Sparkling Emily

I sat on the step of the caravan, and curled up my toes in the dry,
tickling grass. I fiddled with a hole in my shorts absentmindedly and
gazed at the gaudy tent which dominated my world.

I was then seven years old, and growing up in the tattered glamour of
the circus.

My dad was a clown, he capered around the ring, honking horns and
riding unicycles with his great shoes flapping. He used a whistle to
talk, the kids loved it. Sometimes he talked to me like that, but the
shrill whistling hurt my ears, and I could never understand him.

I was fascinated by my dad's make up. I used to sit on the caravan step
and stare through the door at him, watching intently as he transformed
from the man I knew into a stranger with a ghostly face, cross-eyes,
and an insanely happy crimson-smeared mouth, which looked to me as if
oozing with blood. He never realised how much his clown face terrified
me, that it haunted me in nightmares.

My mum was 'Angel' the trapeze artist, swooping birdlike from the
starry canopy of the Big Top, sparkling, smiling with perfect white
teeth. She called me her little fairy, and kissed me after shows,
smothering me with lipstick and the cloying scent of her cherry
perfume. She was beautiful. I longed to be close to her.

I was Emily the fairy girl. I had my mother's grace and my father's
showmanship. I teetered prettily on the tightrope and flew around the
ring on the trapeze next to my mother, my wings bobbing behind me. Kids
stared at me from the audience, their mouths agape, their eyes round.
They envied me.

But now I was flightless, my wings were inside my dad's caravan,
dangling from a hook in the wardrobe. I sat on the step, and curled up
my toes in the grass. I fiddled with a hole in my shorts
absentmindedly.

I heard childish voices, carried to me on the breeze, and turned. There
were some kids playing in the street across the field from me. They
were a loud bunch, the youngest a couple of years younger than I, the
oldest a few years older, all dressed in light summer clothes and
looking impossibly happy and carefree to my eyes as they kicked a
football back and forth, laughed and shouted to each other. I strained
to hear what they were saying. Some of the younger kids kept glancing
over at me.

I looked back curiously, captivated by their laughter.

Then one of the young girls, pink dress glowing in the sunlight, tugged
at the sleeve of a tall, skinny boy and pointed at me. They started
talking to one another, pointing and staring.

I scowled, not liking the way their eyes were fixed on me, or the way
their voices rose and fell just out of earshot. I squirmed with
uncertainty, but then I couldn't stand it any longer. I stood up and
walked as confidently as I could towards them. As I got closer more
heads looked up from the game of football, and stillness descended on
the group, they paused like a herd of watchful deer. My steps faltered
a little, but there was nothing I could do: if I quickened my pace I
would seem too keen and if I slowed I would look frightened; it would
be cowardly to turn back.

Time seemed to stop as I approached, but finally I reached them on the
glaring hot pavement, and stood in front of them with the soles of my
feet burning and their eyes boring into me.

"Hello," said the tall skinny boy, he squinted at me and pulled
nervously on his Batman t-shirt.

"Hello," I said.

I shifted uncomfortably.

"Are you from the circus?" asked the girl in the pink dress. She
scrutinised me, her face was round and curious.

"Yeah."

All their eyes grew wider, and suddenly I was bombarded with
questions.

"What d'you do?"

"The circus!"

"Wow!"

"Are you an acrobat?"

"I love the circus!"

"D'you live there?"

"Are there elephants?"

I swelled proudly.

"I do tightrope and trapeze," I said.

Eyes grew wider still. There were more exclamations so that I could
hardly understand anything through the noise, until everybody was
saying the same thing.

"Show us something!"

"What can you do?

"Show us a trick!"

"Show us!" they implored, "Show us!"

I grinned, raised my hands importantly and gestured for them to be
quiet.

"I will show you," I said.

They were all silent now, waiting to see what I'd do.

"There is not a trapeze here," I said, "and there is not a tightrope?
But there is a fence," I gestured and they all looked to the wooden
fence which divided the field from the street.

They couldn't believe I would do it.

"I will!" I said.

I raised my hands and waited for silence again.

"Now give me some space," I said. They moved backwards quickly,
breathlessly.

