Show Time

 

Most days now they let me out unsupervised to visit the field where the circus used to pitch up for the  summer  show.  

And like most days when I  pass  through security, someone would shout.

 

‘Hey,  retard !    You have two hours before we fetch you back.  Don’t be lighting up any fires now.  You hear me oddball !    

 

They call me that and other names all the time,  but they don't blame me anymore for burning down the Big Top.   

Anyway, that didn't stop them from locking me up in the first place as a prime suspect as they all thought I was crazy. 

 

‘He was running along the streets hooting like an owl !  a witness said

‘He likes burning tractor tyres!   another  said.   

‘Always setting fire to something or another !  two more said.

‘For your own safety and welfare you will be detained for…!’ the court ruled.

 

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A faded circle of scorched  earth etched deep  into the hard scrub  is all that remains of the greatest show on earth.

I can clearly recall the first time  I saw her. 

Ten years ago,  a blinding blue sky,  4th July,  2.45pm just before  the start of the  Sunday  matinee.     She was outside the Big Top,  bright  eyed  and  covered  head  to  toe  in   gaudy  rhinestones. 

Whooping  and  hollering  to Cajun  accordion and  fiddle  blasted out from   an  amplifier  wedged  in  the  gaping  mouth  of  a  plastic   alligator with  broken  teeth.    Twisting   and  stomping   along  the  catwalk,  gold  spurs  spinning  and  chiming  to  triangle. 

Without  missing  a  beat, the  gator's  jaw  snaps  off  the  Cajun two step  and  Rhinestone  Cowboy  pours  from  a honey  pot  held  by  a  wooden  bear sitting  on a  log.

 

"...I've   been walking these streets so long.   Singing the same old song...Where hustle's the name of the game..." she warbled.

She caught  my eye and  called.

 

'...Hey, you!   Yeh,  you there  fella !  Ma’h  name  is  Gabrielle...all the way  from  Baton  Rouge!      Yah  want   some  complementary  tickets  for  the  afternoon show?      You hurry now, starts  at 3pm sharp!  Bring  the  family,  a  buddy,  girlfriend,  anybody  you like!   Here, take two, four,  go on take six,  there  you go now...' 

Her red Stetson ringed  with  eagle feathers  almost  falls off  as  she  leans down to  catch my hand.   A large olivine  rhinestone  the colour  of her eyes  bursts  loose  from a  lapel.

 

'Good catch buddy!   You  can keep  that one  for a souvenir...and  this  too…!'   palming  me   a kiss.

‘But...but,  I don't  have  anybody  to…’

 

She  ignored  me  and  spun  off  slapping  thigh and  calling.

 

'...any  more  now  for  the afternoon  show?   Step  this  way   now  for  your  free complimentary  tickets!  

 

That's  when I fell  in love with her.

An olivine  rhinestone  the colour of her eyes pressed tight to my heart.

 

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For the next  four  weeks  I  went  to every  3pm show in the Big Top.

A huge red and yellow  striped canvas  that  would   billow  and  sag  with  each  gasp  and sigh of  the  crowd  and  sat  in third  row  dipping   into  a bag  of  OC  doughnuts.  The smell of candy floss,  burnt popcorn and  stale  sweat  filling  the air.   It was a frantic  extravaganza  of  dancing  bears,  slow  stepping  palomino’s and  slap  happy  seals  nosing  coloured  balls.  

 

One  day  she was   Valentina,   astride  two  black stallions  juggling  feathered  clubs  thrown  by the  spectators.

Next  time, I saw her on  the  high wire  as  Freda  from  Finland, sliding  her  way  above  ten inch  spikes.

The wire swinging  and dipping  as she  tries to  balance  a  chair  leg  on the hawser.     The chair falls, another is roped up,  this time a leg snaps off.

Another chair,  gasps of relief and  loud applause  as a  three minute  hand stand  is  completed.

Ten minutes  later,  she  morphs into  Misha from  Micun  selling  programmes and ice cream.   Ducking  behind  an orange   screen,  a  quick  change  to  flag  waving  cheerleader  Cindy  from  Alabama.   Blue  pompoms, tassels  and  yellow stars  fizzing  by  on  red  smoking  roller  boots  serving  up  fries  and  soda.

Sunday,  she   becomes  serene  Suzy  in  a  pristine white  ball gown, playing   weeping  violin  as  powdered  poodles  waltz  to Strauss.

A long  drum roll allows  a hasty costume  change behind  a silver  fire  curtain.

 

 

'...Ladies and  Gentlemen,  boys and girls…!'  

 

The  ringmaster booms through a crackling  megaphone.

 

'...the star of the show.   Katyana  from  Kizlyar.   Trapeze  artiste   extraordinaire.   Katyana  will  attempt,  for  the very first time in this country,  and indeed the whole wide  world.   I  repeat...for  the very  first  time  ever.

A triple  backward summersault while  blind folded…and...!'

 

The  crowd  are on their feet,  cheering and chanting,  trumpets  herald  her  slow  walk  around  the ring.

Showered with  flowers   from  adoring  admirers  she  curtsy's  before   moving  into  the centre,  a bouquet  of wild roses in hand.

I'm delirious with  excitement,  my hearts pounds.

I love  her  more than ever,  the olivine  rhinestone  the colour of her eyes  held  tight in my sweating  hand cuts  deep  into my skin.

A   single  snare  rolls  high and low,  she  pauses,  anxious,  the rope is  snagged  up  somewhere  high,  the   baying   crowd urge her on.

I whisper I love you as  she's   carried  high  above  the  crowd.

A  single spot light  impales her,  wild rose petals float to the ground  as she disappears  into the darkness.

 

'...Silence please...Ladies  and…!'

 

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It's  gone way past  my time out,  they’ll  be   coming  to round me up  and  take  me back to my corral.   It’s a  shame  they  don't  understand  anything about show  time.

But hey,  I'm happy  just  doing  what  I want to do,  like when I  step into 

the remains of the greatest show on earth.    A  faded circle of scorched  earth etched deep  into the hard scrub.

I  saddle  up my  imaginary  steed  and  gallop  around  for  a  while pretending   I'm a   sharpshooter   from  Oklahoma  or  somewhere, bang...bang...bang... smoke  puffing  from my fingers.

Do a few summersaults,  juggle  with beer cans, all  kind's of tricks.

But, my favourite  thing  of all  is  when I  do  a line  dancing  routine and  lie  down  in  the  centre  of the ring  singing  as loud as I can.

 

'...I'm a  Rhinestone  Cowboy…'

All  I  do then  is  squint  through the  olivine  rhinestone the colour of her  eyes  to  the tumbling   clouds  high  above.

Wait for  the drum roll. 

Wait for triple  backward  summersault.   

And wait  for  her to  fall  into my arms...