Tawny (and he was wearing his pants) … mischief extraordinaire……and he laughed.
Saturday, September 13, 2008
Pablo and the Sugar Cloud
By: Dotti Dahlia
Pablo reached the elephant stables just after midnight, it was his eighth birthday and Pablo’s father had just nodded off to sleep. Pablo’s father was a magician, widely respected across all the land and Pablo was his assistant. A magician’s assistant, just like his father, his grandfather and his great, great grandfather had started out.
Quickly tying his shoes and grabbing his birthday present from off the foot of his bed, Pablo managed to evade his father and his dog Lou in total silence. The moon was high and the summer sky was clear and velvety. It was a perfect night to turn eight.
Near he and his father’s trailer were the elephant stables, Pablo spent many hours in there reading on evenings like these when the weather was warm. Across the stable floors a fresh layer of golden straw had been scattered, the elephants though standing on their tired and enormous legs, slept head to tail in a line of five. A single hole in the roof allowed a single beam of moonlight to shine so that a hazy glow of amber straw, dust and light radiated beneath Pablo’s own tired legs. Gold bells dangled from the elephant’s blankets, twinkling in the moonlight, throwing reflections across the stable walls.
Spreading his coat across the fresh floor, Pablo produced a present his father had given him for his birthday. It was wrapped in shiny green paper and had a perfect yellow bow. Pablo carefully unwrapped the package, not tearing the paper and salvaging the bow. Pablo’s dark brown eyes grew large as the last of the paper was finally put to one side. It was an old book with golden pages and a red leather cover, the most fascinating book Pablo had ever seen! The metallic letters across the cover lit up in the glow of the moon, HANDBOOK OF SIMPLE MAGIC. Pablo opened the book, the book smelled like his father’s magic studio: sage, pipe tobacco, dirt and hot candle wax rose off the page. Positioning himself so that he was now on his stomach and elbows, he silently began to thumb through the pages.
The first chapter was instructions and general etiquette of a magician’s assistant, something in which Pablo was already well trained. There were even illustrations on examples of attire, cape tying and how to keep your hat clean. The second however was a new subject. SIMPLE MAGIC: choosing your wand.
As though the sun were about to come at any moment and force him to get back to work, Pablo read as fast as he could – of all the tools of a magician, the wand was the most precious. This was, in fact, the only tool of his father’s he was not allowed to touch. His father kept his wand locked in an elegantly carved, cedar box, inside the box it is wrapped in a silk square cloth his great, great grandmother made; a white rabbit embroidered on one of the corners. The book gave very distinct instructions, listing all the desirable qualities of a wand and even the various types of wands that have existed. Pablo could hardly contain his excitement in trying out a spell or two; he especially wanted to show his father how well he learned in just one night. Pablo set out to find something, ANYTHING that could serve as a temporary wand.
Nearby, Pablo heard the candy makers cleaning out their stands for tomorrow’s patrons. He could smell burnt sugar, cinnamon and chocolate – even over the dung piles just outside the stable. Suddenly wanting a sweet snack, Pablo left the company of the sleeping elephants and followed the scent of sugar and the sound of fellow circus men. Reaching their stand, Pablo peered over the counter and cleared his throat.
“Ahem!”
“Your up late! Does your father know you are out this late? “
Scrunching his nose, he looked innocently up at Earl. He was a rather plump man with long, curly hair and a mad, toothless smile, evidence of just how good his candies were. Earl always wore a red shirt with a missing top button and black cowboy boots and a black cowboy hat. He was always neat and tidy and smelled of chocolate. It was obvious that Pablo’s father was not awake, the trailer lights were off and their dog Lou was snoring in the dirt just below the front door. Too tired to bother with anything else this evening, Earl dismissed his question and looked Pablo squarely in the face.
“And how may I be of service this fine moonlit evening?”
Pablo scanned the shelves of various candies wrapped in blue and yellow foil paper and red cellophane. Just then, Earl snapped his long brown fingers – “I have just the thing for you tonight!” He then spun around and bent over what appeared to be a cauldron.
Earl had reached far down into the cauldron where he stood for quite some time with his entire arm, all the way to the top of his shoulder, churning something deep inside. Finally, Earl produced what appeared to be a cloud of fine, white cotton. The cloud seemed to sparkle in the moonlight. Earl handed the fluffy orb to Pablo who appeared most excited! Having seen Pablo’s smile spread across his entire face, Earl exclaimed: “It is my newest creation! Cotton Candy!”
Without any hesitation, Pablo pinched off a giant wisp of his sugar cloud. To his astonishment it quickly dissolved into tiny sugar crystals within his mouth – a sensation he was sure to never forget. Again, Pablo pinched off a piece even larger than the first and again it dissolved, and again he pinched, and again it dissolved. Having never experiencing anything quite like this Pablo had finished the entire cloud; a sticky residue on his fingers and around his mouth was the only evidence of its lovely existence.
