Chis Istiks,
Literary (Submission): Down to the Wire
I take a deep breath. Don't look down, they said, but that's exactly what I can't stop doing. I haven't even taken a step on the rope yet. My hands are clammy, holding the pole as tightly as I can. The crowd murmurs as the next act is introduced — it's me.
The spotlight shines on where I stand on a ledge, thirty feet above the crowd. I wave my arms and offer my biggest smile. They cheer for me. I'm nervous. This is my first time performing for an audience this large, and I pray my legs and pole don't fail me.
I take a step. They say the first step you take for the crowd will feel the best. That the eyes trained on you will push you to take another step. It didn’t feel like that. My gaze travels down, past the rope.
What if I fall? I take two steps, adjust the pole in my hands, another two steps. The crowd cheers again. I don’t feel any different. I start doubting why I wanted to walk in the first place.
What if I fall? We are indoors, but I’m sure I feel a breeze rush past, and I stumble. I hear a collection of gasps. My pole almost slips, as if the phantom breeze tried to pull it from me. My heart is beating fast now. I look down. Suddenly I’m afraid, but I’m not sure of what yet.
What if I fall? I take five steps straight this time. Another breeze comes by and I stumble once more. Now I can feel my heart pounding in my throat. The festive music fades in and out of my ears. I can’t help but look down again. A wave of fear washes over me, and I now know what of—I’m not afraid of falling, no. I realize I’m afraid of taking another step.
What if I jump? I see someone at the ledge gesture for me to finish the walk faster. I feel the pounding all over my body now. My clothes start to dampen with sweat and the pigments on my cheeks bleed. The crowd chants my name. I look down yet again. The clowns and the freaks and the lion are all looking at me. My hands shake, and I see the pole on the ground. The breeze is now a strong gust of wind.
I take another step—
My breath hitches, and I look up for the first time. I see the bright outline of the moon shining through the red and white stripes of the tent canvas. It calls me. I hear nothing but the flush of wind against my ears. This is what walking the rope should feel like—nothing short of exhilarating.
But now I'm not walking the rope, and I forget there are no safety nets during the show.
Galing mo lodi 💞💖💖💖💞
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