Welcome to the Underground Circus

The Underground Circus

 

The circus was nothing like what Paul had imagined. It was so much better.

The slide had been long and dark but when Paul fell out of its grasp he was greeted by the scent of cotton candy, blinding bright lights, and the unmistakable sounds of utter joy. Paul could only stand with his friends and gape, slack-jawed, at the sights before him. He never would have imagined that under that dreary cornfield could have been a proper circus.

He heard Doug emerge from the slide and shuffle up behind them in his clunky black boots.

“That was an interesting ride.” Then he whistled and threw his arm around Paul’s shoulders, giving him a tight squeeze. “Wow. Aren’t you glad I tossed you down that slide?”

Paul could only nod his head because when he tried to form words… he blanked. What were words? Paul was so excited he could hardly breathe nonetheless gather enough syllables to form anything coherent.

He watched as adults ran to and fro from one stand to the next playing games and getting treats as carnival music played from large speakers overhead. The room was a vast cave, seemingly endless, and the ceiling went so high it looked like they were back underneath the night sky. If it were cloudy and starless, Paul thought. And if he squinted.

Tents in every color were scattered about, creating a winding path before them, and toward the back of the immense room was a humongous striped circus tent. Giddy with excitement, Paul’s feet began to twitch in his shoes. He wanted to see everything there was to see.

“Let’s go!” shouted Paul as he started for the nearest tent, his feet pounding hard on the stone floor. He slid into the empty silk tent and wondered if he had fallen into a dream instead of a circus. “Oh, wow.”

It was a fountain. A popcorn fountain. Paul stopped short and Steve and Wade nearly knocked him into the cast iron behemoth that spit out hot fluffy kernels of perfectly popped corn. Smaller fountains trailed off from each side, each one spouting a flavor. One for butter, one for yellow goopy cheese. There were even fountains for caramel and chocolate. A wall of large, paper buckets sat to their left.

Paul’s knees went rubbery. He was going to have the best birthday ever.

“My mom would die if she saw how much junk I’m about to eat,” exclaimed Steve. He wiped his palms on his overalls and reached for a bucket. Paul knew how happy Steve must be to be here without his mom. She never let him have any fun and she hated the fact that he and Paul were best friends. But Paul understood – he wasn’t the best kind of friend because when they got into trouble at school or at home, it was usually because of one of Paul’s ideas. Technically, Steve was still grounded for bringing home a family of squirrels that Paul had accidentally knocked out of a tree. They were going to build a tree house. Wade had found some old wood tossed by the side of the road and the tree had perfect limbs for a small hide out. Until Paul slipped and fell out of the tree, breaking limbs as he went. He was still lying on the hard ground groaning in pain when Steve saw that he had knocked the squirrels nest out. So Steve, being the kind hearted one, took them home. But squirrels were apparently hard to keep an eye on. They discovered that fresh laundry was warm and comfy and Steve’s mom nearly had a heart attack when she found them tucked into her clean towels.

Steve tossed Paul a bucket of his own and they filled them to the brim.

Wade had beaten all of them to the popcorn and was busy covering his in the creamy cheese sauce. “Doug, did I say thank you for forcing me down that hole? Because, thank you,” he said, pouring a hefty amount of cheese into his wide mouth.

Paul went for the butter. The popcorn was steaming and slightly salty and it was delicious. He shared his bucket with Doug, who seemed just as amazed as the rest of them. Paul secretly hoped his brother was jealous. As the oldest, Doug always got the best presents and the biggest parties. Well, thought Paul, now it was his turn.

“Hey guys,” said Paul, munching on a handful of corn, “I don’t want to fill up on popcorn. Let’s see what else they’ve got.”

“What else could you ever need?” asked Wade, cheese sliding down the side of his mouth.

“Dude, I know that pirates are supposed to be disgusting, but you’re not an actual pirate,” snickered Steve.

Wade poured another sloppy bite of cheesy popcorn into his mouth. His wig slid backward revealing his shaggy blond hair and Paul fought the urge to tug it all the way off. He spoke again, the food muffling every word. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He tilted his head to pour more cheese into his mouth and Wade’s silly pirates wig slipped off, falling to the floor in a heavy thud. The metallic beads bounced against the hard surface making the wig look as though it had come to life and were trying to wander off in search of a proper head to sit upon.