After saying goodbye to Earl and in total aw of this new delectable treat, Pablo sauntered back to the stable in spite of his sugar high, his mind fresh and alert. There lay his book blanketed in the dew colored light. Lifting his fingers to his mouth to lick them clean of the sugar, Pablo’s eyes widened in disbelief! There, entangled in the sugar cloud the entire time was a wand! The sleek black straw, about a foot in length and as hard as wood was precisely what Pablo needed. With wand and book in hand, Pablo ran as fast as he could to wake his father, excited to learn of the new spells he had read of, and to learn the magic behind the sugary cloud – certain that Earl was a fellow magician.
Pablo reached the elephant stables just after midnight, it was his eighth birthday and Pablo’s father had just nodded off to sleep. Pablo’s father was a magician, widely respected across all the land and Pablo was his assistant. A magician’s assistant, just like his father, his grandfather and his great, great grandfather had started out.
Quickly tying his shoes and grabbing his birthday present from off the foot of his bed, Pablo managed to evade his father and his dog Lou in total silence. The moon was high and the summer sky was clear and velvety. It was a perfect night to turn eight.
Near he and his father’s trailer were the elephant stables, Pablo spent many hours in there reading on evenings like these when the weather was warm. Across the stable floors a fresh layer of golden straw had been scattered, the elephants though standing on their tired and enormous legs, slept head to tail in a line of five. A single hole in the roof allowed a single beam of moonlight to shine so that a hazy glow of amber straw, dust and light radiated beneath Pablo’s own tired legs. Gold bells dangled from the elephant’s blankets, twinkling in the moonlight, throwing reflections across the stable walls.
Spreading his coat across the fresh floor, Pablo produced a present his father had given him for his birthday. It was wrapped in shiny green paper and had a perfect yellow bow. Pablo carefully unwrapped the package, not tearing the paper and salvaging the bow. Pablo’s dark brown eyes grew large as the last of the paper was finally put to one side. It was an old book with golden pages and a red leather cover, the most fascinating book Pablo had ever seen! The metallic letters across the cover lit up in the glow of the moon, HANDBOOK OF SIMPLE MAGIC. Pablo opened the book, the book smelled like his father’s magic studio: sage, pipe tobacco, dirt and hot candle wax rose off the page. Positioning himself so that he was now on his stomach and elbows, he silently began to thumb through the pages.
The first chapter was instructions and general etiquette of a magician’s assistant, something in which Pablo was already well trained. There were even illustrations on examples of attire, cape tying and how to keep your hat clean. The second however was a new subject. SIMPLE MAGIC: choosing your wand.
As though the sun were about to come at any moment and force him to get back to work, Pablo read as fast as he could – of all the tools of a magician, the wand was the most precious. This was, in fact, the only tool of his father’s he was not allowed to touch. His father kept his wand locked in an elegantly carved, cedar box, inside the box it is wrapped in a silk square cloth his great, great grandmother made; a white rabbit embroidered on one of the corners. The book gave very distinct instructions, listing all the desirable qualities of a wand and even the various types of wands that have existed. Pablo could hardly contain his excitement in trying out a spell or two; he especially wanted to show his father how well he learned in just one night. Pablo set out to find something, ANYTHING that could serve as a temporary wand.
Nearby, Pablo heard the candy makers cleaning out their stands for tomorrow’s patrons. He could smell burnt sugar, cinnamon and chocolate – even over the dung piles just outside the stable. Suddenly wanting a sweet snack, Pablo left the company of the sleeping elephants and followed the scent of sugar and the sound of fellow circus men. Reaching their stand, Pablo peered over the counter and cleared his throat.
“Ahem!”
“Your up late! Does your father know you are out this late? “
Scrunching his nose, he looked innocently up at Earl. He was a rather plump man with long, curly hair and a mad, toothless smile, evidence of just how good his candies were. Earl always wore a red shirt with a missing top button and black cowboy boots and a black cowboy hat. He was always neat and tidy and smelled of chocolate. It was obvious that Pablo’s father was not awake, the trailer lights were off and their dog Lou was snoring in the dirt just below the front door. Too tired to bother with anything else this evening, Earl dismissed his question and looked Pablo squarely in the face.
“And how may I be of service this fine moonlit evening?”
Pablo scanned the shelves of various candies wrapped in blue and yellow foil paper and red cellophane. Just then, Earl snapped his long brown fingers – “I have just the thing for you tonight!” He then spun around and bent over what appeared to be a cauldron.
