Humans logo

Circus

Chapter Five

By Sonny MacPublished 4 years ago 6 min read
1
Photo courtesy Sunshine’s Gallery

The smell of kerosene fills my nostrils as my beautiful man and I headed out for a rare night on the town in homage to all hallows eve. Not precisely a local tradition but one of growing ‘pop’ cultural significance none the less. This evolving observance becoming more predictable in light of the current lurid social obsession with the dance macabre. It was not exceptional that we were out so much, more that we were out together.

I’m not sure if it was a coveted activity of itself or just a way for us to fill the void. I was full of creative space to be filled with sights, sounds and people. Nothing intimate where my soul was invested in any way. Just a passing fancy, the observer in a life well lived. Chaotic, staccato rhythms of dance for a moment of pleasure. This was a night to surround myself with mischief and mayhem. With glorious colours, scents and experiences aimed to manifest the wildest of dreams whilst allowing a gentle return to community-minded existence the next day, no questions asked. Isiah, as always, was a passive passenger, happily bumping along. Ready for whatever was on offer along the ride.

I wasn’t really sure whether I was putting the mask on or taking it off. It can be hard to tell these days. The real me…the essence of me…I’m not sure she still exists or whether she has morphed and changed so much she is now just a foggy, fragrant, morphine-dream memory of who I once had been. I have never really ‘owned’ the me of now. It was like this life was on loan. Not the main act but a short play. A one-night stand that hangs around well past the cigarette and cup of morning-after breath afraid to commit to the walk of lonely shame on the blistering midday concrete. Back to the nothingness of where it truly belongs.

My life sometimes still feels like a costume I put on to fit in. To live with some sense of ease and purpose but still…Every now and again, my breathe catches and I get the sense of metamorphosis. The butterfly of mother and wife and, well, middle-aged comfort. Emerging from the cocoon to become the reality rather than a mere cover-up of the seedy underbelly that is authentic soul. I’ve made it, it whispers. This is it. This is the destination we have been striving for. This is the you that you will ultimately become. This is the you that is at the core of your soul. Underneath the smeared lipstick, nicotine breath and day after hair. It softly coos and croons…it’s all going to be ok…..The past is past us now. The epic journey has been to reach the here and now. Every year, a little more of the once-was crumbles away leaving this new being in its wake. And then, the breathe exhales….the wavering mistrust and ambiguity returns.

We enter the open-aired, sultry summer night where the beautiful people have gathered. In the center of the freakish, circus-like bizarre filled with light and shining expectations, fire twirlers have gathered, their flames carelessly circling heads of angelic blond curls. Young men in top hats and grimy jackets, with feet bare, swap smokes and jokes along with the most intricate of dances with their hands, bodies and ignited blaze. The women, slick brown skin, tattooed and pierced, swing long dreadlocks whilst creating patterns of shining light across the sky.

Photo courtesy Sunshine’s Gallery

In another shed an ethereal aerial acrobat contorts and twists with lovely, arching grace in a corner on a hoop suspended by exquisite, shimmering ribbons hoisted high into the sky. All pinks and pale golds, with strands of luminous pearl. She is young, languid and utterly captivating behind her masquerade guise, disguising her against recognition of the everyday. On a small stage, filled with high backed chairs and ornate, gilded mirrors a beautiful overall-clad, expressive couple are painting the most delicate, intricate patterns across the bodies of the drunk and generally disorderly crowd. There is a place tonight for all. The creative, imaginative, inventive and original as well as the commonplace, workaday seeking a brief artistic interlude.

We are greeted with the intoxicating smells of wood-fired pizzas being tossed in the air around us before nestling snuggly amongst the coals. I lean against my best man, broad and resplendent in his blue and gold ringmasters jacket. As always, I feel the stability. The constant centre of gravity that is he. Quietly, he acts as my solid dam keeping back the ever flowing tide of my life through fierce love. Without even knowing, I have longed for this night with my gorgeous boy. My lightness, my love, my forgiving everyday companion.

He gets me a drink and we are joined by the most auspicious older gentleman. A refined steampunk with a long grey beard and oiled, curled mustache of smokey gunmetal grey. He sits straight-backed watching the crowd with his hands resting on a carved black, polished cane. An enormous, dark rat poking occasionally out from beneath his jacket.

Photo courtesy Sunshine’s Gallery

'I need a place to rest my bones, just for a spell. I hope you don't mind', he says still watching the crowd. We smile and welcome him to join us. We are watching the body painters weave their magic. 'Your physical self is the outward manifestation of your mind you know' he said, casting a brief look in my direction. Up and all the way down. I am dressed, as I often am in black from head to toe. All hips and breasts and sensual sway. Why not dispense with the pleasantries old man. Come rub your soul up against mine without invitation. I smile. As racked with inner turmoil as I often am I have no crisis of confidence with my physical presence. I own my body. I own the physical space I inhabit. Every inch of it. When your insecurities come to visit invite them in for coffee I say. Get to know each other. There are lessons to be learned. He turns back to the crowd. “When I am surrounded by friends and laughter I feel I am always in the right place at the right time" he said. I contemplate this concept with genuine interest "It feels good to be present in the moments doesn't it", I reply, steeling into his aura more intently. "Indeed" the steampunk acknowledges. "Just to 'be' for a moment. Not wishing for the next is so pure", he crooned. I like that thought. I roll it around in my mind for a while.

humanity
1

About the Creator

Sonny Mac

Words....words are my dark chocolate and red wine. They are my soul food. The stuff of mother's dreams and beautiful boys kisses. Join me, as I find my authentic voice. Fiction with a touch of truth embedded, deeply hidden. A mere whisper.

Reader insights

Be the first to share your insights about this piece.

How does it work?

Add your insights

Comments

There are no comments for this story

Be the first to respond and start the conversation.

Sign in to comment

    Find us on social media

    Miscellaneous links

    • Explore
    • Contact
    • Privacy Policy
    • Terms of Use
    • Support

    © 2024 Creatd, Inc. All Rights Reserved.