sainttrillian
Unregistered User
(4/23/04 5:00 pm) Reply
The Greatest Show on Earth
The Greatest Show on Earth
"All the world 's a stage, and all the men and women merely players. They have their exits and their entrances; And one man in his time plays many parts"
--William Shakespeare, “As You Like It”
Act One, Scene One
Maya clutched her books to her chest, all the heavier for the oppressive weight of the air, harbinger of summer to come. Her pencil thin legs pounded a quick beat on the cracked sidewalk, rushing, hurrying away from the place of her daily torment toward the relative safety of the giant ante-bellum at the end of Sherman Street. Two more weeks of school, and she would be away. On the best days, it was calls of ‘freak’ and ‘bastard’, the latter meant in the most literal sense, not a good thing to be in a town stuck thirty years in the past. On the worst, she was going to hell while working spit wads from her mousy hair and clothes. Sometimes, they couldn’t pin what to say, so they just said that she ‘ain’t right’. No matter what she did, she would never be liked at that school, and Mama refused to move. “We stay here. We’ve always been here, your granny, your great granny. Just keep addin’ greats until you lose count and you get the idea, child. Why, your great-great-great granny was movin’ crossed the battlefields out yonder keepin’ the old boys alive. You just don’t pay them no mind, now. You’re special, talented, part of a grand tradition, and they are afeared of that. But one day, one day when they need you, they’ll come.” Mama just couldn’t understand that it didn’t help when you were thirteen and in the crucible; Mama was just ‘a little crazy’, just another character in a land full of them. Maya had to wonder if one of those great-grannies were ever burned at the stake. Such was the historical fate of wise women, though there was nothing about such in the history of the Silver women.
Maya passed through the rickety wrought iron gate and the slightly wild yard speckled with flowers to the front porch. ‘Old Blue’, the house ghost, stood silent sentinel at one end, unmoving without breeze. He really wasn’t a ghost, as such, just one of Mama’s creations that she had to reset every once in a while, but Maya nodded to him anyway. He never responded. That wasn’t his purpose. But he was one of the few steady people in her life that didn’t judge.
Opening the creaky door, Maya tossed her books to the side, most likely to be forgotten until morning. The pungent scent of dried and drying herbs hit her, a chaotic blend that only changed slightly with the seasons. She closed the door and her eyes, breathing in the smell of home. She was as silent and still as Old Blue for a small infinity before the customary call rezoned to her ears from the back of the house, cutting its way closer with each word. “Maya? You home, sugar bear? How was school today?”
Maya discarded a dozen responses. Mama never understood. “Fine,” she called back, stomping for the stairs before Mama could get any closer. Mama would ask about the chewing gum in Maya’s hair, and she was not in the mood for the speech.
(I tend to write 'short story character histories', and I see I'm not the only one. Yes, this is Mysticka, aka Maya Silver. To be continued!)
Saint Trillian
Unregistered User
(4/23/04 5:16 pm) Reply
RE: The Greatest Show on Earth
Stupid spellchecker. It should be 'razored' not 'resoned'.
Sorry. On with the show.
Re: RE: The Greatest Show on Earth
I prefer the short story histories also. They convey much more about the character's flavor than simply the dry facts. Plus they are fun and this one looks to be a doozy.
Re: RE: The Greatest Show on Earth
Act One, Scene Two
The ‘For Sale’ sign disappeared from the little blue ranch down the street, followed shortly thereafter by the appearance of the great orange bulk of a U-Haul. Maya watched from the vantage point of a giant elm in her front yard, Old Blue hovering silently behind her. Her legs dangled, swinging idly while her mouth popped a stick of Juicy Fruit. She wasn’t sure what she hoped to see until she saw it, bounding along with a golden retriever that appeared from the cab. A boy, her age, she guessed, in kakhi shorts and a polo, quickly stuck in the category of ‘kind of cute’. He seemed to be called over to help with the boxes. A reluctant breeze carried words to her over the chirping crickets, intoned with the flat sounds of people on the TV. She should go, offer help to a person who didn’t know what everyone thought of her, but she stayed paralyzed in the cool branches.
