The old circus clown walked up to Max. The clown’s red nose matched the color of his neck. Beads of sweat dripped off his pale white wrinkled forehead and eyebrows. Max knew he shouldn’t smile, but the clowns’ checkerboard pants had a rip in them. Max tried to turn away.
“What the hell do you think you were doing?” Max just stared. ”I am talking to you, mister.” The clown’s gloved finger pushed into Max’s chest. Max just kept thinking – I am going to be decked by a clown.
“What the hell were you doing out there?”
“I was cleaning up after the elephants.”
“Yes, you were. Damn right you were. You were cleaning up after the elephants. You did a fine job with that too. How much shit did you shovel anyway?”
“One shovel full.”
“One shovel full of shit and you still think your job was to shovel shit. You were in the ring for a total of five minutes mister. Five long intense minutes. You didn’t take nothing from the show – I will give you that. But did you add to it? Did you demonstrate the gift? Hmmm, no, I think not.”
Max looked confused. “I thought my job was to pick up elephant shit.”
“Shit! No, your job is to be in the circus. Your job is to pay attention to the needs of your audience. Picking your noise in front of 1200 people is not in your job description!”
Max frowned. “I am not a performer.”
“Wisdom from the mouths of babes. I give him diamonds and he gives me coal.”
“Of course you are not a professional performer, but once you walk on the stage, you become important – you’re part of the show. Part of the greatest show on earth. Not like the show stops – not like the show ever really stops. But at least you know you’re on stage. At least you know this is your time to shine.”
“Cleaning up after the elephants?”
“Don’t look at me like that, son. Look, kid, you got to understand that this audience – well, all audiences, give us a great gift as performers. I mean besides the money. They come here with their problems and their troubles and they put them all away for a while. So that we can lift them up. They don’t want to be reminded of the world back home. They don’t want to be reminded that we on stage might be as imperfect as they are. But then we do – well, I do – I bring back to them how human they are, how imperfect they are, and they laugh. They laugh at themselves and at the world.”
The clown begun to slowly take off his white gloves.
“They laugh at us because they trust us. They laugh at us because we become them – we are both better and worse than our audience. We become their mother, their father, and their children, for God’s sake. While the show is on, we become the world to them. Somewhere in that audience… somewhere out there in the darkness of the seats is that one good listener who really cares… Who is totally invested in that guy carrying the broom behind the elephants. You have to be ready to hold them – you have to be ready to care for them. Because without them there is no show. Without them we are nothing. They are the yeast that makes the bread rise. They are the reason we all go out there day after day, night after night.”
The old man grasped Max’s chin and looked him in the eye. Max noticed how clear and blue those eyes were.
“The one thing we don’t want is some punk ass kid getting between us and the audience. Promise me that, son. Promise me you will stay awake in the ring.”
“No problem.”
“All right then – just don’t let me catch you goofing off like that again.” The clown grabbed Max’s elbow. “Let’s go see about getting a bite to eat. No need for such a bright boy like you to wasting away in animal maintenance. What’s your name anyway?”
This version of this story is copyrighted by Brother Wolf Storytelling. You are welcome to use it and the accompanying optional photo on your website or magazine with this text and link included. Brought to you by the International School of Storytelling – http://www.thestorytellingschool.com/
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