Earl had reached far down into the cauldron where he stood for quite some time with his entire arm, all the way to the top of his shoulder, churning something deep inside. Finally, Earl produced what appeared to be a cloud of fine, white cotton. The cloud seemed to sparkle in the moonlight. Earl handed the fluffy orb to Pablo who appeared most excited! Having seen Pablo’s smile spread across his entire face, Earl exclaimed: “It is my newest creation! Cotton Candy!”
Without any hesitation, Pablo pinched off a giant wisp of his sugar cloud. To his astonishment it quickly dissolved into tiny sugar crystals within his mouth – a sensation he was sure to never forget. Again, Pablo pinched off a piece even larger than the first and again it dissolved, and again he pinched, and again it dissolved. Having never experiencing anything quite like this Pablo had finished the entire cloud; a sticky residue on his fingers and around his mouth was the only evidence of its lovely existence.
After saying goodbye to Earl and in total aw of this new delectable treat, Pablo sauntered back to the stable in spite of his sugar high, his mind fresh and alert. There lay his book blanketed in the dew colored light. Lifting his fingers to his mouth to lick them clean of the sugar, Pablo’s eyes widened in disbelief! There, entangled in the sugar cloud the entire time was a wand! The sleek black straw, about a foot in length and as hard as wood was precisely what Pablo needed. With wand and book in hand, Pablo ran as fast as he could to wake his father, excited to learn of the new spells he had read of, and to learn the magic behind the sugary cloud – certain that Earl was a fellow magician.
Friday, September 12, 2008
Cotton Candy Dreams
By Tulah Dixie
Pete stood in the dark, clutching his cotton candy cone, wondering if he had made the right decision. The last of the circus patrons had left the arena, heading to their cars and back to their lives. But Pete’s life had changed, he couldn’t go back. Tonight he had seen Tonya Tightwalker.
When he had walked into the circus arena that evening, he’d wondered what he had come for. He wasn’t a kid, he didn’t have any kids. He just saw the flyer at the gas station and felt compelled to go. He’d taken a seat at the far side of the arena, near the acrobat swings and tightrope. There were plenty of seats open in front on the center ring, but he had ignored those.
Pete had watched the lion tamer, the fire-breather, the clowns, and he had oohed and ahhed and laughed along with the crowd. It was an exciting circus, but there was probably something good on tv, so why was he here? That’s when Tonya came into view. The lights had dimmed, except for a single spotlight at the base of the tightrope ladder. Then a petite girl appeared in the light, wearing lightest pink, climbing the ladder with spider-like ease. As she began walking across the thin rope, umbrella unfurled, Pete caught his breath. Something about her seemed familiar, though he knew he’d never seen her before. The ringleader called out her name, the unbelievable heights and lengths she had walked, demanding the audience to pay close attention, to appreciate her. Pete appreciated her. In fact, he loved her.
Tonya Tightwalker strolled across the wire as though it were ten feet wide. Her umbrella seemed just a prop, her balance was perfect. When she reached the platform on the other side, she turned and smiled at the audience. Pete could sense that that beaming smile was just for him. He stood up and clapped as loudly as he could, wanting her to see him, to know that he loved and appreciated her.
Tanya made her return trip across the high wire, smiling, almost laughing. She reached the platform and waved and bowed for the audience, then made her way back down the ladder, pausing at the base to bow again, then disappeared from sight.
The rest of the evening was a blur to Pete. He didn’t even try to pay attention. His thoughts were a million miles away, trying to figure out a way to meet Tanya. He didn’t have any skills worthy of the circus. He was uncoordinated to say the least. He hadn’t had much experience with women, he was too shy.
As the circus neared its end, Pete still hadn’t thought of a way to meet his dream girl. Suddenly a picture came to his mind of a scene from a movie he had recently seen. A man had fallen in love, and went to the girl’s home with a bouquet of pink roses to woo her. She had opened the door, seen the roses, and fallen into his embrace. That seemed easy enough. But where was he going to find roses?
Pete was startled out of his thoughts by the lights being turned on. He looked around and saw all the circus patrons gathering belongings, standing and stretching, heading for the exits. He had to do something quick! He stood up and started following the departing audience, his stomach in knots. What to do, what to do? Then, as he passed the concessions, he noticed the cotton candy vendor, selling his last wares before closing up. The cotton candy in its paper cone looked a lot like a bouquet of pink roses! He quickly bought one, then turned around and headed back to the arena. He had to find where Tanya’s dressing room was.