“It means wipe your face,” said Paul. He and Steve were laughing so hard they had doubled over, spilling the majority of their popcorn, while Wade did his best to grab his wig. A feat considering he couldn’t even touch his toes.

“It’s not funny, guys.”

Steve grabbed the wig before Wade could. “What? We’re helping you. You look better without it.”

Then Steve chucked it to Paul, beginning a game of keep away. It looked more like a large tarantula flying through the air than a wig, all of its limbs flailing about in the open space.

Paul knew it pained him, but Wade set down his bucket of popcorn and chased after it. Paul chucked the wig overhead, just out of the football player’s reach. That ridiculous pirate costume didn’t help to make Wade look any more graceful. In fact, if anything it emphasized how un-pirate-like he was. Wade was large enough to be intimidating but he was clumsy. He would have fallen overboard at the first wave if the crew hadn’t already made him walk the plank for being an imposter. Besides, he was too nice to ever hurt someone. A fact Paul and Steve constantly abused. Wade was the strongest of the three of them and yet he let his smaller friends mess with him.

“You guys need to come and see this,” shouted Doug from a nearby tent.

Paul waved to his brother and gave an aggravated Wade his hair back. “Here you go, Captain. Let’s go grab something else to eat.”

“Remind me why I’m friends with you guys again?” Wade’s cheeks were red and long streaks of sweat were slipping down his forehead. He plopped the unsightly wig back onto his head as they walked on to the next tent. “And I don’t get why you’re picking on my costume. At least I wore a costume,” he said, shooting a hard stare at Steve.

Steve shrugged. “I’m wearing a costume.” He pulled the rubber mask from his back pocket and pulled it over his face and Paul chuckled. It was the face of an old, bald man with a big red nose. A stupid mask he had found for cheap after last year’s Halloween. And if it hadn’t been so goofy and obviously fake looking, Paul thought it would be slightly terrifying with its blue veins and millions of wrinkles.

“You’re an old man. How is that a costume?” shouted Wade. “And why are you in overalls?”

“It’s a costume because I’m obviously not an old man. And I’m wearing overalls because I’m a farmer.”

“You look like a hillbilly,” chuckled Paul as they made their way through a small crowd in front of the tent. Doug was impatiently waving his arm for them to hurry. “We should have left you with the pigs outside.”

“Like you can say much, Paul,” sneered Wade. “That’s the same zombie costume you wore last year.”

“So I’m lazy. So sue me.”

It wasn’t out of laziness, though that was appealing, that Paul had worn the same costume. Paul loved his costume. He had torn up an old Easter suit, threw it in the dirt and left it for a few days. It smelled awful, especially since he hadn’t washed it since, and it was just the right amount of gross topped off with fake blood and some more dirt for his hair and face. All he needed was a brain to munch on.

This tent was larger than the last and was full of people packed around what looked like machines. Doug was near the back, saving an open machine for them.

“What is this?” asked Steve, sliding his grotesque mask off and shoving it back into his pocket.

“It’s an automata,” said Paul, his eyes going wide with amazement. “It’s a robot that can write or draw pictures.”

“Dude, you watch too much History Channel,” said Wade.

“Shut up, Wade.” Doug pulled Paul closer. “They all look different but they all seem to do the same thing. They write and draw but they do it in caramel.”

“What?” breathed Paul.

“Push the button. Give it a go.”

This was unreal. Paul had seen these on television in those history specials where they talked about ancient machines but he never thought he’d see one in real life. Of course, this one wasn’t nearly as old as the ones on television. It couldn’t be. But still, to Paul this was the coolest part of the night so far.

It was a clown. A fresh coat of paint had been traced over his green and white harlequin suit and hat and a rosy blush had been applied to his cheeks. His makeup had been touched up as well and he sat there at his miniature drawing desk, smiling, patiently waiting to draw something for Paul. He wore his little smile like a dare. Paul smiled back and pressed the silver button at the front of the writing desk. And suddenly, the clown came to life.

His free hand crossed his thin body and pulled a fresh piece of wax paper from a slit in the desk. Once it settled, the clown’s other hand went to work. It held a tall peacock quill and Paul could see a bit of rubber tubing coming out the back of it that dipped down into the desk. It was fairly well hidden by the feather and the clown’s arm but Paul had been looking for it. He was keen to see how this intriguing machine worked. The clown then tilted his head to look down at Paul and his arm began to move, the machine pumping hot caramel out of the quill.