I cartwheeled gracefully over to the fence, and climbed the slats,
remembering what my mother had told me, that it was important to be
delicate at all times. I balanced on the top in stillness.

There were gasps of pleasure from the children. I was in the ring
again, I was Emily the fairy girl, and I basked in their admiration. I
walked along the fence on tip toe, it was harder on my feet than a
rope, but it was nothing I couldn't deal with. An old couple walking
past with their dog stopped and watched. I smiled glamourously, walked
across the fence, and back, across and back, testing the rough edges.
This was only the beginning, I stopped and looked at my audience
dramatically.

"And now I will show you my best tightrope trick," I said.

The other children could barely contain their excitement. "What is it?
What is it?" they cried. I raised my hands again, hush fell on the
group.

I walked one way, then the other way, building up suspense, I pretended
to wobble and they giggled nervously.

Slowly, carefully, delicately, I placed my hands down and lowered my
weight onto them, my feet left the fence, legs beautifully straight,
until my toes pointed to the sky, and I felt the rush of happiness, the
thrill of knowing that I looked perfect, balanced impeccably on my
hands on the top of the fence, I felt myself shine with glory as the
blood beat in my ears and my hair hung below me in a dark curtain.
There was an intake of breath from my audience as I held my pose for as
long as I dared before turning completely over and balancing upright on
the fence again.

There was rapturous applause. I turned and bowed to my audience,
smiling and sparkling, Emily the fairy girl, and added my final
flourish, doing a back flip off the fence and landing catlike on the
pavement, receiving a scream of pleasure from the children.

The couple wandered on, giving me admiring smiles as they went. I was
left alone with the other children. I was treated like a celebrity. For
the first time in my life I was asked to play football. I smiled and
sparkled and said that I would.

I'd never had so much fun, I played barefoot in the street with my new
friends, I laughed as they showed me how to tackle and pass. They
didn't mind that I was a beginner, they cheered me on. I was
adored.

But it was a hot afternoon, so we quickly tired of football and all sat
on the fence in a flushed line. They talked about Jackie Chan cartoons,
Pokemon cards, games called 50 50 In, Families, and Kiss Chase, that
they played at school. I'd never attended school, having been taught by
Georgi, the Russian Acrobat. There were no other children in the
circus, so I'd never heard of these games, and we didn't have a
television. I smiled and laughed, but at the same time a feeling of
strangeness grew, until I felt decidedly alone. It dawned on me that I
was completely different to any of these children, I listened to them
longingly, with a hunger settling on my heart. I'd have done anything
to fit in.

Finally (and to my relief, as I was feeling increasingly ignorant)
conversation grew thin. An older girl stood up, tossing her head in a
mass of flying curls, and announced that she was 'bored to death!'
suggesting we go to the playground in the park.

At once the children sprang up around me and gathered in a purposeful
group on the pavement like a many-legged creature.

"You coming Emily?" They were already walking slowly away from me, the
curly-haired girl in the lead.

"Of course!" I said, jumping from the fence in my turn, landing softly,
but then faltered. "But I've got to ask my parents. They'll wonder
where I am."

At once purpose left the group, they stopped in their steps and turned
to each other. There was a babble of noise as they debated what to
do.

"We'll wait for you," said the curly-haired girl. The other children
nodded and shrugged and agreed that they would wait.

"I'll be quick as I can!" I said.

I flew back across the field, to the tent, my world, where I knew my
father was rehearsing ready for the show that evening.

The air was heavy inside, falling over me like a blanket as I slipped
through the flap of the tent and was met by the familiar shrilling of
my dad's whistle. My eyes adjusted to the darkness and saw him, a
collision of dancing polka dots and checks in the warm light of the
ring, his arms outspread, his unmade-up face looking strangely flat and
out of place amidst the dazzling clash of colour. I could just make out
the other clowns talking and laughing in a huddle to the far side of
the ring.

Dad was blowing his whistle furiously, gesturing towards seats which
tonight would hold the audience.

"What's that Pepo?" said the ringmaster, "You need a volunteer?"

Pepo jumped up and down excitedly, nodding, and pointed towards the
audience.

