Story #3

by Cassi Jerkins


The child at the carnival could not have been more delighted at the demented acts he witnessed before his eyes. The laughter of the Master of Ceremonies frightened his soul in a most pleasing way. As lions hopped through hoops of fire and a man on a unicycle juggled sharp knives with his own bare hands, all the boy could think was, “I want to build my own circus!” 

On the car ride home, the boy envisioned himself seven feet tall, flexing his gigantuous muscles at a hungry, evil tiger. Life at a circus sure is swell and the boy could not take his mind off it! His daydreams shifted from what his future career will behold to the present: The boy must begin his circus training as soon as possible so one day he can be the best! The boy thrashed about in the backseat becoming increasingly antsy over his imprisonment in a minivan instead of living his dreams! His parents ignored his behavior by blasting their country music and keeping their eyes on the road.

When the nuclear family finally arrived home, the boy burst out of the van and waited anxiously as his snail-like parents let him into the house as if in slow-motion.  Sigh. Parents never understand the importance of a child’s dreams… When the boy made it to his room, he ran to the desk and began working on his circus. For the next two hours, he drew picture after picture of his circus: the tent, the costumes, the performers and all. He then made list after list of all the things around the house he could use for this circus: sheets, hoola hoops, lighters, his father’s tall hat, a pogo stick, his cat, sharp knives… He would have worked all night but his parents’ noticed his light on and sent him straight to bed. As the boy put his pajamas in dramatic protest, he couldn’t help but grow more excited for the morning to come. Tomorrow was the day the boy would build his first spectacular circus in the park across the street.

The boy dreamt all night about his circus. It was the best circus this neighborhood had ever seen! Children swarmed the park, along with adults of all sizes to catch a glimpse of his great acts. Even his parent would carry wide smiles gleaming in his direction. The boy imagined the hundreds of eyes upon him as he confidently commanded his cat through a hoop of roaring fire.  The audience oohed and awed, clapping wildly at the boy and his cat, numerous whispering. “How did he do that?” Little did they know his cat trick was unimpressive compared to all the rest. Later that evening he entertained his audience by juggling knives, pogo-sticking across water, swallowing fire, riding his bike across a tightrope that connected from the park’s gazebo to the swing set, among many others neat tricks. With such a magnificent dream like this, morning came sooner than the boy had anxiously anticipated.

The bright sun poked the boy through his bedroom window curtains waking him up to a triumphant day. The boy slid briskly out of bed and put on his “Master of Ceremonies” outfit, which he had prepared the night before. His father may have objected to the boy stealing his tall hat and black coat with coattails that dragged across the floor when the boy bore them but his father spent the whole morning in front of a computer screen that he hardly noticed the boy at all. The boy scurried about the house collecting his much-needed tools for his circus. Like a cautious businessperson, he carried his lists with him, checking off each item as he retrieved it. He worked so quickly that when he finally had his wagon loaded up his mother finally lost her patience with this raucous and ordered him outside. “That’s ok,” the boy thought happily, “when she sees the circus I build, she’ll never yell at me again.”   

All morning the boy worked diligently on his circus. He swept the gazebo, dressed his stage and began hanging sheets to turn the gazebo into the most perfect tent. Many children stopped to watch the boy hard at work. Occasionally they would inquire about his business but the boy would just smile and reply, “Oh you’ll see.” The children collected amongst themselves by the sandbox curiously exploring what the boy could possibly be up to. Was it a fort? Or perhaps, it is for a special birthday party? What could it be?! Meanwhile, the children’s parents disproved of the boy’s parents allowing him to use a ladder unsupervised. 

Hours later the tent stood shaggy, the stage was set and the rope connecting from the swing set back to the gazebo was up and somewhat sturdy. It was now time for rehearsal! The boy placed the cat carrier onto the table and then soaked the hoola hoop in gasoline. He tested his homemade whip made from a stick and a long USB chord, a few times on the ground. Crack! Crack! A bit weaker than most whips he had seen before but still effective. Crack! The cat in the carrier grew increasingly wary and began trying to claw her way out of the carrier. “Calm down, Snowball!” the boy screamed and whipped the carrier. Crack! This did not help matters and the cat began to cry louder. The boy sighed in frustration. Snowball was clearly not ready to practice. He looked around in a huff and then noticed the three sharp kitchen knives. Yes! Something I can work on in secrecy without Snowball. The boy inched his way towards the knives and carefully picked them up. He held them above his head to admire their steel glimmer. “So sharp”, he thought to himself. He collected them once again and struggled to place two in his right hand and the remaining knife in his left. The knives felt much heavier than he anticipated but he still knew he could juggle them perfect! The boy began to steady himself and prepare for his first juggle. His heart began to patter at an exhilarating and panic-stricken pace. Snowball had silenced herself and watched the boy with her big green eyes. “Alright.” The boy comforted himself. “One… twoooo… threeeeee-“

Just then, foots steps were heard running towards the tent. The boy stopped and looked towards the sound of the aggressive steps in fear. He somehow sensed he was about to get into big trouble. He dropped the knives at his feet. The cat jumped but the boy did not for his eyes remained fixated on the tent door. Was it his parents coming to ground him again? The tent flap swung upon and there stood two middle-aged men. Were these men cops in disguise?

“Excuse me, sir.” One sneered, “Do you have a permit?”

“A permit?” the boy stuttered. 

“Yes, a permit to have a circus. You do realize there is a circus less than 20 miles away from this one.”

“Oh yes,” the boy lit up in remembrance, “I went there last night!”

The other man who had stood in the shadows of the tent, sprung forward in rage, “Why you little thief! You’ve got a lot of gall!” 

The man let out a terrible scream and lunged for a sheet ripping it to the ground. All the children at the park stopped and watched the scene go down at the gazebo, their jaws dropped. Their parents pretended not to notice the confrontation but kept their ears perked so that they could gossip about the event later.

The two men tore down the sheets and trashed the gazebo. They released Snowball into the wild, never to be seen again. The whole time they cursed the boy and called him names the boy had never heard of. They emptied the rest of the gasoline and when they finished tearing up the boy’s crayon pictures and the stomping the wooden bread box the boy planned to use as the Master of Ceremonies, the once shadowed man lit a match and held it in front of the boy’s face.

“Don’t fuck with The Ringling Brothers, mister!” 

The man dropped the match and together the two men walked back to their car. The two drove away waving wild gestures at their thief while spitting in his direction. The boy never took his eyes off the car.