Hurt Me Daddy, for I Have Blogged

Yana cleared her throat in front of the somberly-seated carnies. The urn sat on a pedestal, a theatrical-looking spray-painted column from one of the acro shows that had been sitting in one of the storage trailers for who knows how long. “The truth is, I didn’t know my sister very well.” Pause. A cough. “I didn’t. She and I weren’t very close. When you live in tight quarters with someone you  know their most intimate details and thoughts and patterns but you sometimes don’t have that secret love of who they really are. Mara was quiet. I knew that she was religious, and believed in God, and I always had faith in her ability in our acro shows. In the head she was kind of like a kid sometimes, even at our age now. I don’t know if there was something wrong with her that they just never looked at, because we were raised by other family and didn’t really know mom and dad or if that was the way I was seeing things. She was like, kind of simple in the head. Not stupid. Jus...

Artwork by Karla Usagi The night of their first show back in the swing of it was upon them. Tito and Annie were eager to see how training would manifest itself. LaShawn wanted to make a point to attend their first show back. There was a sure-footed confidence in the two of them he had never doubted, despite their time being out of practice. They had maintained proper diet and incredible focus on their acrobatics. Old memories were being rewritten, when they had worked breath by breath as a team. The two sisters returned to the most cheerful spirits that had graced their camper in months. No past, no loss, no breakage, no embarrassing hookups. Yana cut back on her drinking drastically, noticing that there simply wasn’t the time available. Mara was pleased, if only at the better treatment that she was receiving. “Remember when I burned my eyebrow off when breathing fire in that one show in Tucson like three years ago?” They were laughing about old memories again. Mara though...

Mara knew better than to try to calm her. Instead, she responded with silence. This was the best when she was drinking or anything else. Don’t wake the troll. “I hope we can do our number, Yana. I’m looking forward to it. I’m not as afraid as I used to be.” “I was never afraid,” Yana whispered. The grief was genuine. ** They began to rehearse three to five hours a day. LaShawn allowed them some time cut from their daytime shifts and paid them, knowing they were preparing to pick up most of the shows. The two sisters saw each other improving by leaps and bounds.Yana missed the old days but wouldn’t say anything to Mara about it. Mara stopped practicing the subdermal piercings. The show they were bringing back was less freakshow and more classic circus. The two knew what they were supposed to do. ** That weekend, LaShawn dreamt that he was floating on a raft in the middle of a river. The landscape nearby looked like stories he’d heard of the Amazon, but it was ha...

“The Virgin is real. She works miracles.” Mala had been soft on her since finding out her spell worked. She had no doubt that it would, but it was always helpful to her to see the results. And the boys hadn’t minded her babysitting at all, and enjoyed her games, so she was on her good side for the time being. “Maybe it was you. The Virgin couldn’t have done anything without you and the spell, and me making up the spell.” Mara had some difficulty with these words for several moments. She thought that she was supposed to trust in God, Jesus or the Virgin. Nobody had offered her any information about prayers, spells, requests or anything of the sort either way, though upon further consideration, every time she had spoken to or asked something of the Virgin, a wish had been granted. “Maybe,” she spoke hesitantly. The suggestion was uncomfortable, but entirely possible. Maybe Mala was simply a temptress. And maybe, despite her previous maliciousness, she was right. ** ...

Some nights Mara would dream of she and Yana being the stars of the acro show. Glittering leotards, uncontrollable applause. Acro was their way of seeing God. But the Blessed Virgin was not forgotten. One night quite late, towards 3am, Mara visited the statue. Her eyes looked hollow. The blood looked dried and faint, the river of belief itself dried. Somebody had placed a tiny flower, now dried, at her feet. “I know you’re still in here. I know you still watch us and care for us.” This time she lit a tiny votive candle. Mara kneeled in meditation. Space and time fell away; her mind drifted into the stars. Suddenly she heard a noise behind her. It was Mala. Both were startled. “Mara. The spell. Did it work?” Mara thought for several moments. Depending on how much she revealed, Mala might know immediately that Jerry was the subject. “I don’t know yet, Mala. I guess I’ll find out soon.” “Tell me when you do.” This was the most sincere that Mara had ever seen her. ...

It happened in the middle of morning acro practice. Jerry doubled over in pain clutching his side, a couple of people rushing in to help. Mara only vaguely wondered when the sirens awoke both her and Yana. She didn’t hear the news conclusively until three hours later, after Yana had made the rounds. “LaShawn said he was complaining of a pain in his side.” “He is pretty old, but in good shape. I mean I think he lies about his age.” “Maybe. He never seemed to hide that he was in his late 50s.” Mara scoffed. “It was probably his appendix or his spleen.” “Ok.” Tito, the new guy in the acro cast, and Annie took over morning acro, and occasionally Mara would start attending morning sessions, even though she wasn’t required to with her late nights. By fall run in Phoenix she might be qualified for full cast again. Yana and Mara fell back into the groove of practicing their sister act. Yana was getting strongly back into shape quickly. Jerry returned to the...

Image by Karla Usagi Mara had absolutely no idea why Mala had taken pity on her and allowed her the spell for $50 plus three weeks of babysitting every other day, but she wasn’t about to argue with the offer. After her meeting with Mala, she cradled the little string doll in her hands. Mala had given her an orange-yellow candle with a picture of the Virgin, though not like she had ever witnessed the Blessed Virgin. She was to pray to the Virgin for the person she wanted to leave to be safe for three days, and for Jesus to protect him on his way. On the fourth day, she was to place the string doll in a tiny manila envelope with a sprig of mint leaf  (Mara and Yana grew one tiny plant of it)  and a crushed-up earthy powder that Mala had given her and was to burn the packet. She was to rub another mint leaf between her palms after the burning. Mara felt a bit uneasy at first. But she remembered from church being told that God and Jesus loved everyone, and she believed ...

Yana lost the baby slowly and gently, over a few days. The relief was palpable. She popped SleepXM most of the time. In the meantime, Mara practiced like a maniac. Fire-breathing, piercing and acro for at least 2 or 3 hours. The lot outside the camper was a great place to put a rehearsal mat down, and the practice trailer was usually available to Mara late nights. She’d kept up most of her basic conditioning, but training was incredibly painful. To have she and Yana go through such a parallel of pain was strange and awe-inducing, though Mara knew that she would never carry a child. Birth didn’t seem so much a miracle to her at this point as it did a tragedy. Always tying women into knots. Three days later, Yana finally conversed. “I had a dream the Virgin came to me. She put her hands on my belly and said “be healed.” And then I could feel this thing lifting out of me. She looked South Asian or Indonesian. Her robes were incredible.” “Oh. I see.” Was all that Mara could re...

Mara blinked open her eyes gently. Her body felt nicely rested. No disturbance seemed to be remembered or to register. Fresh, speckled morning light seeped into the camper. It smelled like somebody had recently cleaned in there. Even Yana’s face looked peaceful. Maybe their transformations had brought them together. Yana stirred, slowly. “Yana,” Mara said softly, “What’re you going to do if you can’t get rid of it?” “I don’t know, man. Maybe get rid of myself. Fuck kids. I don’t want children. I don’t care what Aunt Lala said, or anybody, or if it’s part of our stupid culture, which I don’t even remember. I don’t want any kids.” “Neither do I, Yana. I understand. Just…please don’t die. I don’t want you to die.” Mara’s voice became genuinely sad. And this was the most vulnerable she’d ever seen Yana. “I…I won’t. I want a good life, some good money, to do a few amazing shows. I do maybe want a husband one day. Not now. For now, we get through this.” “Can you promis...