Ok, so...my computer has been on sabbatical for the past couple of months. Basically, my wireless card completely went out on me. I suspected this was the issue right from the start, but I have been putting off talking to anyone about it for forever. I finally stopped by my local Best Buy this afternoon. I was thinking about getting a whole new computer, but a guy told me about this "wireless adapter" thing that could help me out. Long story short, I bought it, slapped in the CD, plugged in the USB thing, and BAM! I got the internets!
To make up for being gone so long...I decided to post a story I wrote a little while ago.
Enjoy!
Ms. Bee
Fifteen and a run-away, I found myself at the Circus with only the clothes on my back (my trusty scarf, a blouse, a pair of trousers, and the best shoes I owned). I had been begging all day for some change for food. I guess I look older than I am because a few folks even threw me some silver—enough for food and fun. If I was smart I would save some of that money for tomorrow, but I ate good today. I can go without tomorrow. The music is what drew me in, loud and happy. I want to be happy. I stood at the gate debating whether or not to enter for a while, but the music penetrated my soul and beckoned me in. So, I bought a ticket.
I walk through the gate and the music seems to grow. It lives in me. I can feel the swells and declines. Everywhere I look people are laughing and drunk. Normal, up-standing people are here with the scum—the people no one want—and they are having a hell of a time. I walk through the narrow rows of venders and game booths smelling some of the most divinely greasy food on earth. “Peanuts, Popcorn, and try our new Sweet Batter-dipped wieners.” I felt in my pocket, only a few pennies left—not enough. I stood out back of the food booth sniffing the air. Crunch. I turned to see where the noise had come from. A little girl had evidently tried the “New sweet batter-dipped wiener” and hadn’t liked it. She had only taken one bite. One bite! No! You are in a bad situation, but you will never eat trash! I wish I could say this pep talk worked, but that would be a lie. I took it and it was the best meal I ever ate. It was still warm, and when I bit into it crunched. It was a heavenly treat of meat wrapped in warm, gooey sweet batter. Circus goers are wasteful. So, I discovered batter-dipped wieners are wonderful! Throughout the night I picked up a few more here and there—they are better warm, but not horrible cold. I could stay here forever.
The music played louder and louder until I felt like it was my sole reason in life to find its source. I followed the swinging notes through the center aisle of booths, and finally, into a side tent. The first woman I saw was 3 feet tall. She looked like a little doll, but she swore she was fully grown. I believed her too, she had a mouth like a sailor. I didn’t know any baby who could speak like she did—had to be grown. The more I looked at her the more I realized she was slightly disfigured. Her back hunched ever so slightly, her shoulders seemed to be shoved up too far, and her head was too big for her dainty doll body. There were also two doll men, decked out in suits and everything. They were little adult dolls. I had never seen anything like it. I wanted to play with them, but they frightened me so I forced my feet to move.
Next I saw a man with flesh bubbles all over his body. It looked like his momma had stuck him in a boiling pot of water and his skin was all bubbly from the air that had got in. His fingers weren’t fingers; they were bubbles. His toes were flesh bubbles too. I shuddered when I saw him at the thought of a baby in a boiling pot, hoped he didn’t see me, and walked on as quickly as I could. I was walking pretty fast now, and I accidentally walked right into two very normal, up-standing looking men. Ouch! I fell on my rump—skewing my scarf. “Oh, I am so sorry,” I said, smoothing my clothes and trying to get up. “Never you mind that,” said one of the men, holding his hand out to help me up. I took it and tugged my way to my feet. After really looking at the two men I noticed that they were really only one man—one man with four legs, four arms, and two heads. I screamed, and ran. The men were joined together by a small flap of skin just above their belly buttons. The men—or this man, however you want to look at it—were the strangest thing I had seen yet, and I didn’t like it. This place is scarier than I thought. I ran for the exit, not seeing the other “attractions” in the side tent.
