The Night I lost Harry
by Deryn Pittar
It was on a bright starry night that the travelling circus rolled into town. I lost Harry that night. Well I didn’t loose him in the sense that I took him out and purposely lost him, but I lost him nevertheless.
Up to that night we’d been best friends. Classmates from pre-school we did everything together. We were so close we could finish each others sentences, wear each others clothes, do each others homework - but we drew a line at sharing each others girlfriends. Our parents became close because they were constantly in touch with each other, checking on where Harry and I were. We were adept at keeping our stories the same, so on this particular night they thought we’d gone to the movies.
It was a shock to discover there were things about Harry I didn’t know. On our way to the movies Harry said. “Let’s go to the circus.”
At sixteen I was a bit past animals in cages, people walking tightropes and clowns with false noses. However, never one to turn down an opportunity to stare at a pretty girl in a revealing outfit, I agreed. If the posters were anything to go by there would be lots of women in revealing outfits and I was looking forward to the hormonal rush I’d get.
We didn’t get the best seats but we were inside the tent and that was all that mattered to Harry. He was fidgeting with excitement and it was while we were waiting for things to start that he told me his dream. All his life he’d wanted to belong to a circus. Ideally he wanted to be a high-wire performer or to train the big cats. The connection between the two desires completely eluded me, unless it was the adrenaline rush you’d obviously get from doing either for a living.
‘What about your planned career as a Dentist?”
Harry’s nose wrinkled in disgust. “That’s my folk’s idea. Anyone can drill teeth Chris. But not anyone can go into those cages with the cats, or walk a wire thirty feet in the air.”
I remember nodding. You couldn’t fault that logic, although his parents might try to.
The whole evening was fairly boring. Three mangy-looking lions, not an elephant in sight, lots of false noses and pathetic jokes but Harry was bouncing around in delight and thumping me on the arm when he thought something was especially funny. There was a small troupe of trapeze artists, stylish, great figures, lots of bust showing, so I just concentrated on them.
Harry hung back as we were leaving and I had to turn to wait for him.
‘You go on” he said, “I’m just going to see if I can talk to the Lion Tamer or the Ring Master.” He’d moved to one side against a caravan, and the crowd were parting as they walked around me. He was scuffing the dirt with his shoe and his head was turned back towards the Big Top. In the glow of the high candescent lights I could see the yearning in his face.
“Are you going to apply for a job?” I joked.
“I might,” he retorted, not happy with my sarcasm.
“Sure you’ll be O.K? - I’ll wait,” I offered.
He looked stubborn, chin out. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I trailed along with the departing crowd, through the streets, and home to bed. By midnight I was shaken awake. The phone had woken my parents. Harry’s folks were looking for him. I relayed my story, but I wasn’t allowed to go back to sleep. I joined the search; retraced my steps; retold my story a dozen times. No one had seen him. The circus people weren’t interested. The Lion tamer turned out to be the owner and also a clown and all he wanted to do was sleep. I knew how he felt.
I like to imagine Harry travelling the world, high on a tightrope somewhere. His folks don’t talk to my folks these days. They don’t talk to me either. Luckily I’d walked with Ellie Foster on the way home because the Police interviewed me several times.
No one believed me when I said Harry wanted to join the circus. I learnt that you can’t ever really know someone and I often wonder, even today, if the lions were hungry the next day
- - -
I have always loved words: playing with them, rearranging them. saying them, writing them in different orders. I write poetry, short fiction, and screenscripts. I have had success in all these fields and am currently creating a novella paranormal romance, which is very challenging. My silver hair and fine lines attest to my life's experiences.
by Deryn Pittar
It was on a bright starry night that the travelling circus rolled into town. I lost Harry that night. Well I didn’t loose him in the sense that I took him out and purposely lost him, but I lost him nevertheless.
Up to that night we’d been best friends. Classmates from pre-school we did everything together. We were so close we could finish each others sentences, wear each others clothes, do each others homework - but we drew a line at sharing each others girlfriends. Our parents became close because they were constantly in touch with each other, checking on where Harry and I were. We were adept at keeping our stories the same, so on this particular night they thought we’d gone to the movies.
It was a shock to discover there were things about Harry I didn’t know. On our way to the movies Harry said. “Let’s go to the circus.”
At sixteen I was a bit past animals in cages, people walking tightropes and clowns with false noses. However, never one to turn down an opportunity to stare at a pretty girl in a revealing outfit, I agreed. If the posters were anything to go by there would be lots of women in revealing outfits and I was looking forward to the hormonal rush I’d get.
We didn’t get the best seats but we were inside the tent and that was all that mattered to Harry. He was fidgeting with excitement and it was while we were waiting for things to start that he told me his dream. All his life he’d wanted to belong to a circus. Ideally he wanted to be a high-wire performer or to train the big cats. The connection between the two desires completely eluded me, unless it was the adrenaline rush you’d obviously get from doing either for a living.
‘What about your planned career as a Dentist?”
Harry’s nose wrinkled in disgust. “That’s my folk’s idea. Anyone can drill teeth Chris. But not anyone can go into those cages with the cats, or walk a wire thirty feet in the air.”
I remember nodding. You couldn’t fault that logic, although his parents might try to.
The whole evening was fairly boring. Three mangy-looking lions, not an elephant in sight, lots of false noses and pathetic jokes but Harry was bouncing around in delight and thumping me on the arm when he thought something was especially funny. There was a small troupe of trapeze artists, stylish, great figures, lots of bust showing, so I just concentrated on them.
Harry hung back as we were leaving and I had to turn to wait for him.
‘You go on” he said, “I’m just going to see if I can talk to the Lion Tamer or the Ring Master.” He’d moved to one side against a caravan, and the crowd were parting as they walked around me. He was scuffing the dirt with his shoe and his head was turned back towards the Big Top. In the glow of the high candescent lights I could see the yearning in his face.
“Are you going to apply for a job?” I joked.
“I might,” he retorted, not happy with my sarcasm.
“Sure you’ll be O.K? - I’ll wait,” I offered.
He looked stubborn, chin out. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I trailed along with the departing crowd, through the streets, and home to bed. By midnight I was shaken awake. The phone had woken my parents. Harry’s folks were looking for him. I relayed my story, but I wasn’t allowed to go back to sleep. I joined the search; retraced my steps; retold my story a dozen times. No one had seen him. The circus people weren’t interested. The Lion tamer turned out to be the owner and also a clown and all he wanted to do was sleep. I knew how he felt.
I like to imagine Harry travelling the world, high on a tightrope somewhere. His folks don’t talk to my folks these days. They don’t talk to me either. Luckily I’d walked with Ellie Foster on the way home because the Police interviewed me several times.
No one believed me when I said Harry wanted to join the circus. I learnt that you can’t ever really know someone and I often wonder, even today, if the lions were hungry the next day
- - -
I have always loved words: playing with them, rearranging them. saying them, writing them in different orders. I write poetry, short fiction, and screenscripts. I have had success in all these fields and am currently creating a novella paranormal romance, which is very challenging. My silver hair and fine lines attest to my life's experiences.
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