Sinclair's Motel

3. The Trapeze Artist

Jacque's Travelling Circus

Circa. 1925

The trapeze artist is shaking as they cling to the wooden rungs of the ladder. They look up dizzily at the platform they are preparing to leap from, that seems to stretch for miles above their head. Breathing shallowly, they hoist themselves up to the platform and reach for the rope, sweat leaking through their fingers as they curl it round their palms. Steadying their heart rate with the deepest breath they can muster, they smooth down the pearlescent sequins that adorn their (tacky) leotard. It's a deep aquamarine, and boasts just the right amount of glitter that looks dazzling if you stand far away enough.

They watch the glitter flake from their cheekbones and swirl around them like curlicues of smoke, listening for the tinny trumpet fanfare that signals the beginning of their act, even though all they can hear is the thumping of their heartbeat in their throat.

Suddenly, all noise stops as the ringmaster flings his baton in the air. It spins delicately, suspended in orbit, an absence of gravity, before plummeting into his hand again, scarlet coat-tails swinging wildly. An out of tune brass chorus plays, and it's showtime.

Deep breaths and baby steps. Deep breaths and baby steps. Deep breaths and-

Almost carelessly, the trapeze artist steps off of the platform as if it were a diving board, swaying with the momentum of their fall unblinkingly, as the real trapeze is swung at them from the platform opposite.

Deep breaths. Just like they rehearsed.

Seconds before they crash into the trapeze, they release the ropes from their hands and soar. Everything relaxes into a flowing slow motion, suspended in a dream, supported by air. A collective gasp from the audience and a crescendo from the trumpets is right on cue, just as expected. They tuck their legs into their chest, the golden glitter from their face swimming through the ropes like fireflies.

Deep breaths, deep breaths. Arms outstretched-

The wooden pole of the trapeze is slippery between their fingers, but this is no surprise- they hoist themselves up to sit on the bar, like they used to do, on the rusted chain and rubber swings in playgrounds with cement floors.

And then they begin to swing, legs flailing back and forth in time to the oboe, higher and higher until they're scraping the moon through the thin red and white stripes of the circus tent. They watch as their anxieties drift away in the stirring dust around their face.

The audience are white-knuckled, and on the very edge of their seats. Some mothers are holding pallid hands over their children's eyes, terrified for the descent. The ringmaster is staring up wide-eyed, grinning broadly as he ushers the strongmen onto the stage to prepare for the fall.

Finally, in one last act of fearlessness, all nerves expelled like the golden glitter from their cheeks, the trapeze artist springs from their swing, hung in midair like dust, before spiralling downwards in a showcase of somersaults and splendour, eyes closed.

The strongmen catch the artist faithfully as the trombones ooze one final bassy note to signal the end of the act. Slipping from the strongmen's grasp, they spin to face the audience; arms stretched proudly in the air.

Silence.

Deep breaths. Deep breaths.

The first to stand is a man in the middle, in a richly tailored bespoke suit, holding a polished cane. He spits out words like they are poison on his tongue.

"Scum! Ludicrous! Disgusting!"

The other patrons begin to join in:

"Spoiled the show!"
"Hideous! Should've been a warning!"

"No self-respecting man should ever display himself like that if he wants to be taken seriously!"

Deep breaths. DEEP BREATHS.

This could not have been scheduled. Weeks of meticulous rehearsing could not have trained him for this. Years of scoffs and sniggers could not have prepared him for this. Could not have readied him for the slurs that were hurled like bullets through the air, each one embedding in his body, and the pain- oh God, the pain was unbearable.

And then, out of nowhere, a presence filled the room. A huge, powerful, deafening presence that pushed peoples lips together and their bodies into seats, as a woman stood up in the front row. Her dark red hair was curled elegantly about her forehead, a black feather boa dangling lavishly over her cocktail dress. Her face was primarily hidden by a netted veil that hung from the wide brimmed hat that she wore. Beside her, onto the seemingly unoccupied seat, leapt a cat, black on one side, and white on the other.

She raised her chin, and her gloved hands, and began to clap. Slow at first, easing into a steady rhythm, when more claps sounded from the back of the hall, followed by more and more until all the shouts were drowned out by the standing ovation of every child in the audience. Parents were then dragged to their feet to join the cacophony of noise that was echoing throughout the stands of the dingy circus tent.

The trapeze artist takes a bow, as the final flakes of glitter fall from his cheeks, spiralling like stars in a far-away place that must be sad, because it couldn't hear the applause in Jacque's Travelling Circus for Lawrence the Trapeze Artist.

*A number of years later*

Lawrence the former trapeze artist is standing in front of the full-body mirror in Sinclair's Motel. He still sports the impressively long beard that shocked the audience into silence, the buzzcut that now supports his yellow-tinted Aviator sunglasses. He even still has the leotard, tackily blue, hanging in the cupboard beside his array of ripped jeans. He grins foolishly at his reflection, zipping up his studded leather jacket to congregate with the rest of the Biker Men, and bring Madam Genevieve her rice and sugar.

An eternal thanks to the woman that applauded the trapeze artist.

***

Hello!

I feel like this chapter might be a bit hard to follow (oops) but I hope you enjoyed. I thought it would be easier to focus on one of the Biker Men, rather than all of them so here's the story of Lawrence! I really loved writing this one with Madam in it!

Please vote, comment, or follow if you liked! I'm also currently writing another story called Adventures In A Wasteland if you want to go check that out!

-jazzypumpkin xo