was Cirque du Soleil’s Alegria;
its soundtrack had long been a favorite,
and I was highly stoked to finally catch a performance.
I managed to score the best seat in the Grand Chapiteau,
front row, right under the trapeze net.
I was so close,
I could have literally reached out and touched
one of the Mongolian contortionists,
so close I could count the folds of her Spandex camel toe,
and breathe in the exotic musk wafting
from that stunning junction of supple spine and limber limbs.
I was so close I could see the beads of sweat upon the acrobat’s brow,
the fear forming in his eyes….wait, this one is looking back, straight at me,
his dawning dread a reflection of something he sees in me.
Sure, I was dressed in black as I usually am,
my hair and goatee dark (devilish perhaps?),
my own eyes intense, as some say, but unnerving?
Was I frowning? I didn’t think so….I was having a great time,
laughing freely at the clowns,
swooning openly with the music both romantic and moody…
so what sinister shadow did this Asian performer perceive in me?
He continued his act, bouncing high upon a flexible plank
supported by his brothers, somersaults in mid air going well
until
he MISSED the plank
and fell,
but quickly he leapt back onto his feet
and once again
Locked his eyes on mine…
for judgment? To affix blame?
Or to look back at the Demon
his mind wanted so desperately to flee.
They were setting up for the finale,
so his eyes darted back and forth to follow the preparation,
but always returning to me in default.
Those eyes widened to accommodate a higher degree of trepidation,
until it was no less than terror shining in them.
And then I saw why: they brought out his young son,
maybe four or five years old,
whom he clutched tightly in his arms,
readying to take in tandem
that last big bounce of the evening.
A hush fell over the audience
as the performers froze in their places,
a moment of dramatic anticipation just long enough
for the shaken balancer
to look to my eyes one last time,
as if that was where his fate would be sealed.
And so I softened my gaze,
put up a warm smile and gently nodded my head,
then overtly averted my eyes from him,
dousing whatever damnation I emitted toward him.
The musical cue began the stunt,
and after a considered pause I glanced back
to catch father and son bouncing together,
higher and higher
and higher still,
at last drawing a gasp from the crowd
as they performed a backward flip,
then landed perfectly on the plank.
I respectfully looked downward
as they took their bows and made their exit
within the settling din of applause.
It was I who was spooked then,
wondering
just what was the fright of my scrutiny,
what was the horror behind my eyes…
and so glad
that I can’t see it from this side.