“Leroy, have you seen my easel, that rickety old standing one I used to have?” My wife’s question floated down over the sounds of the program I am watching on tv. Technically I had heard her, but I didn’t register a word she had said. The television judge was about to hand down her ruling, after all, and I was listening intently to that.

“Leroy, did you hear me?” She insists on asking again when I don’t reply.

“Dolores,” I answer gruffly while hitting the pause button on the remote, “you know I’m watching my program, of course I didn’t hear you.”

She is standing beside my old recliner now, looking down her nose at me through her thick glasses with her hands on her hips. “I asked if you know where my old easel is, the standing one I used to paint on. I’d like to give it to Amelia if it’s still in one piece. You know she just started taking a new art class at school.”

“No, I do not know where that old thing is and you’d be better off buying her a new one anyway. Kids don’t like hand me downs these days. Everything has to be new.”

I move to hit the pause button and get back to my program, but Dolores speaks again, “Can you please go look in the attic and see if it’s up there?”

I turn my eyes to the tv and look at the judge on the frozen screen, stern of face with a harsh gaze and ready to mete out judgment. I knew that harsh gaze well, my wife’s would have made this judge shake in her shoes. Thirty years of marriage told me that it was smarter to just get up and look now rather than face that look or the judgment that came with it.

I slap my hands on my knees as a sign of my agreement and slowly get up from my recliner. Nodding at my wife as I walk around her, I make my way down the hall to the back of the house. The attic was a walk up and only one flight of stairs, but I didn’t relish going up there. I only went up a few times a year for the Christmas decorations or to switch out Dolores’ bins of warm or cold weather clothes. Otherwise, it was full of stuff we hadn’t touched in years.

Grabbing the knob and opening the door, I flip the light switch at the bottom of the stairs and make my way up. At the top, I am confronted with stacks of plastic containers and moving boxes, old pieces of furniture and lamps, piles of books and magazines, and dusty clothes hanging and draped about carelessly. The Christmas decorations are in the front so I push them forward and to the side to make a path leading into this mess.

Soon I’m pushing Dolores’ clothes bins to the side, moving end tables, and nudging books aside with my foot, but still don’t see the easel. Wiping a little sweat from my brow and looking around, I see a pile of curtain rods and other things in the back right corner that looks promising. I start shifting things over to make my way to that corner and finally get to the back wall. Rifling through the pile of curtain rods, leftover shoe molding, yard sticks and other assorted items, I find the old metal three legged easel Dolores was asking for. In my attempt to fish it out of the tangle, the whole lot crashes over onto the nearby boxes and floor.

“Everything ok up there?”

Dolores’ question is faint and sounds far away so I give only a grunt I know she can’t hear in reply. Cursing and tossing the easel to the floor in frustration, I begin gathering everything back up and leaning it all back into the corner. The last few curtain rods are still rolling back and forth on the floor to my right and as I bend over to pick them up, I notice an old trunk under the moving boxes. Not just any old trunk, but the trunk I used when I was in the circus.

That’s where I had met Dolores, in the circus, when we were both performing. I was the lion tamer and she was the acrobat that performed with the elephants. I remember the first day she walked into the practice tent, all confidence and smiles. My god, she had the most beautiful smile I had ever seen. I couldn’t help but watch her working with the elephants, I could barely take my eyes off her. She strode around the mammoths confidently, rubbing her hands along their sides and patting their faces affectionately. She looked into their eyes and talked to them like they were her children, but she was also loud and clear with her commands. And those gentle giants willingly returned her affection by obeying her every word. She never had to ask twice. The love she shared with those elephants was palpable.

That’s what made me fall in love with her. Yes, she was gorgeous, with her long dark hair, light brown eyes, and her big beautiful smile. And yes, she looked amazing in her pink and silver sequined leotard walking up long trunks, balancing on bent knees, and riding on backs. But it was her love of those animals and the way she communicated with them that did it to me. Dolores could understand what an elephant needed just by looking into its eyes.

I stood there in the dusty old attic remembering our circus days fondly as I stared at the old trunk. “Maybe Dolores would like to see some of our old things again,” I said to myself with a smile as I began moving the boxes off the trunk. Kneeling down and unbuckling the latches, the old trunk opened with a creak. My breath catches with delight as I see my red jacket right on top.

I run my fingers over the black lapel and gold embroidery as memories flood my mind. Having my old jacket in my hand is a thrill I can hardly explain and I struggle to take in all the details, the black and gold cuffs that match the lapel, the gilded gold buttons down the front, and the beautiful black satin lining. It’s a bit ragged from age and wear, but it’s still as beautiful a site as these old eyes have seen in quite some time.

Under the jacket I find my pants, black with a tuxedo stripe of gold running down both legs, and my vest, ivory with gold embroidery and buttons to match the jacket. My old boots are uncovered next, black knee high leather, worn and creased. I imagine there’s sawdust from the tent still in the treads and breath deeply recalling the unforgettable smell inside the big top.