After fifteen minutes of aimless wandering, Pete happened upon a clown with half of his makeup scrubbed off. “Do-do you know where T-Tanya’s dressing room is?” he stuttered. The clown pointed behind him, and Pete saw a row of doors down a nearby hallway. Pete nodded his thanks and walked towards the doors. The hallway was dark, and the paper cone of the cotton candy was getting crumpled a bit in his sweaty hand. He squinted at each door until he found one with a piece of paper with “Tanya” scribbled on it taped on it. He took a deep breath, raised his hand, and knocked the door. After a few minutes it opened a crack, and there was Tanya, peeking out, wearing a ratty brown robe and no makeup. “Can I help you?” she asked. Her voice was rough, like a chain-smoker’s. Pete just stared at her. He noticed her hair was no longer in beautiful blond curls, but was dark and short. Then he noticed she was frowning.
“Do you want something?” she asked, obviously getting annoyed. Pete thrust the cotton candy at her. “Flowers for you,” he said in a weak voice. Tanya glared at him.
“Look, I’m busy here. Let’s just cut the crap.” She started to close the door, but Pete stopped her. “Doesn’t this cotton candy look like a bouquet? I thought you might like it.”
Tanya’s face softened a bit. “That’s really nice of you, but I’m dating the motorcycle ball rider right now, so I can’t accept it.” This time she did close the door.
Pete stood in the dark hallway for a few minutes, feeling a bit in shock. What had happened to the angel on the tightrope? Why couldn’t she just take his bouquet? He slowly turned and walked away from her door, out of the arena, and to his car. He would never go to the circus again.Cotton Candy by Iris Rosewater
Cotton Candy
By: Iris Rosewater
Douglas Hall sat quietly as he watched the last of the vendors pack up his cart for the night. He picked at his cone of cotton candy and wondered how soon his parents would come to retrieve him… and how much trouble he would be in.
A few weeks earlier, Douglas had caught sight of a poster for Bigman and Bigman’s Circus on the bulletin board at the ice cream parlor. He had never been to a circus before, and when he asked his mother if he could go (so excited that he didn’t notice the chocolate dribble down his thumb and plop onto the hot sidewalk) he half expected her to say “no”. “No” was the uniform answer for everything out of their routine… anything that might make him unavailable to babysit his 3 younger siblings. So, when she screwed up her face in thought, he used those few seconds to brace himself for disappointment.
“You know what, honey? That sounds like a lot of fun. I haven’t been to a circus since I was a little girl. And now that Nancy is walking, everyone is just about old enough to enjoy it!” She smiled a rare unburdened smile as she reminisced.
Douglas tried to hide his irritation. He meant to ask if HE could go, just Douglas… and maybe a friend or – if absolutely necessary – one parent. He was 11 years old, for goodness’ sake. As the 3rd child out of 7, Douglas felt old enough to take care of himself, but not old enough to get to do anything exciting. Time to himself was very limited, since he shared a bedroom with his 9-year-old brother, Derek. Derek was the noisy kid, bouncing around and yelling at the top of his lungs while Douglas tried to do his homework. His older sisters had kicked and screamed their way out of babysitting, so he didn’t have much of a life since his parents always needed someone to stay home with the little ones. He was trusted to manage quite a lot in the way of helping. He had been changing diapers since he was about 5. He could sort laundry quicker than anyone, as well as wash and fold 3 loads a day. Douglas was expected to be the extra pair of hands for bottles and drool and sandwiches for lunch. He had done it all without complaint… but it was starting to wear on him. So, when a bright yellow poster with lions and trapeze artists caught his eye, his heart filled with longing to be enveloped in the stuffy darkness of a striped tent, stale popcorn crunching beneath his feet, squinting at the brightness of the spotlights as a man with a black top hat and whip commanded the audience’s attention.
Making the best of it, Douglas prepared with anticipation for the big day. He rushed through his chores to make time for little jobs here and there that would earn him some spending money. He wasn’t sure how much it would cost to ride an elephant (if that was an option) and he wanted to have the means to enjoy every novelty the circus could offer him. As he mowed every lawn and washed every car, he imagined himself in another flight of fancy and ignored the sweat and sore muscles. It would all be worth it, he decided. It would make up for every other bland day of his short life.
When the day came, he was up early, helping with breakfast and dressing his little sister and brothers. They packed food for lunch and bottles of water in backpacks. If you asked him when exactly he planned his little escapade, he may not even be able to tell you really… it seemed almost suggested to him as the morning wore on and his siblings squabbled and fussed. What he really wanted seemed to overtake his usual, compliant nature. Freedom called to him, faintly accompanied by the music of a pipe organ. The idea gained momentum as they bumped along in the van. Douglas was the quiet one. His older sisters chatted and laughed while the younger brothers took turns jabbing each other and crying about it. Nancy kept dropping her binky and Douglas winced every time his mother popped it in her mouth to clean off the dirt. I’m invisible, he thought. I do what I’m told, I get good grades, I don’t ask for much EVER… if I disappeared for a bit, I wonder if anyone would even notice?
