Never Trust An Energetic Clown

To understand what happened, I need to explain a bit about my family. My father dances on the high wire, my mother works with the big cats, my brother flies through the air with seven of our cousins, and me—I ran away from the circus when I was fifteen. I’m the one who went to college (two doctorates, Rhetoric and Linguistics), has a house and a steady job (tenured professor).

Instead of training under Aunt Marta—Melisande, the Amazing Elastic Woman—and succumbing to the fifth generation of circus tradition, I am the one they don’t talk about, the failure who “spent her time on a lot of nonsense, and she hasn’t even produced any grandchildren.”

I don’t see them much.

In fact, I prefer not to think about my roots. I think the only reason they haven’t disowned me is that it has nothing to do with the show. Nothing is more important than the show. Especially not a wayward daughter.

I should never have gone back. Especially not with Peter.

I met Peter (Dr. Peter F. Audley, associate professor of Mathematics) at a faculty Christmas dinner. He’s even younger than I am and looks more like a cross between a mad scientist and a football star than a mathematician. He is smart, with a crazy sense of humor and a real love for his subject. Best of all, he had nothing to do with the circus. That night we talked until they kicked us out of the dinner and had to head to the 24 hour pancake shop so we could talk some more. I didn’t let him take me home that first night. I waited a whole week.

In May, just after finals, he asked, and I said yes. And then came the awkward moment when he asked when he could meet my family.

I nearly handed him back the ring so I wouldn’t have to explain.

But I love him. So I sucked in my gut and got it over with. When he finished laughing, he made arrangements for me to spend a week in June at his parents place, and I called around to figure out where the circus was traveling in July.

His parents were darling. I think his mother was a bit hesitant at first, but she warmed up and showed me baby pictures until Peter was blushing bright red. It was quiet. He is an only child. I used to dream about being an only child.

And then we headed to the circus. My hair is shorter and darker than it used to be, so we managed to slip in without fanfare. But we hadn’t been in the big top for more than five minutes when my family converged. Imagine, thirty-odd (and most of them are very odd) people—from Grandma who tells fortunes in the sideshow to several the kids, most of whom I’d never met before. Mother was in the front.

“Josephina! You’re just in time!” She always speaks in exclamations unless she’s in the cage with her cats. “And this must be your Peter!”

I would have nodded, but Aunt Marta was checking my arm muscles, and Dad was looking at Peter with a rather disturbing glint in his eye. I pulled away, ready to grab Peter and run, but just then the ringmaster blew his whistle and Cousin Fianche was showing us to the best seats in the house. She was already in her face (so I should probably call her Vinnie)—which she had inherited from our great-uncle Timmy.

I have to admit that the show was still top rate. But I was torn between watching the acts and Peter, sitting next to me with a look of wonder on his face. He was the perfect audience—child-like without the loud and obnoxious part. When the clowns came tumbling by, Fianche tossed him a rose that squirted him in the eye. He sat with me, holding it until the lights came back up and the show was done.

We only were going to stay with the circus for a week but Peter wanted to see and know everything. He and Marta ganged up on me, and I proved to the satisfaction of all that I had not forgotten my tumbling. He was so excited that I even agreed to join the act for the time we were there. Against my better judgment, we hung around for the rest of July and into August.

And then, about a week before we had to report back to the university, Fianche painted Peter’s face and dressed him in glitter and let him work a show.

And that’s why I’m here. Alone. I gave Peter back his ring and he gave me a letter of resignation to the Math department. He says that he’ll be back someday. I told him I wasn’t waiting for him to get it out of his system.

I thought about apologizing to his parents, but I don’t think they want to see me anymore. After all, I’m the reason their son decided to run away and join the circus.

On the other hand, a lot of the blame belongs to Fianche. If it hadn’t been for her . . . let me give you some advice.

Never trust a clown.

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