As I stumbled out of the tent, I realized that I heard the music again. I hadn’t missed it inside the tent, but now that I heard it again I couldn’t imagine ever being without it. It had to be coming from the big top: the biggest tent, right in the heart of the Circus. I ducked inside but couldn’t see. It was dark, but I had found the source of the music. The melody blared continuously through the speakers. When my eyes finally adjusted to the darkness I found a seat at the top of the risers on the left. I sat still for a long time, listening to the music and trying to catch my breath. I was amazed: there were people worse off here than me. This place is full of misfits. When I finally caught my breath I pulled myself out of my own thoughts and realized there was a show going on. Clowns came out with faces painted twelve different colors and juggled bottles, knives, and fire. Some were happy, some sad, but all silly. I forgot how frightened I had been and sunk into the deep trance only a Circus can bring. Before I knew it trapeze artists called “The Flying Pavlatas” swung through their silly show. Why do trapeze artists think they need to have corny bits with dogs and baby dolls? No one really thinks they are throwing a baby through the air. Trapeze work is beautiful and amazing without needing any help. The rest of the show was a blur of bright colored lights, pies, and funny smells. I was hooked.
After the show I snuck around back to catch the performers out of “show mode.” There were so many stage hands no one noticed one more body slinking around. When the last patron walked out of the gate the music went down. The silence was almost as thick as the music had been.
I sat up all night with the clowns. We drank, smoked, and even played a little poker. Those clowns are good people. There were 17 of them in all, ranging in height from slightly taller than the doll women to nearly giants. Only a handful wanted anything to do with me—most were too busy taking off make-up or re-stuffing scarves into coat sleeves. I even saw one packing rubber chickens into the back pocket of a pair of very large pants. When I first tasted what they were all drinking, it burned all the way down. It was like drinking something rotten. Yuck! The Clowns all laughed at the face I made after my first swig. I hated it, but it grew on me—made me feel warm and woozy, like the world was fuzzy.
After drinking quite a bit of whatever it was, I began to open up. It was warm, and my scarf was getting itchier by the second. I wish I didn’t have to wear the thing. I was sweating and I just wanted to take it off. “I always have to wear a scarf. My mom set that rule a long time ago—right after she caught me,” I said to Happy, a clown who’s name didn’t match his make-up. “Caught you?” a few of the clowns asked.
“Well, I guess it all started when I was about five. See, I loved watching my dad shave. He had it down to an exact science.” I smiled as I remembered my dad. I wasn’t sure if I would ever see him again. My mom hated me. That I knew, but I still had hope that my dad loved me.
“I would always hear him whipping up the lather. That was my cue,” I continued. “He whipped and whipped until it was exactly right, foamy white stuff coming up over the edges of his brown mug. When the entire bottom half of his face was white he would begin to shave, rinsing the blade under the faucet with every stroke.”
I loved watching my dad shave, but what no one knew was that I would shave too. Right after he left the sink I would climb up on the counter, sit on the edge, and swing my legs over into the basin. I always took his leftover cream and rubbed it on my face just like he had. ‘The trick to shaving,’ my dad always said, ‘is having a clean razor with every stroke.’” Bill, another clown, interrupted me here and said, “That’s so sweet. I never even met my pop.” “When I was really young,” I continued, “I would use the back side of a comb, rinsing the caked up foam off under the faucet every time, but when I got older I would use the real deal: my dad’s blade.” The clowns and I played two hands of Texas hold ‘em after this revelation. I didn’t think anyone had even been listening until Pinky, a small Purple and Green Clown asked, “So what’d ya git caught doin’?”
“Well, one day my mother caught me shaving,” I told the clowns. “She had me whipped, and I was never allowed to shave again. Eventually the hair began to grow back, thick black hairs everywhere. My mother decided that the best way to fix it would be to cover the family’s shame with a scarf. ‘I had to live with the consequences of my young decisions,’ she said.” Happy and his clown brothers still looked confused. Should I take it off? They are drunk. They will never remember who I am, let alone this tale I just told. In the end, I was much too warm from the liquor and my scarf was just too itchy to bear, so I removed it. “Whoa!” Was the clown’s collective response. Great, a few more people to make fun of me.
Happy stood up and grabbed my hand. I am even too weird for a Circus. They are throwing me out. He took me, to my surprise, to the ringmaster’s trailer. Joe said he had never seen a woman with a beard before. “You have a home with us here, if you want it,” Joe said after examining me and having a few good hard tugs. I have been “The Bearded Ms. Bee” (short for Beatrix) ever since. It took a while to adjust to the life of the circus, but they give me all the sweet batter-dipped wieners I can stand and I am always close to the music.