The feeling nagged and prodded him as they filed out – a troop of freckled brunettes in varying sizes with yellow shirts on “for safety”. It was a combination of hurt and adrenaline that he felt, realizing his absence probably would take a while for his family to notice, and that he really could have an adventure all to himself. If he had the guts.
It was an enjoyable time. Douglas loved everything about it… the constant tinkling of music and the animals he had never touched (or seen in person) before. He helped little Nancy feed a lamb in the petting zoo, pouring a few pellets of feed into her small hand and holding it up to its velvety lips. They shared paper bags of peanuts still in their lumpy shells. When it came time for the grand performance, Douglas kept accidentally dragging Derek as he led him through the dark. They looked for their seats in the arena, offering occasional apologies for squashed feet, and bumping into each other before finding the perfect group of squeaky fold-down chairs to settle into.
He watched in reverence as the spotlights snapped on and a man with a cartoon-like moustache stood with authority on a round platform above the ground. It began. Acrobats flew through the air, swinging and catching each other miraculously in sparkling blue leotards. A unicyclist balanced 50 feet above them on a tightrope, holding an umbrella. Elephants paraded adorned in red head dresses and beautiful ladies rode them, smiling and waving with white teeth and feathered hats. It was loud. So loud that Douglas was tempted to cover his ears, but he restrained himself because he wanted it all… every bit of the magical effect. He drank in the tigers jumping deftly through flaming hoops and the clowns with their painted faces and ridiculous shoes. He forgot everything but the lights and the glamour. And, in that moment, there was no doubt that he was not finished with his long-awaited day quite yet. Applause thundered. Douglas carefully took Nancy from his sister’s lap and placed her in his seat, climbing over its back into the row behind him. The lights came on and he watched near the exit as his family packed up and prepared to go home and put everyone to bed. A little guilt passed over him, but was quickly replaced by the delight of the possibilities that awaited him.
The wad of dollar bills in his pocket was still well enough to satisfy his needs. He played a few carnival games, knocking over milk bottles and shooting basketballs into snug hoops. He ate warm funnel cake, a caramel apple, and drank two bottles of coke. When he tired of that, he found himself wandering away from the attractions to the alleys behind them – the costume trailers and the animal pens. A weathered-looking man was leading an elephant to her dinner. Douglas stopped in his tracks. The old man hacked a laugh when he saw the boy’s face and introduced the elephant as “Cassie.”
“She’s a sweetheart. Would you like to say hello?” he asked.
Exultant, Douglas ran his fingers down her bristled nose and over the thick skin on her side. He helped the man get her carrots and apples, as well as hay, and watched her trunk nimbly scoop them up and convey them to her enormous mouth. A sudden yelp from the tent beside them caught his attention. He heard shrieks of laughter followed by a gruff reprimand. Douglas thanked the old man and patted Cassie affectionately before making his way to the slit in the tent. Finally, the dusky light of the midsummer sun had faded and the full moon poured soft light over the circus’ jubilance. His family would be home now, he was sure, and finished with a dinner of leftovers from the week before. It would still be a bit chaotic. He figured he still had a little time. Light spilled out of the mysterious tent, and he tilted his head to get a full view of the activity inside. They were acrobats – young ones that he didn’t recognize from the stage show – apparently practicing. A net stretched out below them as they swung and caught each other, occasionally falling and laughing or telling each other off.
“I said on THREE, Lilly! Do you know how to count? THREE!” a saucy girl said irritably. She made her way back up the ladder for another go, her blonde ponytail bobbing behind her with each rung she climbed. Douglas was shocked at how young she looked, maybe only a couple of years older than he.
“Hey, look, Steph! Someone’s come to watch the real show!” Douglas stiffened as he caught sight of her partner standing on the opposite platform. Her hands rested on her hips and she smiled mockingly at him. Stephanie looked annoyed, but Lilly only laughed at his obvious embarrassment. “No one’s going to call the cops or anything. If you want to watch, just ask. We’re only practicing. I’d say it’s about time for a break, anyway,” she said, glancing at Lilly’s rolling eyes as she climbed down.
Douglas was beet red by the time she approached him and introduced herself. She was probably about 15, with black curly hair pulled tightly into a strangled bun. Little dark kinks had broken loose around her brown eyes.
“You look like a dare devil,” she teased. “Wanna try it?”
“Absolutely!” He said, surprised at himself.
