Learning the Ropes

by Monique Polak

  “I am concentrating!” I manage to say it without taking my eyes off the ball.

  “But you’re not relaxed, are you?”

  Suzanne walks off before I can answer. I miss my catch, and the ball brushes against the side of my face before landing on the mat. Grrr!

  I know Suzanne is right. But concentrating and being relaxed at the same time is harder than it sounds.

  A few minutes later, I get up to use the water fountain—not only because I’m thirsty, but also because I need a break from my own bad juggling. Suzanne is getting water too. “I was just wondering,” I say to her. “Isn’t concentrating the opposite of being relaxed?”

  Suzanne pats my shoulder. “Not in circus it isn’t.”

  It doesn’t help my juggling to think how learning to juggle even three balls would help my chances of being accepted into MCC. Versatility is one of the qualities the selection committee looks for in performers. When I start thinking about that, I mess up even worse. So much for feeling relaxed.

  For the next couple of minutes, I just lie on my mat and breathe deeply—in and out, in and out, over and over again. I relax my shoulders and arms, which are tense from juggling—or in my case, trying to juggle. With eyes closed, I reach for my two squishy balls. Then I open my eyes and toss one ball up into the air. I’m relaxed and concentrating, really I am.

  When the ball is just starting to arc, I toss up the second ball. And then something miraculous and magical happens: I’m juggling. I’m so excited I nearly shout out loud that I’ve done it, that I’m doing it, but I don’t because I’m afraid to break the spell.

  * * *

  Mom calls that evening. “You sound good,” she says. I don’t know how Mom can read my moods even over the phone.

  “I’m learning to juggle. I’ve been trying to do it for over a week, but today I finally started to get the hang of it.”

  Mom laughs. “That’s wonderful! I can’t wait to see you, Mandy.”

  The plan is for her to fly to Montreal on Friday in time to catch our final performance. My dad isn’t coming.

  “Dad told me about the morgue,” I say.

  Mom knows right away what I mean. “I was a little surprised he did that. In all the years we’ve been married, he’s hardly ever mentioned his father and what happened.”

  I’m thinking about Grandpa. Would my life have been different if I’d known him? It’s hard for me to imagine that my serious, conservative engineer father could be the son of a stuntman. “Why do you think he doesn’t talk about his dad?”

  I can almost hear Mom thinking on the other end of the phone. “I think it’s partly because he was so traumatized by his death.”

  “I know he was pretty shook up about the news of that aerialist’s death. He told me it brought back a lot of memories. I guess he’s afraid I’ll get hurt—or die—in some accident too.” I was going to tell Mom about Genevieve’s broken ankle, but I decide this isn’t a good time.

  “You’re right that he worries about you getting hurt, Mandy. But there’s more to it. I think he hasn’t wanted to burden you.”

  “Burden me?” Now I’m confused. “Why would it burden me? I wasn’t even born when it happened.”

  “You know, Mandy, when you were little, you were like a little monkey.” Mom’s voice softens, and I know it’s because she’s remembering. Sometimes I think she misses having a little girl around.

  “I don’t think you were ever so happy as when you were climbing a tree. Your father worried, I know he did, but at the same time, he didn’t want to take that joy away from you. Looking back now, I see it was very generous of him.”

  There’s that word again. Generous. First Genevieve, and now my father. What I can’t figure out is why the two people who’ve been most generous with me lately are the last two people I ever expected it from.

  Seventeen

  On Thursday morning, I happen to pass the ground-floor studios. In one, students are working on contortion exercises. They’re doing the pretzel, their backs arched, their palms pressing down on the floor behind them. One boy’s body shakes from the strain. I hope that won’t happen to him during our performance tomorrow.

  I pause in front of the next studio. Hugo Lebrun is hunched forward on a stool, his chin resting on his hand like the guy in that famous sculpture by Rodin. He is watching Leo and Guillaume rehearse the routine they’ll be doing for the final performance.

  Both boys are wearing plaid pajamas—Leo’s are red; Guillaume’s are blue. They’re not wearing clown noses, but they have huge gray felt slippers that make walking difficult.

