We stepped out from under the big tent into the day. The bright round world, so numerous it can’t be counted, presented to me one of its faces, green and fresh with rain, sky shimmering behind the clouds, leaves sparkling in the fragrant breeze. I think we’ll have to agree to be secret lovers, I told him. I took his level gaze to mean he had heard me and understood. He smiled that nothing smile. From that moment forward, everything I said was a beautiful lie. For a time, the world spun true and traveled its track; for a day or more, I was strong. How quickly, though, fail the grips between ourselves and the few who care, when one of us, like an acrobat with too much on her mind, feels air instead of another acrobat between her fingers and falls! I was packing lunches for the kids: the blonde, the sticky one, and Glasses. The sticky one was leaving sticky fingerprints on my ass and I said something—if only I could remember what!—that let her know I was living a secret life. I placed phone calls at all hours. I was suddenly eager for mail. I left the kids idling at the curb to argue with postal clerks who claimed they had nothing for me. I sent my dearest onlys off with sandwiches made of toast and slices of peach. I want a better time of it, you son of a son of a bitch. Your eyes made promises. Standing in the sawdust at the edge of the ring by the pole, the acrobat sparkles in a costume cut just so. She climbs the pole, she splits the air, she rides the rope down to another town: same earth, new crowd, another new beautiful lie.
Copyright © October 31, 2007 David Hodges
5 comments
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October 31, 2007 at 11:24 pm
briseis
Got impatient and decided not to wait for me?
I’m working on the challenge you set me….
(This is wonderful.)
Thanks, Briseis. I look forward to reading your challenge-piece! As for patience, well, when a novel is done, it’s done. Glad you liked this one.
–David
November 1, 2007 at 2:11 pm
grantman
this one is kind of like sitting in the surf . . . it pulls you, then pushes you and then leaves you slightly jostled trying to regain your balance . . . I was never sure if she was a he or he was a she, but then again,,, I don’t think I was supposed to be . . . good one . . . .
grantman
Sorry. Narrator’s a she. I’m a he, but I’m not in it. He’s a he. Thanks, grantman.
–David
November 2, 2007 at 3:34 am
Wizzer
Some people get their escape by reading powerful stories🙂 and using their imagination, others try it out for real—or do they? Very engrossing piece, David
Thanks, Wizzer. I can honestly say I’ve never performed a high-wire acrobatic act.
–David
November 3, 2007 at 9:28 am
Annelisa
Hi David
I’m glad I stopped by. As usual your story is thought provoking… just what I needed in my break from NaNoWriMo (how come you aren’t doing that…or are you??
Are you?!! And posting installments?!! I could never. It’s the exact opposite of what I do (and just as I say so I catch myself thinking: that’s exactly why you should write 1500 words a day!) No, to answer your question, I’m not. It’s taken me a year to write the 45,000 words you see before you at Very Short Novels. Thanks for stopping by, Annelisa. Now, back to work!
–David
November 4, 2007 at 4:43 pm
litlove
So much time seems to be condensed into this piece that I feel as if I’ve been watching a pixillated film and passed from one end of an affair to the other in a matter of moments. I like the combination of the high wire and the secret passion and the sense you convey of taut emotions; that works so beautifully.
That was interesting, Litlove. I was here at Very Short Novels the moment your comment arrived, like an acrobat reaching from my swing for your fingertips. Despite recent lack of practice, our timing is still sharp! Happy to see you back.
–David