Short Story by Diane Kimbrell
Posters advertising Daring Dan’s Traveling Circus had been in the windows of Epson’s Grill, Joe’s Hardware, and in Miller’s Grocery for several weeks. I can’t lie, I was excited. Because I was in school that day, I didn’t see the caravans enter town. But I imagined how Daring Dan’s Traveling Circus paraded through, and wondered what the circus people would think of the massive water oak trees that lined our main road like soldiers standing guard. I’d never been to the circus and now a real live circus had come to Quicksand, a small community in the foothills of North Carolina. My nine-year-old mind could hardly believe it. Tonight, I would see Magana the Golden Snake of India, the Ossified Man, Armless Legless Lester, the Flying Fortenberry’s, and maybe some dancing ponies. I wanted mama to come but she said she had to do something. She probably didn’t have enough money to pay for a ticket after she gave me money for admission. Poor mama. My stomach churned whenever I felt guilty, and I felt guilty a lot. Othermama hardly ever left the house except to attend funerals. She said, “Niki, I haven’t lost a thing at an ole trashy circus.” But I felt sure that deep down she really wanted to go. Who wouldn’t want to see a golden snake? I went with my best friend, Jill, her twin brother Jack, and their mother, Mrs. Juanita Hill. I didn’t want to leave mama and Othermama. It was Friday. My thoughts raced—ran wild. Most Friday nights daddy comes home drunk and stays drunk all weekend. Sometimes he throws fits, yells curse words, breaks stuff, hits mama, and threatens to kill her. What if something happens to mama and Othermama while I’m having fun at the circus? Part of me wants to run back home and stay there to protect mama and Othermama—keep daddy calm by telling him stuff—like what we’d learned in my fourth-grade class about the Tundra, but I keep following Mrs. Hill, Jack, and Jill. The sun was setting on what had been a beautiful summer day. We crossed the railroad tracks and made our way carefully through Pickett’s field, overgrown with Johnson grass, to the tent set up on a large empty lot. My best friend, Jill, had no idea that I was worried about mama and Othermama being murdered or what would happen to me. I only knew if they no longer existed, I wouldn’t either. My head was full of terrible secrets. Thank goodness Mrs. Hill didn’t know what I was thinking either. I never talked about what happened at home; I didn’t dare for fear that Mrs. Hill wouldn’t let me play with Jill and Jack anymore.
It looked like all the kids in Quicksand and their parents turned out to see the circus. We joined the line to buy tickets. My brother Ben said he heard there was a lion in a cage, but the lion was old and had no teeth. He was always teasing me and calling me a dumb girl, so I didn’t believe him. For once, unfortunately, he was telling the truth. Just to the right of the entrance to the tent was a large red wooden wagon on wheels decorated with fancy gold lettering that read, “Mighty Maximillian—King of the Jungle.” Behind the bars, Maximillian seemed to be sleeping. In his cage was a huge pan of water, several large gnawed on bones, and a half-eaten slab of raw meat. He didn’t have much of a mane and the tuft on the end of his tail that he thumped once or twice was almost gone. Just past Mighty Maximillian I could see a long glass display case filled with snakes. I especially wanted to see Magana, the Golden Snake of India, but the line was moving too fast to get a good look. I also wanted to see The Ossified Man—a man who had completely turned to stone. How would he eat if he couldn’t move, I wondered. A flyer also featured Armless Legless Lester: a young man born with feet where his legs should’ve been and stumps for arms. Lester could play the violin, the guitar, and the drums with his toes.
After waiting for what seemed like an eternity, Daring Dan, handsome in a top hat and tails welcomed everyone. “For our first act of the evening,” he roared, “please welcome, the Flying Fortenberry’s!” A pretty but very thin young woman who looked like a teenager, somersaulted into the ring wearing a skimpy, gold sequined costume. She had an olive complexion and long dark wavy hair. She bowed then climbed up a ladder to reach the trapeze. Music began to play as she performed acrobatics on the bar. She was dangling by one foot high above the ring when a young man dressed all in black entered and climbed the opposite ladder. I figured maybe he was her brother. After he did some tricks by himself, they began to swing towards each other. When she let go of her bar, he caught her by her arms. We all clapped and cheered. Next, she twirled in the air before he caught her by her feet. Their act was thrilling and scary at the same time. Four dancing ponies appeared next ridden by four beautiful ladies wearing pink costumes and matching pink feathered tiaras. The ponies pranced and bowed and trotted to the music without missing a beat. While we waited for the next act, a clown appeared. He wore an orange wig and big glasses. The clown carried a feather duster and pretended to dust children sitting in the audience. I didn’t think he was funny, and I was glad when Daring Dan announced a short intermission. I could see a baldheaded man sitting in a wheelchair off to the side—almost hidden by the bleachers. He looked stiff and pale. A woman, one of the lovely ladies who had ridden a dancing pony stood behind his wheelchair ready to roll him out. I poked Jill in the ribs with my elbow. “Look!” I whispered, “It’s the Ossified Man.” Like me, both Jack and Jill were excited to see the attractions, but Mrs. Hill, without any explanation, announced we were going home. No one ever argued with Mrs. Hill. Once outside the tent, she removed a flashlight from her purse. “Stay close to me,” she said. Moonlight cast a silvery, unearthly glow over Pickett’s field. As we neared the railroad tracks, a chill ran through my body. Had something awful happened at home while I was gone? My breath caught in my throat at the thought. It was the same sensation I had when the girl on the trapeze flew midair, arms outstretched waiting to be caught by her partner. Everything will be fine, I assured myself. Daddy will be sleeping in his chair—too drunk to get up to go to bed. Othermama will be reading the Bible in her room, and mama will be whipping up a batch of fudge. So far, except for the clown, the night had been magical.
Diane Kimbrell is a southern regional writer. Her stories have been compared to the paintings of Norman Rockwell that reveal charming as well as provocative scenes of American life told with the precision and detail of Eudora Welty. Diane’s credits include The Raleigh Review, River Walk Journal, Inc., and the Other Stories podcast.
