The Circus

Out comes the huge red pyrex mixing bowl, as big as my head, I wrestle it up onto the counter. My Mom helps measure out ingredients, but I get to pour them! At four and a half, I’m a big boy now! Capable of doing all the things.

First the flour goes in, a small cloud erupting from the bowl causes me to cough. Next comes the brown sugar, the white sugar, two eggs and some vanilla. I am suspicious of the vanilla, these are chocolate chip cookies, what place does vanilla have in chocolate chip cookies? Regardless, in it goes. 

I use the wooden spoon to mix, stir, beat and smash the ingredients together. The smashing and mashing part is the best part!  I delight in using the wooden spoon to chase the egg yolks throughout the bowl. They are slippery little suckers, and do their best to evade the crushing wooden spoon. So many times I come close to corning them, only to have them slip away at the last second. Finally, and unexpectedly I suddenly catch them with the spoon. Game over! I love breaking them open and watching them disappear into the mix! 

I spare a quick glance to the window. No taxi. Yet. Any minute Dad will be home. Everytime Dad came home he brought us little gifts. A Mickey Mouse T-shirt from Florida, an electric toy corvette with a California License Plate, a stuffed bear with a sign saying “Winnipeg” I treasured all these mementoes from his travels. I was excited to see what Dad brought us this time. 

But today, Dad was getting the surprise! Under my watchful supervision Mom slid the cookie tray into the oven. Any minute Dad would pull up to the house. Any minute the oven timer would ding signaling it was finally time to eat! Any minute everything awesome would be happening! 

Finally the oven timer dinged, signaling my long wait was over. As Mom lifted the baking sheet out, Dad walked in the front door.  We all ran to greet him with hugs. I felt my parents’ arms around me. We were a family once again! 

“I brought you something kiddo” Dad said, producing four pieces of very un-toy like paper.

“Oh paper! Thanks Dad!” my brother called out. He wasn’t kidding. This kid and paper. Little wonder the kid who delighted so much in paper would grow up to be an artist. 

“Not just paper, these are tickets to the circus” Dad corrected him. “Front row seats”

And that, dear reader, is how I found myself staring into the eyes of certain death only inches from my face. Front row seats to the circus.

The circus started with the man in a big hat and red jacket standing in the spotlight, seeing dust all around him, pointing, shouting and cracking his whip. I took it all in, the stripes of the tent, red and white, stretched up higher than my little neck could crane to see. The gigantic telephone poles, secured with ropes thicker than my legs. Saw dust everywhere. Three rings made up the floor. Painted in bright blue with silver stars. Surrounding the ring were rows upon rows of folding plastic chairs.

My family had the front row seats, and best view.  At this moment, the view wasn’t pretty. Three gigantic horses were trotting around the ring. A woman wearing a really shiny silver bathing suit and some stupid feathers on her forehead was smiling as she stood on the horse’s back. Why she was smiling, I have no idea. The horses were going so fast! Running around the ring at alarming speed.  

Crack! The man with the big hat and red jacket whipped the ground,and horses changed direction. 

Crack! Crack! The horse’s nostrils flared. Whites of their eyes gleaming. 

Crack! The horses stopped suddenly. Bathing suit woman kept grinning, I could see her teeter a little as she nearly lost her balance. Their huge sharp hooves stamped impatiently on the ground. Each hoof fall sent tremors up through my body. I was going to be sick. 

Crack! The horses eyes grew wider. Stomp. Stomp. They stomped towards me. 

Crack! The horses each lifted one enormous leg in the air. Veins bulging, the light shone off their perfectly polished hooves. Hooves the size of my head. These were massive beasts. 

Crack! In perfect unison the horses slammed their hooves down onto the edge of the ring, glaring at me. Their feet were inches from my face, one more whip crack, and those horses would be soon trampling me.

I didn’t hesitate. I threw myself onto the ground, and scooted under my chair. The rows upon rows of chairs provided the perfect escape route. I started to race towards freedom. Suddenly, my leg was seized, and I was dragged backwards! 

I closed my eyes as the horse’s teeth bit into my pant leg, I panicked. I froze. WIth a mighty heft, I was dragged away from safety and towards the furious hooves and mighty jaws of the horses’. I was powerless with fear. A ragdoll tossed about at the whims of my equine tormentors. 

