Brian G Fay

I ran away to the circus, but only to see the show. I was too afraid to join the people down in the rings. The tamers of lions. The fliers on the trapeze. The painted faces of death. Sitting in the two chairs beside me was an enormous man. He gave me popcorn and cotton candy. He licked my fingers clean. In his pocket he carried the book of psalms torn from a bible. He read them to me in between acts. Told me I was beautiful. You can imagine the look in his eyes. But you can't hear his voice. I keep that to myself. But when the elephant rider appeared, he began to cry. Silently. Just tears and the image of breath catching in his chest. He stared at her. Hard. As she stood on the elephant's back, he patted mine. Go home, son, he said. Go. You must go home. And so I did, riding an imaginary elephant, imagining the man's voice, wondering how I would ever escape the world.
-Brian G Fay

From a comment posted on Nin Andrews' blog.