  Guillaume nearly trips over his slippers, but Leo catches him just in time, only to fall over backward. Then Guillaume trips over Leo and falls to a heap on the floor. The two boys raise their legs in the air, waving their slippers in Hugo’s direction. It’s a silly gag, but I still laugh, because it’s so silly.

  They’re working with props today. There’s a narrow metal cot with a mattress on it, a huge washing machine and dryer, both made out of cardboard spray-painted a glossy white, and a pink wicker laundry basket.

  Leo drags Guillaume up from the floor and marches him over to the cardboard dryer. He points at it, gesturing that he wants Guillaume to unload what’s inside, then taps his wrist where a watch would be.

  Guillaume nods obediently. He’s leaning down to reach into the dryer when Leo pulls open the dryer door, smacking him in the forehead. Guillaume falls over backward, taking the opportunity to do a somersault.

  Leo lifts him up from the floor and dusts him off as if he’s a piece of furniture. Then he points back at the dryer.

  This time Guillaume reaches in and begins pulling out a white bedsheet…and pulling…and pulling. The sheet has to be at least ten bedsheets sewn together. Leo is pointing at the bed now and looking again at his wrist. He wants Guillaume to make the bed. Now!

  Of course, when Guillaume finally gets the sheet out, it is way too big for one bed. He and Leo get tangled up inside it. Gray slippers emerge from under the giant sheet.

  Leo hands Guillaume the laundry basket. Guillaume pulls out several men’s dress shirts. Then he pulls out a lacy pink nightgown, waving it in front of Leo.

  Leo bonks the side of Guillaume’s head. The nightgown drops out of Guillaume’s hands, landing back in the laundry basket.

  Leo points at the cardboard washing machine and checks the time again.

  Guillaume trips over the basket. He stumbles to his feet, stuffs the shirts into the washing machine, then pulls them out and stuffs them into the dryer.

  Leo points at his red-plaid pajama top. He needs a clean shirt! Guillaume dabs his forehead with the back of his hand. When he reaches into the dryer and sees what is inside, he stops, then turns to look back at the audience—Hugo, and me too, though Guillaume doesn’t seem to notice I am standing at the window. Just his expression—his eyebrows shoot up in a combination of surprise and horror—cracks me up.

  Guillaume reaches again into the dryer and pulls out six tiny white shirts and a tiny lacy pink nightgown, all too small even for a doll.

  Leo’s eyes widen. Then he starts chasing Guillaume around the studio. They go in circles, banging into each other and tripping over the bed, the laundry basket and their oversized slippers. They collapse on the floor, then get up and start all over again.

  Leo finally catches Guillaume and stuffs him inside the dryer. Leo is turning the pretend dial on the dryer when Guillaume pops his head out of the dryer door.

  The two boys are having so much fun, they both start laughing. Leo laughs so hard he has to hold on to his side.

  Hugo gets up from his stool. He wags his finger at the boys, and though I can’t hear what he is saying, I know he is telling Leo and Guillaume they must stay in character until the very end of their performance.

  I watch as Leo and Guillaume nod solemnly. Hugo knows that they are talented, but he’s pushing them to become even better and more professional—the way that Terence has
been pushing Genevieve and me.

  I think back to what Anastasia said—how the most important part of being a circus performer is connecting with your audience. That’s what Leo and Guillaume are so good at. It’s something I have to keep working on in my own way. That’s because connecting with the audience is a skill no circus instructor, even one as famous as Hugo Lebrun, can teach.

  Eighteen

  Having Genevieve as my assistant coach is almost as bad as having her as my rival.

  She’s bossy and stubborn—and she doesn’t listen.

  “It’s not enough for Mandy to do cool moves on the rope,” she tells Terence. Genevieve has two chairs now: one for sitting, the other for resting her foot. “She needs a story, a narrative, a choreography. I was thinking Tarzana. A female Tarzan. Strong, yet feminine.”

  “Hey, you looking to take over my job here?” Terence asks.