The ringmaster turned dramatically. He was Mr Vancuccio (although I was
sure that wasn't his real name), and he fancied himself a traditional
ringmaster, all curling black moustache and grandeur. He was mistaken.
He was a small man, who was dwarfed even further by the great circus
ring, and though his moustache was black it was decidedly thin, and his
eyebrows were blond, fast becoming grey, revealing his true colour. His
voice was not booming, nor did it have the rolling vibrato which a true
ringmaster required. He was a little man in a red suit and hat (to hide
the bald patch). But he won full marks for effort as he scanned the
empty seats with his arms spread wide.

"We need a volunteer!" he said, and his eyes fell on me, walking
towards them.

"Ah, Emily! Just in time!"

"No, I need to-"

"Come on, fairy! It won't take a moment."

I walked into the ring, blinking.

"Dad, can I-"

My father whistled at me in delight and I was buried in his baggy
clothes as he hugged me.

"Now as you can see Pepo is very excited to see you, don't worry he
just wants to make friends," said the ringmaster, attempting to get his
voice booming but merely sounding strained.

Pepo whistled and ushered me backwards, I sighed and walked backwards
and he jumped up and down whistling.

"Dad!"

He took out a stage camera from his pocket and looked at me through the
wrong end of it. He clicked the switch and it flashed in his
face.

"Dad!"

He'd dropped the camera and was backing away from it, pointing and
whistling hysterically.

"Well go on Emily, laugh child!" said the ringmaster.

I scowled.

"I need to ask Dad something," I said.

Pepo gestured to me to wait again, he picked up a huge inflatable
hammer.

"Ssshhhh!" he said.

"But Dad-"

"Sshhhhhhh!"

He crept towards the camera, and then pounced on it, attacking it with
the hammer and whistling.

"Now Pepo," said the ringmaster, "that won't do you know, you'll break
it!"

Pepo jumped up and down on the camera, feet flapping, his face a mask
of delight, whistling frantically. The ringmaster put his head in his
hands and sighed.

"Ooooh dear," he said, "oooooh dear."

"DAD! can I-"

The camera cracked loudly. Pepo stopped and looked at his huge floppy
clown feet to see where the sound had come from, stepped off the camera
and bent over it, looked at the ringmaster questioningly, bent over the
camera again.

"I'm afraid you've broken it Pepo," said Vancuccio solemnly.

Pepo burst into clown tears, water spurted up from the corners of his
eyes into the air like little fountains. He walked over to me, and
sprayed me with water as he yelled mock sobs.

"Daaaaaad!" I growled, pulling my wet hair out of my face. "Listen
Dad-"

He pointed to the camera, and then at me, he pointed to the camera
again, he looked at the ringmaster in despair making ridiculous sobbing
sounds.

The ringmaster sighed again.

"Ooooh Pepo."

He produced a new camera from his pocket.

Pepo's tears dried up like magic. He jumped up and down excitedly. I
marched over to him and tugged at his sleeve.

"Dad, listen! Can I-"

He only whistled at me and led me over to a chair, holding the
camera.

"Can I go and play with the-" He whistled and waved the camera at me
with one hand, sitting me down with the other. The ringmaster laughed,
I sighed furiously.

"There's kids outside I want to- Listen? Dad. Listen-"

Pepo wasn't listening, he backed away and looked at me through the
camera.

One of the clowns outside the ring smaned, which turned into two
smans and finally guffaws and roars of laughter from the shadows. My
face must have been a picture.

"Cheer up love!"

"Sourpuss!"

"Smile for the camera!"

I shrank in the face of their mockery, which grew as my expression
contorted hilariously. I was hit with a sense my own childish
helplessness. A small hot ball of rage gathered in my gut.

I felt myself going red.

"Dad!" I wailed.

Pepo glanced up from the camera, he looked at me consideringly, and
then took out a huge black wig from his pocket.

He walked over and put it on my head.

More roars of laughter from the clowns as tears welled in my eyes. I
pulled the wig off and thrust it into Pepo's hands.

"Shut up!" I yelled at the clowns, who whooped like hyenas. "Shut up!"
They laughed even louder.

