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Tent Revival

SFS 4: Golden Summer

By Kat NovePublished 3 years ago 10 min read
2

Dori paused to look up at the Big Top. From the pole which skewered the heart of the massive tent flapped the same bold scarlet flag she remembered. She shook her head and smiled at such a foolish notion. It must have been tattered and rotting in a landfill for at least twenty years. That’s how long it had been since the slender, dark-haired woman had allowed herself to think of her life as a circus performer.

***

After reading in the local newspaper a story about the Warren Family Circus coming to the fairgrounds in Cecile, Texas, Dori decided to attend the Saturday night show. With misgivings, she dragged boxes from the garage into her bedroom and spent hours going through memories as full of cobwebs as the cardboard containers. One box held elaborate rhinestone headpieces designed to dazzle in the bright spotlights of the opening march, but were too dangerous to be worn during the performance. The rest held costumes; glittering reminders of how each evening the hundreds of eyes fixed on her seemed to reflect the magic she felt.

She ran her fingertips over Nelson’s favorite costume. A tear splashed and hit the exact spot where his grip had torn several emerald colored sequins off the satin sleeve in his attempt to prevent her from leaving. She wore it the night she left the circus for good – that dismal night of betrayal.

In the last box, Dori found what she’d been searching for – the faded jeans with a peace symbol embroidered on one back pocket and a bright yellow marigold on the other. Like all of the contents of the boxes, the jeans had been carelessly packed by her roommate Paula. The two young women had remained in contact for a while, but the friendship drifted away like an autumn leaf floating on the slow current of a winding river.

Stripping off her comfortable sweatpants and t-shirt, Dori slipped into her all-time favorite pair of jeans. Almost a quarter of a century since the last time she’d worn them they effortlessly slid up her slim legs and zipped with ease.

Dori rarely paid attention to her appearance, but today inspected her reflection in the heirloom cheval floor mirror. Her raven hair fell past her shoulders, only a few gray strands marring its lustrous abundance. Thick black eyelashes sloped downward emphasizing hazel eyes. Her breasts weren’t as firm as in the days when Nelson spent hours tending to them as if they were exotic flowers, but she had to admit they looked good for a woman her age. These jeans might be a talisman that could help her face the past.

***

Shaking herself out of her reverie, Dori's gaze shifted back to the enormous tent, where ticket holders had already formed a line. She made her way through the crowd and took in the atmosphere while awaiting her turn. Children squealed, fussed, laughed and cried as they clutched helium balloons and cotton candy in tiny hands. Even teens with their perpetual air of nonchalance couldn’t help but be impressed by the novelty. In a small town like Cecile a circus became a major summer event.

Moments later, seated on a bleacher seat in the front row, the combined smell of big cats, manure and popcorn transported her back to a time when she defied death on a nightly basis. Booze and drugs could never compare to the high created by enthusiastic applause and cheers.

Each night after the show Nelson always managed to find an open diner or restaurant. After stuffing themselves, they’d go dancing. If a hick town had no dance hall, he’d stick a quarter in an all-night diner’s jukebox and take her in his arms. Often, the only witnesses to their slow movement on a checkered linoleum floor would be a droopy-eyed waitress with aching feet or a fry cook wearing a dingy apron. Those were the times Dori missed the most; Nelson’s fingers laced on the small of her back, hers resting on his neck as they moved in sensuous figure eights. He seemed to know the lyrics to every ballad and would sing them in her ear, his soft breath arousing her as nothing else could.

The sound of the band playing Entrance of the Gladiators startled Dori out of her selective memories. The screamer, an insider’s name for the opening march, had begun and she leaned forward, her heart pounding in time to the martial beat. This wasn’t the same circus of her youth, but it could have been. The ringmaster looked dashing in his red jacket, top hat and shiny black boots, but she knew buttons on the jacket would have been sewn on many times and there would be holes in the soles of the boots. The tights of the trapeze artists would be marred by ladders and the ruffles on the clowns’ suits would be frayed. The audience welcomed the illusion. They wanted magic, not reality.

Clowns were everywhere, spraying each other with water bottles and juggling all manner of objects, including three shivering Chihuahuas wearing pink bows. Dori ignored them. She didn’t come to the circus to see the clowns, but to see Tamika, one of the featured performers. Her thoughts chaotic, she waited for Tamika to begin her act. Once the graceful young woman climbed the suspended apparatus, Dori’s critical eye could find no flaw and rather than regret, she felt admiration for the artistry of the performance.

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a clown talking to the mother of the toddler seated next to her. The woman placed the child on her lap and the clown eased into the empty seat.

“Tamika’s gorgeous, but she doesn’t have your lines. Nobody ever did.”

Dori should have been surprised, but wasn’t this the real reason she came to the circus? The odds that the clown sitting next to her would be Nelson and not a grotesque parody of her first love should have been astronomical, but this wasn’t Vegas, it was small-town Texas.