His heart beat a little too quickly as he grabbed the bar and prepared to fly, suspended from the ceiling. He went over the instructions she’d given him twice over in his mind and then propelled himself from the platform. His stomach filled with butterflies as the wind hit his face, and he tried desperately not to look down. He heard Lilly shout numbers and then she grabbed his ankles and he let go. Blood rushing to his face, and striped red and white whirring past him, Douglas thought he was the happiest he had ever, ever been. And then he fell 10 feet into the cradling net below them.
“Not bad, kid.” Stephanie admitted, reluctantly. “If you ever run away from home, come find us. We might be able to offer you a job.” Although he was pretty sure she was just being nice, pride filled his chest as he said his goodbyes and walked back out into the darkness.
Looking at his watch, he knew that the kids were now scrambling through the bedtime routine. Water was probably sloshing onto the bathroom floor as one boy clambered out and another splashed in. He only had a little time more, so he wanted to make it count. What should he do last, he wondered. Just then, a weary looking man traipsed ahead of him, donning a black tailed suit coat and carrying a top hat under his arm. He had seemed so dashing on stage, but up close, he looked kind of like Douglas’ father… Just a middle-aged man with eyeliner and an odd moustache. He heard Doug’s feet behind him and turned around.
“Hi there, son,” he smiled. “Where’re your folks?”
“Um, they’re on their way to get me,” he said, realizing that it was really just an assumption.
“It’s time for the lions to eat their supper. Would you care to help me?”
They walked purposefully together and made small talk until they reached the lions’ quarters. The man opened a cooler beside it and pulled out a bag of meat. He told the boy to throw them in from a distance, so he wouldn’t get clawed by anyone who might be too anxious. Douglas watched with interest as the lions devoured their thick cuts of meat, rumbles of pleasure resonating in their powerful chests. He sat with the tired circus man and listened to his stories, enraptured by the life he led. Suddenly, he remembered to check the time, and gasped as he saw his watch. Gratefully, he shook the circus master’s hand and looked into his eyes – seeing himself in the pale blue reflection. And then he dashed out of the alleyways back to the lights and smells of the public side of the circus.
He was sure that right about now, his parents would be finishing their rounds of goodnights and kisses, whereupon they would definitely discover his empty bed. The stalls were closing up shop for the night, so he bought the last of the cotton candy with his fun money for something to occupy his hands. Then, he wandered to the spot where the van had been parked and sat to wait. He put clumps of pink fluff in his mouth, feeling it dissolve sweetly on his tongue. Whatever punishment awaited him would be 100% worth it, he decided. It had been the best night of his whole life, and no one could take that away.
With that thought, he squinted at the headlights of the family van pulling up in front of him. His mother jumped out and caught him in her arms.
“Oh, Douglas, I’m so sorry! I thought you were right there with us, baby! Are you all right?” She asked, frantically examining him for any signs of trauma.
Douglas swallowed down the euphoria that welled up inside him to seem forgiving. “I’m okay, Mom. I knew you’d come back eventually. I just waited where you parked, like a good boy scout.”
He watched the twinkling lights fade behind them as they drove home, thinking upon this night as a chest of treasures he would keep secret. On the dullest of days, he would now be able to open it and relive his adventures any time for the rest of his life, forever.
By: Iris Rosewater
Douglas Hall sat quietly as he watched the last of the vendors pack up his cart for the night. He picked at his cone of cotton candy and wondered how soon his parents would come to retrieve him… and how much trouble he would be in.
A few weeks earlier, Douglas had caught sight of a poster for Bigman and Bigman’s Circus on the bulletin board at the ice cream parlor. He had never been to a circus before, and when he asked his mother if he could go (so excited that he didn’t notice the chocolate dribble down his thumb and plop onto the hot sidewalk) he half expected her to say “no”. “No” was the uniform answer for everything out of their routine… anything that might make him unavailable to babysit his 3 younger siblings. So, when she screwed up her face in thought, he used those few seconds to brace himself for disappointment.
“You know what, honey? That sounds like a lot of fun. I haven’t been to a circus since I was a little girl. And now that Nancy is walking, everyone is just about old enough to enjoy it!” She smiled a rare unburdened smile as she reminisced.
Douglas tried to hide his irritation. He meant to ask if HE could go, just Douglas… and maybe a friend or – if absolutely necessary – one parent. He was 11 years old, for goodness’ sake. As the 3rd child out of 7, Douglas felt old enough to take care of himself, but not old enough to get to do anything exciting. Time to himself was very limited, since he shared a bedroom with his 9-year-old brother, Derek. Derek was the noisy kid, bouncing around and yelling at the top of his lungs while Douglas tried to do his homework. His older sisters had kicked and screamed their way out of babysitting, so he didn’t have much of a life since his parents always needed someone to stay home with the little ones. He was trusted to manage quite a lot in the way of helping. He had been changing diapers since he was about 5. He could sort laundry quicker than anyone, as well as wash and fold 3 loads a day. Douglas was expected to be the extra pair of hands for bottles and drool and sandwiches for lunch. He had done it all without complaint… but it was starting to wear on him. So, when a bright yellow poster with lions and trapeze artists caught his eye, his heart filled with longing to be enveloped in the stuffy darkness of a striped tent, stale popcorn crunching beneath his feet, squinting at the brightness of the spotlights as a man with a black top hat and whip commanded the audience’s attention.
