A Return Trip to the Circus

I cannot believe the experience I just had. People will think I am crazy if I share the story with them. I was taking a walk in in the empty field just north of the city. I was feeling kind of sleepy, had been for days. I thought that an aggressive walk might wake me up. But I only got more tired, so much so that I had to sit on the rarely used park bench at the entrance to the empty field. In very little time I went into a state that I first believed was deep in sleep. But when I ‘awoke’ I was not in an empty field any longer. I was standing at the entrance to what looked like some kind of circus.

           The first sign of that telling me that occurred when I spotted advertisements for what used to be called a ‘freak show’. ‘See the Amazing Lobster Boy!’ ‘Visit with Dainty Dora in all her delightful hugeness; 360 pounds of jolly fun. Knowing that freak shows were banned years, probably decades ago, and kind of believing that I must be in some weird form of sleep, I walked into the tent to see what my mind could conjure up next.

           The Lobster Boy turned out to have hands that looked very much like claws. They were even somewhat red in colour (although I knew that lobsters were only red once they have been cooked, they are green beforehand). I was wishing that I had a few coins with me, but I don’t carry them in my wallet anymore, sometimes no bills either. For some strange reason, I shook his right hand. It wasn’t shell-like at all. But he did have a firm grip. And he appreciated that I was willing to shake his hand. I don’t imagine that many people do.

           Then, I headed for the tent in which Dainty Dora did dwell. Her dress flowed like an ocean around her, as she danced about on her small stage. She seemed to be enjoying herself, not seeming to be bothered by her ‘freak’ status. I wanted to give her a hug, but my arms aren’t long enough to achieve that feat. I waved to her and danced in a circle similar to what she did. The people there laughed but Dainty Dora smiled.

           Leaving that tent and headed towards another with a sign that read ‘Bartle Family Human Cannonball’, I decided this would be a sight to see. When I got to the entrance I heard a loud argument.

First I hear an adult male voice, “You have to do this Leslie. You will be the youngest person, youngest girl to be shot out of a cannon. You will be famous. Our family will be famous. You will be another Zezel. Just do it. I’m still doing it and I’ve never been hurt ….seriously.”

A young female voice replied: “No dad. No. I don’t want to do it. I don’t want to be another Zezel. I’m too scared. I know I will get hurt, maybe damaged for life.”

Then an adult female voice entered the argument: “Listen young lady. I have done it, and was only hurt once. You can do it too. You have to think of your family first.  Your dad and I do. Your brothers do. It is up to you now to play a part in our business.”

Leslie then replied: “No mom. I don’t want to be like you, dad or my brothers. I don’t want to risk my life putting on a show.   I want to be more normal.”

Her father then threatened her “You will do it today, or you will be disowned, totally on you won. Now come here and put on the crash helmet.”

           There was a scuffling sound. Then Leslie ran right into me, rebounded and then headed to the left. About ten seconds later, father and brothers, arrived on the scene. When they saw me, I told them, “She went that way, and pointed with my entire arm, dramatically, to the right.”

           Then all was quiet. And in a short time the Big Top tent in front of me slowly disappeared like smoke from a cigarette, as did the others. In very little time at all, I was staring at the empty field in front of the bench upon which I was still sitting.

The Next Day

           The next day was Monday, so I went to work, the pictures in my mind from the previous day still dancing in front of my inner eye. I work as a long term care seniors home. I am approaching that age myself. As soon I walked into the place, I spotted a notice that gave the names of the people who had signed up for a bus trip that had been arranged for the following day. As I waited for my boss to give me my assignments for the day, a name on the list stuck out: Leslie Bartle. As I was a little early for work, I asked one of the nurses to tell me where Leslie Bartle’s room was. Without asking any questions, she gave me directions.

           I knocked on the door, heard the shuffling of feet and then saw Leslie. She did look somewhat the same, only much older, or course. She smiled when she saw me. “So we meet again. I never got a chance to thank you for redirecting my family when they were chasing after me. I managed to make it to my Uncle Ralph’s place, where I stayed working as his assistant, and learning some of his trade”

           She then grabbed my hand. “Uncle Ralph was a magician – a real one, not just playing tricks on an audience. He was the one who made your memory of this experience hide in the depths of your mind. He also gave me the knowledge of how to bring your memory back with a few special effects. I saw you here a few days ago, and felt you should know how you helped me when you were a boy.”

           I was almost speechless. But then I thanked her for the experience, and for explaining to me the nature of what had happened. Then I asked her a question, “Who was Zezel?”

           “She was a British girl, the first person on record to be a human cannonball. She was only 17 at the time. I was 16 when I argued with my parents. Thanks to your misdirection, they never caught up with me, and I got to become a magician.”