Days passed like that, Maya watching the house down the street. Every time, she wanted to go over and introduce herself, and every time she didn’t. Eventually, she saw the cute Yankee boy run off on his bike, riding along side a pair of boys Maya knew too well. Her hand passed through her hair as if searching for spit wads. The opportunity had passed.
Later that same day, the Yankee boy came flying up the street toward the giant ante-bellum at the end, feet peddling as fast as they could. Maya looked up to see it from pulling weeds in the flowerbeds, shading her eyes with a dirty hand. Behind the boy were the others, hooting and hollering, chasing, herding. The Yankee boy careened into the wrought iron fence, body flung to the side. Maya, heart thudding in her ears, found herself moving, spindly legs carrying her quickly across the yard. “Come on over the fence!” she hollered. “You’ll be safe.” The boy weakly looked over to her, then back to the boys who were hot on behind him and closing. Pushing himself up, he clamored over the short fence, landing face first on the grass. Maya knelt down next to him, just as the other boys arrived.
“That’s right, run to the freak.”
“Neither one of you all’s wanted here.”
“Aww, they’re in love.”
And then they made the mistake of laying hand on the fence.
A sharp, keening sound welled up from somewhere on the porch followed by a soft, wispy wind, and a streak of blue. Old Blue, wailing like a banshee, interposed itself between Maya and the boys on the other side of the fence. They started screaming, scrambling back. The Yankee boy also started to get up, shouting wordlessly, but Maya caught his trembling hand. “It’s okay. I reckon like your dog, his bark’s worse than his bite.” She gave him what she hoped was a reassuring smile. He returned a wide eyed look of sheer disbelief, but stayed.
“You go on now!” Shouted Mama from the porch, summoned by the wailing of Old Blue. “Get on home, Frank, Bo.” It was unnecessary. The boys were already back on their bikes and peddling their way back up Sherman Street. Mama came over and quieted Old Blue.
The Yankee boy was still staring at Maya. “You…you’re the magician. Maya the Magician. That’s wh…I didn’t believe them.”
“Mama prefers the term ‘mystic’.” She answered, haughtily. “Now hold still. You’re bleedin’.”
“I’m Marty Kane.” They shared a smile for a moment, and then he sucked air through his teeth as she shifted his leg to get a better look at the gouge in his knee. Maya hovered her shaking hand over it a few inches. This was what Mama taught her, in the summers, after school, in whatever free hours she wanted to take. Look at it, the scrape, the blood. Forget what you see, look beyond. This was a bit of chaos in order, find the right, find the balance. She almost couldn’t, but eventually, the ‘wrong’ of the small wound no longer resisted her efforts. “That is so cool,” Marty whispered, and Maya knew she’d finally found a friend.
Re: RE: The Greatest Show on Earth
Act One, Scene Three
“I’m a magician too, you know.” Marty rolled over and sat up from where he was laying on the floor watching TV. Maya sat on the sofa, knees pulled up to her chin. A new place of safety, Maya spent a lot of time in the Kane family room.
“Nuh-uh. You would’ve done told me.”
“I figured you’d think it’s stupid or dorky or something.” He scrambled up and pulled out a drawer in the cherry end table. Digging around for a moment, Marty produced a deck of playing cards and started shuffling them. He fanned them out a bit and held them out to her. “Pick a card.”
Laughing, Maya humored him, pulling out the ace of hearts, replacing it when he told her to. She watched him seriously shuffle the deck, and then tap it on the table. Up popped the ace and he showed it to her with cheesy flourish. “That’s it. Still not magic. Just a slight of hand. You were palmin’ it or somethin’.”
“Or something? Do you know what I did?”
“No.”
“Then it’s magic.” He grinned from ear to ear.
Maya laughed at him again. “Fine. I’ll buy that for a nickel if it makes you happy.”
“I’ll show you.”
“Magicians aren’t supposed to tell.” Maya knew well that she wasn’t supposed to share what she did with anyone.
“I will.”
“Alright.”
(Pant, pant...still going. These things always end up much longer than I anticipate! Bear with me! Going into act two next!)
and this one looks to be a doozy.
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