Making the best of it, Douglas prepared with anticipation for the big day. He rushed through his chores to make time for little jobs here and there that would earn him some spending money. He wasn’t sure how much it would cost to ride an elephant (if that was an option) and he wanted to have the means to enjoy every novelty the circus could offer him. As he mowed every lawn and washed every car, he imagined himself in another flight of fancy and ignored the sweat and sore muscles. It would all be worth it, he decided. It would make up for every other bland day of his short life.
When the day came, he was up early, helping with breakfast and dressing his little sister and brothers. They packed food for lunch and bottles of water in backpacks. If you asked him when exactly he planned his little escapade, he may not even be able to tell you really… it seemed almost suggested to him as the morning wore on and his siblings squabbled and fussed. What he really wanted seemed to overtake his usual, compliant nature. Freedom called to him, faintly accompanied by the music of a pipe organ. The idea gained momentum as they bumped along in the van. Douglas was the quiet one. His older sisters chatted and laughed while the younger brothers took turns jabbing each other and crying about it. Nancy kept dropping her binky and Douglas winced every time his mother popped it in her mouth to clean off the dirt. I’m invisible, he thought. I do what I’m told, I get good grades, I don’t ask for much EVER… if I disappeared for a bit, I wonder if anyone would even notice?
The feeling nagged and prodded him as they filed out – a troop of freckled brunettes in varying sizes with yellow shirts on “for safety”. It was a combination of hurt and adrenaline that he felt, realizing his absence probably would take a while for his family to notice, and that he really could have an adventure all to himself. If he had the guts.
It was an enjoyable time. Douglas loved everything about it… the constant tinkling of music and the animals he had never touched (or seen in person) before. He helped little Nancy feed a lamb in the petting zoo, pouring a few pellets of feed into her small hand and holding it up to its velvety lips. They shared paper bags of peanuts still in their lumpy shells. When it came time for the grand performance, Douglas kept accidentally dragging Derek as he led him through the dark. They looked for their seats in the arena, offering occasional apologies for squashed feet, and bumping into each other before finding the perfect group of squeaky fold-down chairs to settle into.
He watched in reverence as the spotlights snapped on and a man with a cartoon-like moustache stood with authority on a round platform above the ground. It began. Acrobats flew through the air, swinging and catching each other miraculously in sparkling blue leotards. A unicyclist balanced 50 feet above them on a tightrope, holding an umbrella. Elephants paraded adorned in red head dresses and beautiful ladies rode them, smiling and waving with white teeth and feathered hats. It was loud. So loud that Douglas was tempted to cover his ears, but he restrained himself because he wanted it all… every bit of the magical effect. He drank in the tigers jumping deftly through flaming hoops and the clowns with their painted faces and ridiculous shoes. He forgot everything but the lights and the glamour. And, in that moment, there was no doubt that he was not finished with his long-awaited day quite yet. Applause thundered. Douglas carefully took Nancy from his sister’s lap and placed her in his seat, climbing over its back into the row behind him. The lights came on and he watched near the exit as his family packed up and prepared to go home and put everyone to bed. A little guilt passed over him, but was quickly replaced by the delight of the possibilities that awaited him.
The wad of dollar bills in his pocket was still well enough to satisfy his needs. He played a few carnival games, knocking over milk bottles and shooting basketballs into snug hoops. He ate warm funnel cake, a caramel apple, and drank two bottles of coke. When he tired of that, he found himself wandering away from the attractions to the alleys behind them – the costume trailers and the animal pens. A weathered-looking man was leading an elephant to her dinner. Douglas stopped in his tracks. The old man hacked a laugh when he saw the boy’s face and introduced the elephant as “Cassie.”
“She’s a sweetheart. Would you like to say hello?” he asked.
Exultant, Douglas ran his fingers down her bristled nose and over the thick skin on her side. He helped the man get her carrots and apples, as well as hay, and watched her trunk nimbly scoop them up and convey them to her enormous mouth. A sudden yelp from the tent beside them caught his attention. He heard shrieks of laughter followed by a gruff reprimand. Douglas thanked the old man and patted Cassie affectionately before making his way to the slit in the tent. Finally, the dusky light of the midsummer sun had faded and the full moon poured soft light over the circus’ jubilance. His family would be home now, he was sure, and finished with a dinner of leftovers from the week before. It would still be a bit chaotic. He figured he still had a little time. Light spilled out of the mysterious tent, and he tilted his head to get a full view of the activity inside. They were acrobats – young ones that he didn’t recognize from the stage show – apparently practicing. A net stretched out below them as they swung and caught each other, occasionally falling and laughing or telling each other off.