  Genevieve misses Terence’s joke. She is still babbling about the Tarzana choreography. “We’d have to give it a jungle feel,” she says. “I was thinking Mandy could wear a leopard-print leotard…”

  It bothers me that she’s talking about me as if I’m not there. “I don’t think so,” I say, but neither Genevieve nor Terence seems to notice that I’ve said something.

  I clear my throat. “I don’t think so.” This time I raise my voice, and the two of them look at me.

  Genevieve looks like she’s surprised to see me in la palestre. “What don’t you think?”

  “Genevieve is right,” Terence says. “I was planning to talk to you about choreography ideas this morning, Mandy. The Tarzana theme isn’t a bad—”

  “Tarzana, the jungle, the leopard-print leotard…none of it is me,” I tell them. “Besides, I have my own idea.”

  “What?” Genevieve and Terence ask at the same time.

  “I was thinking spider. I could use the rope for my web.”

  Genevieve does not give up easily. “I planned out your whole Tarzana routine. You could start by swinging on the rope, the way Tarzan—”

  Luckily, Terence cuts her off. “I’m liking the spider,” he says. “I’m liking it a lot.”

  There is only one day before the final performance. Genevieve thinks the background music should be dark and haunting. But I want something lighter, more fun. “I’ve got it—‘Itsy Bitsy Spider,’ ” I tell Genevieve and Terence.

  Genevieve rolls her eyes. “Let me get this straight. You’re fifteen years old and you want to perform your number to a nursery rhyme?”

  “Yup. Ever heard of Carly Simon? She does a great version. My parents had the CD. ‘Itsy Bitsy Spider’ is still one of my all-time favorite songs.”

  Terence closes his eyes, then opens them again. “I think you’re on to something, Mandy.” He hands Genevieve a pen and notepad. “Why don’t you take notes while we brainstorm? So we don’t forget anything important.”

  I think it’s Terence’s way to keep Genevieve busy—and quiet. Temporarily anyway.

  We discuss my routine and how we can tie it into the “Itsy Bitsy Spider” song. Terence gets his laptop from his office, and we listen to Carly Simon’s version.

  “Why are you smiling like that?” Genevieve asks.

  I didn’t realize I was smiling. “I was just remembering how my dad used to tickle my arm when the spider went up the water spout. Then he’d wave when the sun came out.”

  We decide that I’ll do my basic climb matching my pace to Carly Simon’s rhythm. Then I’ll straddle the rope, do splits and go into the starfish when the sun comes out in the song.

  Genevieve looks up from her notepad. “I just thought of something! What about flowerpots and a garden hose on the ground, to tie into the garden theme? We could get the maintenance crew to bring in some of the flowerpots from the terrace. I saw a hose out there too.”

  Terence and I like those ideas. Terence tells us that his girlfriend is a set designer and that he’ll ask for her input too.

  I agree with Terence that the performance shouldn’t end with me doing the starfish. “At the end of the song, the spider goes up the rope again. Maybe I should end with my toes spread in a toe climb, or one knee bent sideways for the knee hook climb.”

  Terence’s cell phone rings. It must be his girlfriend, because he asks her opinion about the stage setup for my performance. “Girls,” he tells us, “I need a few minutes.” He walks to his office, holding his cell phone to his ear.

  “I was thinking…” Genevieve says when Terence is out of earshot.

  “What were you thinking?”

  “That if you really want your performance to pop…if you really want it to be the part of the show the audience never forgets, you should end your act with—” Genevieve stops, as if she’s decided it isn’t a good idea to say whatever she was about to say.

  “With what?”

  “Nah, nothing.”

  “Come on, Genevieve! Tell me!”

  “Nah, forget it.”

  “Genevieve!”

  “I was going to say you should end your act with a triple star roll.”

  “A triple star roll? The move where you spiral down the rope three times? I don’t think I could do that.”

  Genevieve smiles. It’s a small, knowing smile. “You’re probably right,” she says. “You couldn’t do it.”

  The smug way Genevieve says it makes me decide something right then and there. Not only do I want to learn the triple star roll, but I want to use it for the finale of my performance tomorrow.