As if they’d seen each other that morning instead of two decades ago, Dori said, “Your act hasn’t changed much.”

Nelson shrugged. “At least I haven’t stooped to juggling wiener dogs.”

“Those poor little dogs, you should orchestrate a wiener dog rescue mission.”

“Facing the wrath of juggling clowns who should know better will be my pleasure, but after the show could we talk?”

“About what?”

Beneath the painted frown of the greasepaint, Nelson managed to give her a rueful grin.

“You know.”

Dori sighed. “I’ll wait.”

“I’ll be back with bells on,” he said, shaking an enormous shoe which indeed had bells attached.

As he jingled off, Dori considered the possibility she might be certifiable. She was over him. Wasn’t she?

Most of the crowd had thinned by the time he returned. Still wearing silly oversized gloves, he took her hand.

“C’mon. Let’s go back to my place. I’ll change and we can go get something to eat.”

They made their way to his trailer parked a block away, being careful to avoid the droppings of one of the circus ponies. Nelson asked, “What are you doing these days? I always imagined you teaching ballet.”

“I dance nearly every day, but I own a curiosity shop here in town. Old books, knickknacks and other assorted crap tourists can’t seem to live without.”

“ That sounds interesting. Are you married?”

“I used to be.”

“What happened?”

“He wasn’t nice.”

“Oh. I’m sorry, Dori.”

“I don’t want to talk about him. Did you ever get married?”

“No, not my thing I guess.”

They approached the trailer in silence. He led her up the steps, removed his gloves and unlocked the door. Once he flipped on the lights they entered the compact living space.

“You never did go to art school?” Dori asked, as she approached a painting on the wall.

“Nope. I kinda lost the desire to paint after you left.”

“But you painted this.”

“About a week after screwing up, I realized I didn’t have a photo of you. I was afraid I’d forget what you looked like.”

The emotions the painting evoked threatened to overwhelm her. Against a backdrop of stars twinkling on the canvas, a youthful Dori performed her aerial silk routine. Her left leg and arm were gracefully extended. Although her body remained still, her hair swirled about her face in a rippling stream. Nelson had painted her nude with an emerald green silk ribbon flowing between her legs.

Dori turned to face Nelson and saw the pleading in his eyes. For approval, forgiveness or both; she couldn’t be sure.

“You have an amazing talent. I wish you would have used it.”

He kicked off his clown shoes and said, “Didn’t have the heart for it. Come talk to me while I get this paint off my face.”

She followed him into the bathroom and leaned against the wall in their old ritual as he began the task of removing the greasepaint. When they were lovers, he’d painted a happy face, but now his faux mouth drooped. As the paint thinned a lone teardrop appeared on his left cheek.

She snorted a horrified laugh and said, “Nelson! What the hell is that? Did you spend time in prison?”

He grinned. “No prison time for me. I got really drunk one night after you left and couldn’t decide between a broken heart tattoo or the teardrop. A bad decision either way, but in bars you can’t beat this stupid thing for picking up women. Most think I’m a hopeless romantic and if they’re serial killer groupies, it gets them all hot and bothered.”

“Yuck. You pick up a lot of women like that?” she asked, dreading the answer.

“Not really. Mostly I sit in my trailer and read. Nobody loves a clown.”

“I used to.”

“I know, Dori. I was a fool.

“Everyone knew Lauren seduced just about every guy in the circus - something about her being a sword-swallower. That night you were tired and went to bed early. I took a walk and bumped into her. We got drunk together and I was weak. I couldn’t believe she told you the next evening right after the show. I tried to apologize for being an ass, but you were in such a rage you wouldn’t listen to me. I actually went crying to that bitch after you left. Her only reaction to my pain was a smirk. She was so cruel.

“I’m not making excuses. I was wrong and not only screwed everything up, I hurt you. I don’t expect you to forgive me, even after all this time, but I wanted to let you know. You may slap me now.”

“Nelson, you’re still a fool and an ass. Let’s go eat.”

The diner usually closed early, but the owner had taken the opportunity to make extra money off the crowd spilling out of the circus. There wasn’t an empty table, but a jukebox sat in a corner. Nelson put in a quarter, selected a song and turned to her.

“May I have this dance?”

“Of course.”

He laced his fingers on the small of her back and said, “Nice jeans.”

She smiled up at him. “You remembered.”

“How could I forget? Remember what we called our relationship?”

“Our helter-skelter romance.”

“That’s right. The goofy clown and the graceful beauty. So very different. I’d like to try that crazy balancing act again.”

Dori closed her eyes, buried her head in his shirt and breathed in his intoxicating scent.

“We’ll see.”

Love
2

About the Creator

Kat Nove

I'm a native Texan who would rather pour a colony of fire ants down my ear canal than listen to country & western music. Willie Nelson is the exception to this rule.

My website is https://babblethenbite.com/

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