“I said on THREE, Lilly! Do you know how to count? THREE!” a saucy girl said irritably. She made her way back up the ladder for another go, her blonde ponytail bobbing behind her with each rung she climbed. Douglas was shocked at how young she looked, maybe only a couple of years older than he.
“Hey, look, Steph! Someone’s come to watch the real show!” Douglas stiffened as he caught sight of her partner standing on the opposite platform. Her hands rested on her hips and she smiled mockingly at him. Stephanie looked annoyed, but Lilly only laughed at his obvious embarrassment. “No one’s going to call the cops or anything. If you want to watch, just ask. We’re only practicing. I’d say it’s about time for a break, anyway,” she said, glancing at Lilly’s rolling eyes as she climbed down.
Douglas was beet red by the time she approached him and introduced herself. She was probably about 15, with black curly hair pulled tightly into a strangled bun. Little dark kinks had broken loose around her brown eyes.
“You look like a dare devil,” she teased. “Wanna try it?”
“Absolutely!” He said, surprised at himself.
His heart beat a little too quickly as he grabbed the bar and prepared to fly, suspended from the ceiling. He went over the instructions she’d given him twice over in his mind and then propelled himself from the platform. His stomach filled with butterflies as the wind hit his face, and he tried desperately not to look down. He heard Lilly shout numbers and then she grabbed his ankles and he let go. Blood rushing to his face, and striped red and white whirring past him, Douglas thought he was the happiest he had ever, ever been. And then he fell 10 feet into the cradling net below them.
“Not bad, kid.” Stephanie admitted, reluctantly. “If you ever run away from home, come find us. We might be able to offer you a job.” Although he was pretty sure she was just being nice, pride filled his chest as he said his goodbyes and walked back out into the darkness.
Looking at his watch, he knew that the kids were now scrambling through the bedtime routine. Water was probably sloshing onto the bathroom floor as one boy clambered out and another splashed in. He only had a little time more, so he wanted to make it count. What should he do last, he wondered. Just then, a weary looking man traipsed ahead of him, donning a black tailed suit coat and carrying a top hat under his arm. He had seemed so dashing on stage, but up close, he looked kind of like Douglas’ father… Just a middle-aged man with eyeliner and an odd moustache. He heard Doug’s feet behind him and turned around.
“Hi there, son,” he smiled. “Where’re your folks?”
“Um, they’re on their way to get me,” he said, realizing that it was really just an assumption.
“It’s time for the lions to eat their supper. Would you care to help me?”
They walked purposefully together and made small talk until they reached the lions’ quarters. The man opened a cooler beside it and pulled out a bag of meat. He told the boy to throw them in from a distance, so he wouldn’t get clawed by anyone who might be too anxious. Douglas watched with interest as the lions devoured their thick cuts of meat, rumbles of pleasure resonating in their powerful chests. He sat with the tired circus man and listened to his stories, enraptured by the life he led. Suddenly, he remembered to check the time, and gasped as he saw his watch. Gratefully, he shook the circus master’s hand and looked into his eyes – seeing himself in the pale blue reflection. And then he dashed out of the alleyways back to the lights and smells of the public side of the circus.
He was sure that right about now, his parents would be finishing their rounds of goodnights and kisses, whereupon they would definitely discover his empty bed. The stalls were closing up shop for the night, so he bought the last of the cotton candy with his fun money for something to occupy his hands. Then, he wandered to the spot where the van had been parked and sat to wait. He put clumps of pink fluff in his mouth, feeling it dissolve sweetly on his tongue. Whatever punishment awaited him would be 100% worth it, he decided. It had been the best night of his whole life, and no one could take that away.
With that thought, he squinted at the headlights of the family van pulling up in front of him. His mother jumped out and caught him in her arms.
“Oh, Douglas, I’m so sorry! I thought you were right there with us, baby! Are you all right?” She asked, frantically examining him for any signs of trauma.
Douglas swallowed down the euphoria that welled up inside him to seem forgiving. “I’m okay, Mom. I knew you’d come back eventually. I just waited where you parked, like a good boy scout.”
He watched the twinkling lights fade behind them as they drove home, thinking upon this night as a chest of treasures he would keep secret. On the dullest of days, he would now be able to open it and relive his adventures any time for the rest of his life, forever.
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