Pepo whistled and put the wig back on me. It fell down and covered my
face, my head filled with darkness, I pulled it off, my cheeks burned
with humiliation, a cry tore itself from my throat and my eyes ran with
tears.

"I j-just want to p-play with my friends!" I sobbed.

"Oh Emily!" sighed the ringmaster. He turned to my Dad: "You aren't
supposed to make them cry!"

Pepo shrugged at the clowns, who laughed uncertainly, halfheartedly
now. He gestured at me and hit his forehead with his hand, then
whistled. I looked up through blurry eyes and saw him offering me a
lollipop from his huge checked pocket. I threw it in his face
miserably.

"I hate you!"

I turned and fled from the ring.

"Emily!" my Dad shouted behind me, "Come back! Aw- I was only having a
laugh!"

I ignored him and scrambled under the wall of the tent, I kicked up
dust behind me as I ran across the field to my mother's caravan, my
cheeks were still wet with tears.

At the door I paused. There was music playing quietly inside, the old,
clear, strangely mournful 'Summertime', one of my mother's favourites,
she liked the classics.

I walked in, leaving strands of dry grass on the carpet which was like
hard felt under my feet, and looked through the bedroom door. My mum
was peering into the heart-shaped mirror, doing her make up. She didn't
notice me standing in the doorway and casting a shadow in the dusky
pink room.

I watched as she painstakingly started pencilling her eyebrows. I
didn't want to interrupt until she'd finished it; I'd done that once
and made her jump, she'd smeared her cheek with mascara and shouted at
me for ruining her face. My eyes wandered around the room and rested on
her costume, which hung on the door of the wardrobe. Crumpled golden
ribbons hung from the seat, the rest of it glittered blue, but in some
places the sequins had fallen off revealing the frayed black beneath.
In the ring it was beautiful, but in the flickering light of her lamp
it was old, and tacky.

My mother finished the second eyebrow, and drew back from the mirror
with a satisfied sigh.

"Mum," I said quietly as she put the pencil down.

She turned towards me, white teeth and red lipstick in a perfect smile.
Her eyes flashed over my tear-streaked cheeks but she either ignored
them or didn't notice.

"Yes, fairy?" she turned back to the mirror and started putting on
blusher.

"I've met some kids, in the street."

She took out her lipstick and smeared a little more in the corner of
her lips.

"Mmmm," she said, pursing them.

"Can I go to the playground in the park with them?"

She took out her eyeliner.

"Mum?"

"Yes, yes, go on. Just be back before the show won't you?" She flashed
another smile at me. "Have fun!"

I ran out of the door, the soft music fading behind me into silence.
'So hush little baby? do-on't? you? cry?'

The grass tickled my ankles and the sun warmed my arms, I ran past my
Dad's caravan, breathless with excitement.

And stopped still. I stared. Then I ran faster, all the way to the
fence, through the gate into the street, gazed one way, and then the
other.

There was nobody in sight. The children had gone.

My heart jumped, and fell sickeningly. I stared and stared around,
looking for the laughing faces of my new friends, searching desperately
for the flicker of a batman T-shirt or the glow of a pink dress.
Straining my ears for the distant sound of laughter or a cheerful
shout.

Nothing, only the faint drone of flies and the sun cooking my
skin.

A car roared past, the beat of dance music from its open window pulsing
through me before fading away as fast as it had come. A crisp packet
skittered across the road in the wake of the wheels. It tumbled past
me, was swept upwards on a breeze, floated gracefully, and trembled
atop the fence in perfect balance for a moment. My eyes stung with
tears as I watched it drifting to the ground.

They'd gone without me. They'd said they'd wait but I'd taken so long.
They were the only children I'd ever known, and now I'd never get
another chance to be one of them and go to the park and play their
games.

A great feeling of loneliness overwhelmed me, and more, the dark sense
of betrayal and loss.

I sat on the pavement and sobbed, covering my eyes, shutting out the
light, my life, the world with my fingers. I was small, I was alone, I
was nothing.

* * *

I was Emily the fairy girl. I teetered prettily on the tightrope and
flew around the ring on the trapeze next to my mother, my wings bobbing
behind me. Kids stared at me from the audience, their mouths agape,
their eyes round.

And I envied them.