It’s all such a wonderful surprise, seeing my old things and remembering our old circus life. Pulling my boots out of the trunk reveals the pink and silver sequin masterpiece that Dolores used to wear. She had four different leotards that she wore for performances, but this one was my favorite. I pick it up gently, sure that the sequins will be brittle with age, and hold it up in front me. My eyes wet with tears as I turn it around to look at the back too. Admiring the way the pink flows into the silver and the silver into the white and envisioning Dolores atop Tillie, her favorite pachyderm. Still smiling, I carefully fold it back up to place on top of the pile of things by my side, when I notice something strange sticking up from the side. I fold the shoulder strap down and notice what appears to be paper inside the leotard.

Carefully folding the top down I can see that it is an envelope that has been tucked inside a small pocket sown inside the leotard. Pulling the yellowed envelope out, I see the name “Dolores” written in messy slanted print on the front. Opening the brittle old envelope, I pull out the paper inside and unfold it. The first page is filled with the same messy slanted print and dated November 1970. I quickly flip to the last page to see how the letter is signed and my heart drops just as the pages drop from my hand.

It is signed, “with all my love and devotion, I am forever yours, Jack.”

**My breath catches in my throat as I try to make sense of what I’ve just read. Dolores and I were married in December of 1970 and Jack could only be referring to the handsome young ringer that I worked with for two years teaching him how to work with the lions. I’m dumbfounded and momentarily torn between wanting to read more and being too afraid of what those pages might reveal. **

**Had my wife been in love with my ringer when we got married? **

The wind blew fast outside, creaking into the roof. I felt the wind over my arms, trying to push me down. The speakers rang, “He will NEVER be stopped! The greatest, and the only, The Dancing Mice!” I struggled on the squirming rope, trying to find the end. The one-wheeler bike tossed roughly, losing balance fast. I felt my skin drop, the bike falling with me. The mice running around, the tank of water splashing. Everything became blurry, like I was sinking. I needed the air, I needed to breathe. Although, I sunk and never got my wish for it.

I visited the haunting place decades after, to see the great once again. It was ruined from memories both good, and bad. I walked to the backstage with cobwebs, dust, and animal dumps. The mice food, rotten, the rope, forgotten, and the tank of water, cold. I wore a hazard mask and suit cautioned. I prayed to myself that the scene of the memories would stop, all my friends, all the screams, the faces. Everything shakened, and bad. I remembered stretching, hyping others up, and being happy. All the memories were lost, but then found.

I suffered from brain damage when I fell. The hospital thought I wouldn’t survive. I pushed through, and made it. The years and decades later of losing those memories, I regained them slowly. I got the memories flowing in the building. The red and white striped ceiling and clothes, the dusty benches with popcorn underneath them, the broken light that screamed our names, the speaker of loud. The mad house was our name. We yelled for it, we cared for it, we laughed with it. Everything ended afterwards, called them off, and ran away. The music never played again, only sad crickets in the night. I wish I could go back, and try again for a night.

Once upon a time, there was a circus performer named Jack who was the star of the traveling circus. From city-to-city, he dazzled audiences with his death defying acrobatic skills. Leaping through rings of fire while on rollerblades, performing top-notch fight choreography with razor sharp swords, and dancing like a modern-day MJ. Every night, he performs a dangerous stunt that involves fire.

Then one night, after signing photographs for a few fan girlies, he goes into the equipment trunk and sees someone who looks exactly like him trapped inside and tied with a rope. He quickly unties and then realizes that the person is actually him, but with burned scars all over.

I shivered as I walked along the small path, the black satin of my shift not enough protection from the cool night air. Holding myself tightly, I stepped onto the dirt, walking around the back of the manor and finding my faded grey sedan tucked by the trees. I let out a shakey breath, pausing then forcing myself to thrust the rusty key in before I could change my mind. The trunk creaked open as I fumbled for my flashlight and illuminated its contents. Flashes of silk, skin, and gold colored my mind as I stared at my old costumes. I could still smell smoke on their fabric. Surprisingly, all was just how I remembered it. I shook my head, clearing the memories and shoved the costumes aside. I knew that locket had to be in here somewhere. I just thought I’d want to find it again. “Dammit, where are you when I need you?” I muttered. As I reached the far back corner of the trunk, I froze- my hand feeling a small box, smooth and eirly warm. I tugged it out reverently, squeezing my eyes shut then forcing them open as I pulled it to me. The light wood pulsed, the engraved sworls seemed to darken and deepen, as if it was engraved right into its hollow center. But it wasn’t hollow, and I wasn’t sure if I was ready to see what was inside. “Grow a pair,” I shakily murmured to myself but my hands wouldn’t cooperate. A stick snapped a few yards away and I spun, shoving the box into my robes pocket. “Playing with the past again?” He leaned against the tree by the edge of the manor, his eyes teasing but his mouth betrayed a hint of concern as one side tilted down a millimeter. My heart was his wild couterpart, beating wildly as he leaned lazily against the wood. My face didn’t betray my panic, staring back blankly, “I missed the gold.” He frowned, “You know… when you lie you have a tell. And even if you didn’t, do you think I wouldn’t know what you’re looking for after what happened this afternoon?” “What’s my tell?” I smirked, trying to veer the conversation away from what I knew I shouldn’t have been doing. I couldn’t help it. He should get that. He sighed, pushing off the teee and stalked towards me. His hazel eyes demandng, holding my gaze until he was inches from my face. Alright, let’s see it then.” he said in a hushed whisper. I hesitated, but as I stared back into tthe depths of his eyes, I could see only devotion- and maybe a little fear. His hands ran down the sides of my body, his left carefully meeting where mine was clutching the box inside my pocket. He slid inside satin pocket and my fingers loosened. He was going to take it away.