It’s every movement was smooth like silk as it swiped curvy lines of sweetness over the paper. Head and hands moving in a graceful dance. When it was done, the clown’s hands went back to their neutral position and his face looked straight ahead.

“Whoa,” was all Paul could mutter as the show ended. He wanted to push the button again but his brother reminded him that there were other things to see and that they could come back later.

“What is it?” asked Wade as Paul pulled the wax paper that held his candy creation down.

It was still warm against his fingers. “It’s a tiger.”

“Cool,” said Steve, ripping off the tiger’s tail and popping it into his mouth. “Mmm. That’s a tasty tiger.”

Paul moved the tiger out of Steve’s reach so he couldn’t steal another bite and almost dropped it in the process. “Dude!”

“What?” asked Steve through a mouth full of gooey caramel. “It’s good.”

“Then make your own,” Paul shot back as he ripped the head off of his tiger.

“It took too long to make yours.”

All the boys were watching Paul as he stuffed the deliciously sticky candy in his mouth. Paul rolled his eyes and handed Wade the rest of the tiger. “Fine. Here.” He watched as Wade, Steve, and Doug devoured what was left of the poor animal. “I didn’t think I’d have to share on my birthday,” he said under his breath.

“It’s not your birthday yet.” Doug wrapped his arm around Paul and dragged him out, back to the winding trail of tents. “Besides, there are other things to see and eat.”

And was he right. The next tent held a dozen or so mini carousels whose riders were cupcakes, frosted high and sprinkled with candies and edible glitter. It took the boys a while to find just the right cupcake and then snag it before one of the others beat them to it. Then as they licked their fingers clean, they came upon a tent that had a life-sized music box with a delicate ballerina. She was aged, her tutu rough around its edges, the satin on her shoes was dirtied from years of wear and tear, and the pastel paint on her face was flaking. Nonetheless, she was a beautiful addition to the gilded box lined with pink silk.

As Paul got closer, he could see that her tutu wasn’t really a skirt but a bowl, like an angel food cake pan covered in white tulle. Both of her arms were down and rounded, hanging gently over the basin of her skirt. And both of her palms had strange holes in their centers.

“Hey, I think I found how to turn her on.” Doug pointed to a pedal at the base of the box as more people piled into the tent.

“Step on it,” said Wade.

Doug did, and music sprang from the box as the ballerina began to whirl. They all watched in wonder as she danced and Paul saw sugar pour into the basin from one palm while a paper cone popped out of the other.

She spun and spun and spun, racing to the tinkling tin music. And when she stopped, she held a perfectly rounded cotton candy in her hand.

“Ooh, momma look! Cotton candy!” cried a squeaky voice behind Paul.

He turned to find a little girl bouncing on her toes with excitement. A green hat perched atop her head bounced with her, only staying put in her dark hair by the grace of numerous multicolored bobby pins.

“Go ahead,” he said to her, gesturing at the pink cloud. “It’s all yours.”

She looked to her mother, whom to Paul seemed a bit pretty and young for a mom – at least compared to his mom. The mom smiled at her daughter, then at Paul, and nodded. “What do you say, Elle?”

With the biggest smile, the little girl, who couldn’t have been older than three and was dressed as Peter Pan complete with a wooden sword, spun to Paul and sang, “Thank you.”

When she couldn’t reach the cotton candy cloud, Doug stepped up to the rescue and lifted her high so she could grab it. She immediately stuffed her chubby cheeks into the puffy candy, not even waiting until she’d been set on her tiny feet.

Her mother took her by the hand and before they left the tent she said, “Thank you, boys. That was very sweet of you.”

Paul and his friends muttered their welcomes, none of them comfortable with receiving thanks for something so small.

“Does anybody else want to try it before we go?” Doug asked, blocking the pedal from the rest of the crowd.

“Nah,” said Steve. “I’m not much of a fan of cotton candy.”

“Neither am I,” added Wade. “But this machine is really cool.”

“So far, this whole trip has been pretty cool.”

Doug moved to let the other group start the music box and they could hear it whirring as they exited the tent. Paul sidled up to his big brother and gave him a nudge with his shoulder. “Did I say thank you for driving me all this way? Because, so far, this has been the best birthday present ever.”

Paul smiled up at his brother who nudged him back. “I’m glad. Now let’s go see what else we can get into.”