Breathing Deep on a High Wire

She adjusted the strap of her bodysuit. The sequins were digging into her shoulder again. She glanced down at her cleavage, making sure everything was securely tucked away into the costume with just enough of the creamy swell rising above to be enticing but not indecent. Men would inevitably take notice but children of all ages would be mesmerized as she juggled flaming batons atop the high-wire.

As she sat in front of the mirror, she looked at her overly made-up face, resplendent with hues only found in nature on the tails of peacocks. She slicked on one more dab of lip gloss and smiled; teeth were all clear. She ran her fingers down her long, dark ponytail, thankful for the return of her natural color. He had always hated her dark hair so she had bleached it for years. Funny how the light hair made her world seem dark and her dark hair was comforting and made her feel light as a feather. That feeling helped when she had to concentrate on her balance on a thin wire over 100 feet above the ground.

She checked her smartphone for the dozenth time in less than an hour. No message yet. How much longer would she have to wait? The friend that worked for the lawyer was to let her know as soon as the sentencing was handed down. It should have been over long ago. She looked at herself in the mirror again carefully. The makeup covered the smudges under her eyes that betrayed her sleepless nights. As shaky as she felt though, once she climbed that ladder and lit the batons, her nerves were always steady. She woke with a purpose each day: to hear the gasps and claps that let her know her efforts were appreciated. It was something that gave her joy.

BUZZZZ! She jumped involuntarily and checked her phone. “Jury and judge coming back now,” she read.

She closed her eyes, tried to take a deep breath but it got stuck somewhere in her throat. Her mind took her against her will, much as he had done in that cabin, to dark places in the past. Why hadn’t she fought harder or tried to get away earlier? She mentally berated herself again for blaming the wrong person. HE was the bastard who had done this to several other women before her. He had pushed her into believing all sorts of lies including how she was nothing and could never escape. But she had.

Once she had gotten away, she realized she had acquired a set of balls that he seemed to have no use for; in her mind, only an impotent eunuch preys upon those he sees as weak. She sort of laughed to herself and thought, I took his balls as he wasn’t using them, the coward. She had shown bravery as she recounted to police all the details she could recall. She had gone back to the circus as soon as her body had healed, intuitively knowing it would also help heal her soul as well.
She stood and walked to a small flap in the tent. She peeked through and saw the man with the tigers, using a whip to guide them to their spots in the cage. Like a carefully choreographed dance, the powerful yet seemingly languid beasts circled the man and took their spots atop some stacked chairs. So much strength constrained by some bars of a cage! Hopefully soon he too would be held at bay in a cage.

She glanced into the stands and noticed a group of children. A school group, by the looks of the matching bright red shirts they all wore. They were laughing. She craned her neck and saw the object of their mirth: three clowns were chasing and tripping each other in the next ring. She looked back at the children. Their faces were almost glowing. She couldn’t remember feeling a joy that could and should be taken for granted. If not for her friends, she knew she wouldn’t even have the hope of finding that joy again. But as she shed her pain and shared her trials, she connected with others and found everyone had their own tales of woe.

One of the clowns’ wives died last year after a three-year battle with cancer. An animal trainer just found out last week that her husband was leaving her for a bank teller back home. A backup dancer who needs to have knee surgery is worried about insurance. The couple who get shot out of matching cannons together just suffered a miscarriage. So trite but true, friends sharing makes burdens lighter.

Buzzz… Buzzz… She had been daydreaming about her first job as a high-wire act for the circus when her phone buzzed and vibrated on the table.

“Guilty. 99 Years. No parole. Breathe!”

Whoooosh! She could finally release the breath she had been holding. She felt so light she thought maybe she’d float to the very top of the Big Top. Two Years. Over 2,000 miles. Lots of trips up the ladder. Lots of balancing on a thin high-wire.

August 3, 2013 2

Thanks!

I wish to heartily thank my supporters and friends and followers! I have had words stuck in my head all my life and it’s taken me to my middle age to write them down.

I’m working on a book of poetry to hopefully be published this year; up to six months ago, I would laughed at that idea.

I am particularly proud of the connections I’ve made with other writers. We should revel and share in our journeys and support each other as we have chosen similar modes of expression.