Being cleared of the chairs, I was stood up upon my feet. I shrunk myself down, neck pulled down to shoulders. Fists clenched. In Sunday school we had learned that whales swallowed people whole. I had no idea what death by horses would be like. ‘Please God, make it quick’. 

“Relax honey, they’re gone” my Mom soothed me. 

Reluctantly I opened one eye and peeked around.  The horses were indeed gone. 

Coming onto the stage now were three bears...

Front paws waving, the three bears took hoping-dancing steps into the spotlight. The man with the big hat introduced them in a booming voice “Domingo’s Dancing Bears!” 

Each bear wore a much too tight red, shiny vest and a matching glittery shower cap thing.They looked ridiculous. Mouths open, paws waving to keep their balance, the bears continued into the ring. 

Following closely behind was their trainer. An older man, a bit of a belly, he stood not much taller than the bears. The trainer carried a chair in one hand, a whip in the other. I noticed a pistol on his hip. 

The first bear was nearly in the middle of the ring. Its eyes were darting from the trainer to the crowd and back again. It’s steps were hesitant. Mouth opening and closing. Eyes darting. Red vest shining under the spotlight. 

The second bear started to act nervously, as the first one dropped on all fours. Both bears were visibly panting, and darting their eyes about. 

Crack! The whip lashed out. The lead bear immediately pulled itself up on its hind legs again. It’s eyes kept darting around. 

Another loud CRACK! The bears looked panicked, and turned their attention back to the trainer. The trainer in turn, had his attention riveted to the top of the big top. 

A large tear in the top of the striped canvas made the evening sky visible. The sky was an oily greenish-black, the wind began to whip sheets of rain though the opening. 

Crack! Thunder boomed again overhead, and the water started to pour in through the hole. The man with the big hat came running to the edge of the ring “Ladies and Gentlemen, the show will go on!” he boomed. 

People directly under the hole began to cover their heads with whatever was convenient, seeking shelter under sweaters and coats.

Spry men and women, dressed in all manner of shiny costumes, were already climbing up high into the ropes and rigging, hauling canvas tarps with them. In moments the performers had suitably jerry-rigged tarps across the opening keeping the patrons dry. 

The show must go on!

As the bears continued to dance and parade about, the storm raged. The wind howled, the whip cracked. The bears were glancing more and more towards their trainer. I realized it wasn’t him they were eying, but their cage. As the storm outside whipped itself into a fury, the bears wanted nothing more than to curl up in the relative safety of their artificial den backstage. Any port in a storm. 

The man with the big hat asked the crowd for a round of applause for Domingo’s Dancing bears! The crowd obliged, clapping and hollering. 

The bears dropped down on all fours, and made their way towards backstage. The clapping continued. People cheered. 

Someone screamed. 

The large wooden pillar holding up the tent began to sway, and rock. The tarps holding back the water let go, dumping hundreds of gallons onto the people directly below. The edges of the circus tent began to shake violently, swelling up and down like waves on the ocean. 

The momentum of the tarp dropping knocked the pillar came loose from its lodging. As the wind gripped it, the pole began to swing in a large, terrible circle. 

The pillar knocked into screaming people, knocking them the ground. Screaming parents grabbed their children in their arms and attempted to escape, but the pole was spinning faster and faster,wider and wider.  

I heard a gunshot, and looked over at the ring. The first bear, still dressed ridiculously in its red shimmering vest, and standing on its back legs was staring down at the trainer. The trainer had dropped his whip and chair in favor of his revolver.  

The second bear, on all fours, had a bright splash of red on its shoulder. Blood. Its eyes looked at the trainer, pleading. Begging. 

The trainer raised his pistol. The bear raised his paw. The wind roared. Canvas snapped. 

With a roar to rival the wind, the bear brought his claws down, ripping and tearing into the trainer’s chest. The trainer stared down in shock. His chest was opened, stripes of red and white. 

The bear dropped to all fours, and glanced over it’s shoulder at it’s companions. Together they bolted out the back of the tent. 

I dropped to my hands and knees. From my vantage point, the way forward was clear. A direct path underneath the chairs and to safety.

I scrambled, crawled and propelled myself to the back of the tent. To safety.

They found me later, in the parking lot. Muddy, and covered in wood chips. None of the blood was mine. I had crawled my way to safety. My poor parents had feared that I was amongst the dead that evening. 

But I was a survivor. I had faced death,andwon. If a horse couldn't stop me, nothing could!