The Ground Act That Could (Part Two)

(Continued...)

We once performed on a slanted gravel lot, in the middle of the street. Since we were balancing on a cylinder, any quick movements were forbidden in this situation. Each trick took over a minute to get into since we had to move at tortoise speed. In the end, Jason fell off the cylinder more often than we would have liked and I fell to the ground, ripping a hole in my now slightly bloodied tights.

I thought of that performance as we approached the pool. Moments earlier quartet adagio performed, an act where three guys swing and flip one willing girl around. I had tried the act before, but my partners weren't as dedicated as I was. After a mere two months we were not much better than when we started. My in air pirouettes were low and whenever they threw me, they never caught me in the right place. The two guys quit the circus not long after we stopped trying with the act.

Clapping for us to start, I cued the music. "Angel" by Massive Attack started playing and it was perfectly in sync with our act. We cut it accordingly to get more dramatic when we did the harder tricks and to soften when we were finished, giving us a nice, clean, movie-esque ending. Being aware of my surroundings, I noticed the array of people holding their colorful mixed drinks in front of us. They were glamorous, especially for Tallahassee, with beaded dresses and black suits. The woman made small talk and laughed carelessly. The men smiled and edged on conversations, while grabbing another plate of food. Earlier, George, another performer with boyish good lucks and a smile that made you instantly feel comfortable, remarked that he thought one of the men was checking me out.

"No, George," I replied with a laugh, "he's checking you out."

For the rest of the night George kept his shorts on over his tights.

Turning to face Jason, I watched him effortlessly balance on the board on top of the cylinder. Noticing my apprehension, apprehension that I never showed, he remarked, "Don't worry about the pool. We've got this." And just like that, he lifted me up.

We did the first round of tricks easily, the ones that we've been practicing since the start. Holding me at the waste, he pressed me high above his head so I looked like Superman, flying over the townspeople. Pushing on the right side of my waste, I flipped over so he had my back and I draped myself down, still being suspended. He held me with one arm, I stood on his shoulder on one foot, he flipped me from standing to his waist. I hooked one foot behind his neck, leaving one planted on his thigh, and laid back, watching mouths drop in appreciation. He lifted me over his head again and I reached back to grab his arms. Linking mine around his armpits, I flipped my legs up and held a shoulder stand on his shoulders. We did it, we did it all. And not once did we fall.

As the music died out, the crowd cheered. Taking a bow, we signaled to the next team, the balancers, for they were just as impressive. I was sweaty but my face held a permanent smile. The adrenaline in my body was racing and I couldn't stop laughing. I loved performances because of that feeling - the simple feeling that could never be duplicated.

Grabbing a quick drink, I followed Jason up to the room to grab his fire poi. He learned the act a year ago, an act where he swung two balls of fire suspended on metal chains around his body. He tried teaching me, but I never got further than basic tricks. I hit myself too much with the practice poi; the fire just scared me. I tried swinging them while standing on his shoulders once, but the fire burned the ends of his hair, making the memorable "tssss" sound. We didn't try it again after that.

"Jason, you ready?" George called from the kitchen.
"Of course," he replied, smirking. If I knew Jason, which I did very well, I knew he was ready to show off. To end the night of performances on a bang, or more appropriately, in flames. Outside it was dark. The balancers took their bows, so I got the music ready again. Something fast, something electronic that matched the pace of the act. Only the patio lights were on.

He started out fine, swinging the fire. The orange and red flaming balls twisted and turned in the air, creating a pattern of light and smoke. People cheered from where I stood with my camera, impressed that he was so talented. That not only could he balance, but he could manage to not burn himself. Truly, who's crazy enough to try that?

At the end of the act, Jason twists the poi under and around his legs. Getting ready for this, I raise my camera. But before I could press the silver button, I stopped, stared, and screamed.

Jason caught the crotch of his pants on fire. His crotch was actually on fire.

Too much into the act, he kept going and ignored the hot sensation piling on him. I yelled for him, not knowing what else to do, until he looked down and horror spread across his face. Actual horror. The look people get when a gun is placed against their head. With fire in his hands, he did the only thing he could thing to do. He stopped and closed his legs over and over again, trying to kill the flames.

The fire did die and his act was hailed the best by far. Thankfully it was also the last because no one could top flaming body parts. As we walked through the house people stopped us often to utter compliments or casual remarks of "you must be crazy to do that." We laughed and smiled accordingly, enjoying the attention and mostly enjoying that we were free to relax. The night was young; we had a celebration to get to.

We were greeted by cheers as we got back into the living room. There were our friends, standing around and laughing. Food was being passed around and drinks were starting to pile up. I looked around at the guests around us, posing in the roles they were born to play. I never saw myself like that. I never saw myself in a fancy house with clear circular staircases and vases from around the world. Instead, I was comfortable where I was, with a ragtag group of performers who were hit on by the same sex and occasionally burned their crotches.

Reaching over to the bar, I grabbed the first bright blue prepared drink I saw.

"Here," I said to Jason, handing him the martini, "you've earned this."