  Nineteen

  There’s a mattress coming at me. And another one behind it.

  I know from the sneakers sticking out from underneath that it’s Leo and Guillaume pushing the mattresses down the corridor.

  The corridor is wide, but the mattresses are wider. The boys have to angle them sideways, which is why they don’t see me.

  “Hey, hey, watch out,” I say. “We’re already down two performers for Friday. What are you doing with those things anyhow?”

  Guillaume peeks out from behind his mattress. “Haven’t you heard? Tonight is the Perseid meteor shower. It’s going to be a hundred times better than fireworks. We’re bringing our mattresses out so we can watch from the terrace. We’re coming to the girls’ dormitory afterward and getting your mattresses too.”

  Hana has walked up behind me. “Boys are not allowed in the girls’ dormitory,” she says.

  Now it’s Leo’s turn to peek out from behind the mattress he is carrying. “Well then, we’ll stand outside and you can pass us your mattresses. This is one show you don’t want to miss.”

  “I think we’re going to need popcorn,” I tell the boys.

  “Do you think you can get the cheese-flavored kind?” Guillaume asks.

  Since cheese-flavored popcorn falls into the junk-food category, there isn’t any in the cafeteria. So Hana comes with me to the dépanneur on Jarry Street to buy three bags. When we get back to the girls’ dorm, Leo and Guillaume are inside, taking the mattresses off the bunk beds.

  Because it’s Leo and Guillaume, they turn it into a performance. Guillaume climbs up to Genevieve’s bunk and throws down the mattress. Leo bounces on the mattress, then does a double somersault.

  Guillaume crosses his hands over his chest when he sees Hana. “Look out! The Korean police are here!”

  Genevieve must have gone to the bathroom, but now she is hobbling back into the room. “Put my mattress back this instant,” she says.

  “Don’t you want to see the meteor shower with the rest of us?” Guillaume asks.

  “What meteor shower?”

  Leo bends down on one knee in front of Genevieve. “It’s going to be the best stargazing night of the whole summer! Come on—it’ll be fun! Suzanne gave us permission.”

  “Fine!” Genevieve says. “I’ll watch the meteor shower. Just don’t put my mattress next to yours.” She looks up at Leo and then at Guillaume. “Or his!”

  * * *

  At a quarter to eleven, we are all lying on ou
r mattresses on the terrace. Leo and Guillaume have pushed them together to make one giant mattress. We’ve each brought a pillow and, because the night air has a slight chill to it, our blankets too.

  In the distance, we can hear the whoosh of cars and trucks on the Metropolitan Highway. But the crickets are even louder, chirping to each other in the grassy field next to the MCC.

  I yawn, which sets off a chain reaction of yawning.

  The door that leads from the school to the terrace swings open. Suzanne shines her flashlight on the middle of the terrace. “With all the yawning going on,” she says, “I don’t know if you guys will be awake to see any shooting stars.” Then Suzanne yawns too, and we all laugh at her.

  “I know one person who definitely won’t be awake,” Leo calls out.

  Even Suzanne laughs. “All right then, all of you. Enjoy the show—and when it’s over, get those mattresses back inside. You’ve got another early morning tomorrow.”

  “Can’t we sleep out here under the stars? Just this once?” Guillaume asks.

  Suzanne looks up at the sky. “I wish I could say yes,” she says. “But regulations are regulations.”

  As if on cue, at exactly midnight the Perseid meteor shower begins. It starts with streaks of silvery light. One fades and then, not long afterward, another appears. Soon there are more of them, and they come more frequently. “Wow!” Hana says.

  Even Genevieve is enjoying herself. “It really is like fireworks!” she says.

  Guillaume is the only who has dozed off, his head slumped on Leo’s shoulder.

  Leo tries to shake him loose. “Wake up! You’re missing the show!”

  Guillaume groans but doesn’t wake up.

  “You know what would be really cool?” Leo says to the rest of us. “Watching the showers from up there.” He lifts his eyes to the maple tree behind the terrace.

  He’s right—the view from the top of that tree would be amazing.