Circus Stories
So one night, I’m sitting at the bar next to this guy half-watching baseball, and he hadn’t said a thing for two hours straight, which was fine by me. A lot of nights, I want to be next to a talker. I like the way pretending to listen makes me feel. But some nights I like the way it feels to stop pretending I’m listening, and this guy got that. He was perfect for that.
Until this commercial comes on the TV for the circus, of all things, and he goes, “Those people must have amazing sex, right?”
“What?”
“Those people doing the trapeze. Think about it. They practice over and over again saving each other’s butt. Touching and grabbing each other just so. They know everything about each other’s body. More than most people ever know about another body. They gotta fuck with all that knowledge.”
I grunted, and not like one of those How interesting grunts, but he kept going anyway. “I’ve known a lot of people that worked for the circus. Like three.”
“Three’s a lot?” I heard myself say, though I could have sworn my brain had told my mouth to grunt again.
“How many have you known?” He had me there, I had to admit. The bartender brought him another beer even though he hadn’t ordered one as far as I could tell. I could respect that, at least.
“Yeah, the first was this guy Tommy who lived with me in L.A. for awhile. Dude offered to pay half my rent if he could sleep on my couch. I wasn’t going to say no to that. He was older than me, late 40s, but I always liked hanging out with the guy. Sometimes we’d go out drinking, and we’d always get free drinks or talk to pretty girls because he’d juggle a bunch of the bartender’s limes or some shit. It was great.”
He actually turned to me at this point, so I turned to him on a reflex, and this guy had big hairy hands and wore yellow gold jewelry, and you could tell he thought he was something. Like he’d put thought into how he looked. You know the type.
“Tommy had been born into a circus family or some shit. His grandma had been in the circus, too, or something.” He had one hand holding his beer, the other gesturing like it was pulling the story out of him. “He was Cambodian. Short, but strong as hell. Jet black hair. He was dying it, though.” I thought it was funny the guy decided to tell me that. See, that’s the problem with talking. You start thinking people give a shit what you’ve got to say, and then you start saying all sorts of stuff.
“He used to tell me about the circus. How he did it way longer than most. Most circus performers are 20-something, and Tommy did it until his early 40s. When people asked him about it, he used to say, ‘I got to travel the world and have drinks with pretty girls in new places. What was I going to do? Work in a fucking bank?’ Eventually, he had to stop for his body. Those guys are good, but they aren’t perfect. You only need to mess up a few times doing that crazy shit to get too injured to do it anymore. Tommy didn’t have a steady job when I knew him; he kind of did a little of this, a little of that. But he always paid his rent on time. I heard a couple years ago he killed himself, but that didn’t sound right to me. Guy always seemed so calm. Comfortable.”
I hated it when he brought up suicide. I hate it when people bring up suicide when I’m drinking.
“The next one was this little thing I dated for awhile. She was great. Had the prettiest kooch you’ve ever seen. And she could bend her legs all funny.” He gestured with his hands, like he was putting his legs up around his neck. “I don’t know if I’ve ever been in love, but she’s the only woman who ever made me think, ‘You know, I could do this the rest of my life.’ I went to see her perform a few times; she was the one they shot out of the canon at the end of the show. Man, she was great. Only woman I’ve ever been with who knew how to be quiet. She was happy to sit in a room with you for two hours and say nothing.” I wished she was on his stool instead.
This time he did order another drink, then he quickly finished his beer before telling me, “I scared that one off with my drinking, though.” He reached over and cheersed my empty glass with his new, full glass, and I almost got up and left. I really almost did. But, instead, I said, “The third?”
The guy took another long sip of beer. “Yeah, the third was my sponsor.”
“Your what?”
“You know, AA sponsor. Anyway, he’d worked for a circus as a kid, and he seemed to find a way to bring it into every conversation. He used to say, ‘Everyone’s at the circus. Everyone’s in the circus. You can learn to enjoy the show, or you can choose to hate it. Or you can get so drunk you’re too bleary eyed to see it.’”
After he said this, I noticed he was looking toward the TV but not at it. He seemed to be considering something past the ceiling, past the clouds. The bartender then put a new glass of beer in front of him, and with an empty smile I didn’t want to see, he raised his glass to his lips.