Blinding lights streak all across the room The sun is still in its rising position The beams blast through the old attic, illuminating the dust covered boxes It is a city of cardboard surrounding a solitary wooden chest that all but left my mind until my eyes laid upon it My name whispered in my ears Echoing all around my brain I’m drawn to the box and move toward it before realizing that I’m already in front it My hand resting on the handle in anticipation and…fear It feels reassuring to have my hand on the handle and grin starts to rip from my ears I fling open the lid Inside is a flower A dandelion A dandelion that I had picked on my last day performing in the circus A dandelion I had picked to give to the love of my life A dandelion that saved my life as I watched the huge tarp tent burn to the ground A dandelion that I gripped tight enough to draw blood from my skin as I watched white hoods and sheets running away from the blaze A dandelion that holds all of my pain, my grief, my guilt A dandelion that holds a past life of heartache and love A dandelion that holds…me

There is ten different types of Truck Because it’s Uncanl so you Don’t have to Drive it anymore The Color is wont Matter if you are long Happy with it and you well keep it and enjoy it for yourself and your family will always in surprise By it and The inside of it looks like cool seat and Belt and cup holder and you can see and Smell it it’s Nice and Fresh

“Temptations Odyssey” hasn’t been around for years and now I’ve got a long term boyfriend along with a better job. I miss some of the crew but it was time.

Some nights, Aubrey missed the circus with emotions so deep that it took bottles of whiskey and at least two packs of cigarettes to calm them. Years ago, his days looked different: morning coffee with Lorna, the bearded woman, then a snack with the lizard man, Yorris. He missed them deeply, wondered where they were now. After lunch with the fish man, Bradley, and a nap with the clawed woman, Yolanda, he’d grab his trunk and hit the stage. He knew where Bradley and Yolanda were now: dead, in the truck crash that took more of his friends than he ever knew he had.

He had his hand on his trunk now. His fingers, gnarled with age, rubbed against the handle. Although the gilded metal faded, it could still reflect his face and the sparkle of tears in his eyes.

“Old friend,” he said, grasping the front latch with a trembling hand. “I shouldn’t do this. They say to let it go, move on. Love your new life. But I miss you too much tonight.”

Tears fell on the old wood. In an instant, a vision flashed before his eyes: him, younger, drawing magician’s silks and doves and rabbits from the very trunk that sat before him. A smile on his face, so different from how he felt now. He opened the latch and looked inside.

The skull of Yolanda sat next to an envelope. The skull, he expected. The letter was new. He took it from the trunk and began to open it, running his finger under the saliva-sealed edge. He stopped.

“I can’t go back again,” he said, throwing his cigarette into the ashtray and following it up with the letter. The paper ignited.

He stared at the burning paper, wondering when he, too, would ignite in such a fiery blaze. Maybe tonight, he shrugged.

I accomplished the dream I had since I was born To become a world renowned clown But while reminiscing, I became torn As my smile quickly turned into a frown

I was going through my old chest And then what happened was horrific, I can attest I saw the horn that I used when I performed for the first time That I only got because I murdered my predecessor, Marty the Mime

Inside the darkness of the gift box, Killian waited. He rolled his shoulders. It had been a while since his last assignment. Many of his brethren had been retired to the incinerator. But not him. The new Kiloni series Ova was more popular with clients with its bells and whistles, but sometimes you just had to send in the clown.

Killian could feel his box being brought inside and nestled beneath a Christmas tree. Reaching for his equipment bag, Killian jingled and jangled. He concealed his weapons beneath his striped costume and fluffed his sparkly ruffles.

Something fluttered out of Killian’s bag of tricks. At first in the darkness Killian thought it was a remnant of razor micro-wire, but it was simply a strand of blonde hair. Shocked, Killian stared at it. Priscilla, the name was engraved on his positronic brain. It had been a long term mission. He had been embedded as Priscillia’s toy until the hard target Victor Ashanti, her father, was on site.

Unfortunately Ashanti wasn’t around much and weeks dragged into months. For some, long term assisgnments were the hardest. It was easy to form attachments. But not for Killian. Finally Ashanti showed and Killian completed his mission. Hard target eliminated, no witnesses.

Muffled talking and laughter surrounded Killian. His box was being shifted. He stuffed the hair back into his bag of tricks. Damn, he would have a word with the cleanup crew back at headquarters. Sloppiness spoilt missions.

Rustling of an untied ribbon followed by the shimmying of his box’s lid. Freezing his pudgy limbs and dimpled cheeks into position, Killian affixed his brighest smile. Showtime!