“We are cups, constantly and quietly being filled. The trick is knowing how to tip ourselves over and let the beautiful pour out.” – Ray Bradbury

July 23, 2013 0

The Breakdown of the Breakup

The reasons were numerous and ludicrous. They tried to talk it out calmly, but logic was not welcome here. There- an argument that made no sense. There- a request too disgusting to dignify with a response. On the one hand everything fit. They looked right. They fit just right. They were already traveling side by side. Why not join in other elemental ways? On the other hand, she was strung way too tightly, he was a pig. She was looking to slip into sophistication. He was looking to live out a real life porno.

Sometimes there is no middle ground when what you’re looking for isn’t even on the same plane. How they didn’t see this coming, nobody knew. Their volatility was obvious to even a casual bystander. Every day at lunch, they bantered at the pizza place on the square, scorching wit paired with playing footsie under the table. Sparks flew. Curses abounded. It was all very entertaining. But there was a brittle edge that belied the ease of the relationship.

She was a rookie in the corporate world, taking in her surroundings. He was a shark, swimming and feeding and fucking with no conscience. Their appeal originally had to be proximity. Too many hours in the office. You pass a decorated cake often enough, you’ll want a piece even if you’re more the pie type. They would soon find they weren’t even made of the same stuff; she was a German Chocolate cake, with several ingredients and complicated timing. He was a bear claw- a fried piece of dough with sweet icing and fierce appearance. OK. Enough with the bakery analogies.

Somehow, their wildly different backgrounds and cultures had been overlooked at the outset. They were dazzled by the sleek, new models they found in each other. The new car smell was intoxicating, so to speak. Before getting into vehicular metaphors, we can just come to an understanding that all was new and glorious and exciting, as it always is in the beginning. What was surprising in this case was the speed at which their “love” imploded. There is an acceptable trajectory and this was like a fast-moving comet.

Can too many metaphors spoil a saucy tale?

So back to the breakup. She wanted to see this through, give it a shot, at least have a last hurrah. He wanted to do things to her that made her gag. Someday maybe she’d have regrets, but she was still young enough to be shocked. Someday he’s find someone he wouldn’t want to use as a foul toy, but he was too jaded at that point in time to have any focus.

So there was yelling. Pushing. Nudity. Shock. Sleep. Accusations. Jokes. Incredulity. Leering. Magnetism. Ten states of matter that mixed and proved combustible to this couple. They would later only have flashes of memory of their time together. How they walked through the city, quickly and in step with each other. How they shared a few quiet moments in the elevator. How they ate in companionable silence and danced in a darkened club. How they moved together. Looked to each other. Like shards stuck in amber, those few moments will last longer than either of them would admit.

July 22, 2013 0

Panic

No matter she sat in a room full of people; she was as always alone in her thoughts. Listening to speeches and the crowd murmurings, she began to feel the familiar panic welling within. The voices started sounding like a Greek chorus speaking Pig Latin. The air felt thinner as if she were climbing towards a summit. In the rare instances she was addressed, she could nod and offer appropriate platitudes. But the rest of her time was spent trying to breathe and smile.

She glanced at the teeming hordes in their finery and felt like a snail: all slippery and delicate on the inside but housed in a society-approved shell. How long was long enough at this event before she could go home and strip her defenses? She’d rather give up the expensive filet and fancy dress here and eat cookies naked at home.

Picturing the falling cookie crumbs brought her heart back to an acceptable rhythm. She imagined her favorite detective on tv, unravelling mysteries while crumbs fell between her breasts. Realizing a stuffed shirt was addressing her, she nodded and laughed at his silly joke with her mind on the cookies she had baked that morning. The chandeliers seemed to highlight the egos of the room and she wondered if she could find and solve any mysteries here. People and their frippery were certainly a puzzle to her.

Were people really concerned about the so called “winners” of recent reality shows? Were they so delusional they thought a politician’s speech would make any difference? Were they so sure of their status they quoted only recent best selling novels? Where were the artists, the thinkers, the inventors?

She felt bile rising up as she started to fall into a chasm. She was alone again in a large room full of people. No one there knew her or could tell she was in trouble. She could drown in a sea of societal mores.

Then with a start she had a thought: what if there were others here just like her? What if they were hiding their uniqueness under cloaks of respectability? What if others were suffering like she was at that moment, sipping their drug of choice to maintain an almost even keel? How would she ever know? There were no signals. No way of telling what lurked beneath the drones.

Steeling herself with an outward calm, she knew it was almost over. Just a few more handshakes, nods, and empty smiles and she was home free. She felt the confines of her dress’ seams and knew she’d be comfortable in her own skin again soon. With no one but herself to please, she just had to let the clock run out and get home.