I lie on my bed and stare up at the ceiling, because ceiling-gazing always brings on my loftiest thoughts. Stinky hops up on the bed with me, as he can tell I’m in for a stint.
This is how it seems to me: all of a sudden there are a few too many circuses and a few too many people pulling me in different directions. I feel as if I’m swimming down a river and on one side of the bank is the Flying Fruit Fly Circus, with Kite and Ruben and lights and proper equipment and my potential waiting, and on the other side there’s Oscar, sitting alone with his pieces of blue; and there’s Caramella, eating chocolate macaroons with her hands in a knot; and then there’s Mum, who is trying to tie me to the shore; and then Aunt Squeezy on the banks with her pregnant belly, cutting the rope and calling out, ‘Follow your dream’; and Barnaby in a boat, strumming his guitar singing, ‘Oh I’m following mine.’
What do I really, really want? Seems like such a simple question. And if you answer it with your heart, you want whatever it is that makes your heart leap and brim and bound forward. If I listen to my heart I would be running away to audition for the Flying Fruit Flies. But then if my mind steps in (and it usually does), thinking happens, and once you start thinking everything gets complex and confusing and bigger than you. For instance, I start wondering, is my longing to join the circus for Kite or for me? And then I get to wondering about The Acrobrats. Aren’t they my friends, my true friends, and isn’t that more important than anything? Isn’t that the right thing to do, to stay and hold the fort? And shouldn’t I want to do the right thing? Because then I’ll be a better person, a compassionate person like Eliza and the Buddhists.
But will I be boring? Even resentful?
Here, something else joins the battle, and this is a part of me that must come from my past life as an ancient Greek philosopher, because it takes an impossibly broad view. It asks, even if I do know that I should do the right thing, how do I know that what I think is right is in fact right? For instance, who’s to say that to follow your heart or to live your dream is not the right thing, while trying to be a good person might just be like trying to wear something fashionable, even if it isn’t you, even if it’s high heels and you’ve got a back ache, or if it’s a pink parka and you’re allergic to synthetics? I mean, maybe I’m just not meant to be good. Maybe I’d come out in hives if I was good! Maybe the whole point is to find out not what you should do, but what you’re meant for.
Of course, what I’m meant for is cartwheels and thoughts, but what I want is for everything, every person and reason and beat of my heart, to hop over to the same side – to the Flying Fruit Flies’ side, because then it would be easy. But, as all good former Greek philosophers know, life doesn’t come in easy packages. It’s meant to be difficult. Otherwise you wouldn’t have to think and wonder and make mistakes and learn, and then you’d really be boring.
Here’s what I think:
All interesting people make mistakes.
All interesting people get themselves into a pickle at some stage, and then they have to figure out how to get out of it.
And it’s the getting in and out of pickles that gives you character.
But was I getting anywhere with my pickle or was I just stewing in it?
I decide to write back to Kite. Until I can make a decision, I need to keep my options open.
Hi Kite,
Use the same greeting as he used – keep it equal.
Thanks for writing.
Resist temptation to get mad that it took him a while.
I was beginning to think you might have injured your hand.
Still, must let him know that it took a while.
All those trapeze blisters, I guess?
Dig it in a little.
My hands are softer than ever,
Dig it in even more, but in a surreptitious way.
but I have a new aunty who has come to stay and she is pregnant.
Just so he doesn’t think my whole world stopped when he left.
Haven’t been doing any hedge walking or bat pole positions.
Still must gather some sympathy.
But maybe I should start if I am going to audition?
If you show me that you care, then I will practise.
What would I have to do?
Don’t let on yet that Mum has said no – must keep the option alive somehow…
Do you think I would have a chance?
Come on, Kite, tell me how good I am and how quickly I learn.
Aren’t the others you train with really, really good?
Opportunity for him to let slip information about the other girls, the ones who are better than me.
I’m sure Stinky would like the trees. Oscar is making pieces of blue to wrap rocks in. Caramella is sad that there is no more circus here.
This is the ruin you have left in your wake.
I am trying to find a way to get The Acrobrats going again.
But see what a good person I am, see how I am a hero. (Hide the fact that I have tried nothing and collapsed entirely.)
Anyway, fly hard, Kite, and stay warm. Love Cedar.
What I really want to say is don’t forget me, but you simply can’t ask that, so instead I must act nonchalant.
X
Add a kiss. Recklessly.
PS Say hi to Ruben.
Quickly deflect attention from kiss.
Then I write a letter to Caramella:
Dear Caramella,
I understand how you feel and I want you to know that I am sorry for making you feel that way. (True.) I definitely don’t plan to desert you. Both circuses are really important to me and I want to find a way to have both in my life. (Obviously impossible, but it’s what I want.) I really want to learn more acrobatics with the Flying Fruit Fly Circus but I am also completely committed to our circus, because it ’s ours, and because we made it ours. (Well said, I think.) Anyway, I plan to do some thinking about our circus and see what we can come up with to keep it going, because now you’ve made me think about it I realise that I do miss it.
See you soon?
Your friend, Cedar
Then I write a short note to Aunt Squeezy:
Dear Aunt Squeezy,
Mum told me you’re pregnant. I think that’s great. Just wanted to tell you that. I hope you have a redhead baby!