I remember…
a cautionary tail…
I remember the last time I was shot out of a cannon. It was for my Mother’s birthday, and I was supposed to land in a net by her birthday cake and light the candles with a match that I struck off an elephant’s forehead.
That was the plan, anyway.
I should have checked the setup myself. I had just hired a new assistant, my old one, Dolly, had landed a gig hustling lattés and espressos at a Starbucks a couple of weeks before. Anyway, I thought that I had gotten this new girl, Gretel, up to speed. We had made a couple of dry runs and everything went fine. I assumed that she was ready to solo. Like I said, I should have checked her work.
The day in question, my Mom’s birthday, was a beautiful day. Bright and sunny, no wind to speak of, certainly not enough to account for what happened.
Since it was a special day and we were in winter camp everyone had gotten all their chores done early. Everybody loves my Mom. She has been around a long time and knows and loves everyone herself. She is always ready to help in a time of need, lend a hand when someone is a hand short, or just sit and listen quietly as you try and work out your troubles. She is a treasure. The party was set to kick off with a small parade at 2:00, and everyone pulled out all the stops.
Miles had polished all the pipes on the Calliope, and had even put some special additive in the water so that the steam smelled like lilacs, my Mom’s favorite flower. Olaf had spent the whole morning washing Bubbles, the brown bear, and oiling and polishing Bubble’s bike, and sprucing up his little paper parasol. Both Bubbles and his bike shown like two new pennies in the parade, and Bubbles pulled off his new trick of popping wheelies on his bike, holding his parasol above his head as he did so. He did that twice along the parade route to the delight of everyone!
The elephants were all three also freshly washed, and Plotze, their handler, had them walking one after the other, each one holding the tail of the elephant in front of her with her trunk. The lead elephant, Matilda, was walking along on her two hind legs, her front legs up on an enormous ball, walking it along under her with her front feet. She looked very proud in her shiny tassels and huge sateen cape with her name in sequins the size of half dollars sewn on each side.
The lion and tiger wagons followed, and they sparkled as well. Dmitri was walking alongside, his black riding pants freshly pressed, his boots shining, and his red waistcoat and tails and top hat striking in the sun. The lions and tigers all lounged in their cages on wheels, but they did belt out some respectable roars as they went along, just to make sure everyone knew they were there...in case anyone could miss them!
Next came the seal wagon, its big wooden tub filled to the brim with water, and the seals playing and splashing as the horses drew the wagon along the route. Sarina kept them moving by continually tossing fish onto the top of the metal slide so that one seal would be sliding down the slide as the others were rushing to get to the top themselves, so they could grab another fishy treat.
Finally, bringing up the rear of the parade was my cannon, drawn by two ponies and an assortment of dogs that traveled with us. The barrel was elevated to precisely 60 degrees, and I hung in the muzzle, waving to the onlookers. Gretel, in her costume of feathers and sequins, walked alongside, waving herself.
The parade made a loop around all the barns, stables, and trailers. We went past the front gate where some cars with onlookers had stopped for the free show as they passed by. Finally, we made our way onto the grandstand, where Mom and some of the other people not in the parade were gathering.
The rings were out of course, and the elephants took their place center ring, where the birthday cake was already set up on a big table bedecked with balloons and streamers. My catching net was set up to stage right of the center ring, and the cannon was moved into what I thought was our firing position a few dozen meters away. We had it all worked out, at least I thought we had it all worked out.
Once the cannon was set the drum roll started. I put on my helmet, got a thumbs up from Gretel, and gave my final salute. To me, everything looked fine.
I lowered myself down into the barrel, and the drum roll intensified. The countdown started...
10
The drumroll grew, and now the band kicked in with the first notes of their fanfare.
9
8
7
The barrel seemed to change in angle slightly?
6
5
Looking up, I saw the moon in the sky directly over the center of the barrel. Like seeing stars from the bottom of a well in the daytime I guess?
4
3
2
The cannon mechanism clicked - final safety off! I bent my knees and prepared for the shock.
1
The whole cannon jarred - what the?!?!?!?
0
The plunger pressed roughly on my feet and I absorbed the impact, shooting out of the end of the barrel like the missile I had become! As soon as I got my bearings I saw things were off. It looked like I was going to be a little right of the target, heading for...OH MY GOD! MATILDA!...NO! DON’T TURN AROUND!!!!
Suddenly extreme darkness. I thought I was dead, but heard the panicked trumpeting of an elephant and the faint sounds of people screaming. I was trying to work all this out when I was hit with the overpowering smell of old wet grass and fermentation. It was hot and very moist and squishy. Suddenly I realized the truth. I was up Matilda’s ass!
I struggled to get free. The match was still in my hand. As I fought to free myself I must have struck the match on her leathery skin just as I extracted my helmeted head from her butt, releasing a huge WHOOSH of a fart!
In the understandable panic of having a human sized suppository roughly inserted, Matilda had initially run toward the grandstand, but had turned around just as I extracted my head. The fart and the match had combined into what can only be called a gigantic methane blowtorch...right at my mom.
And that is why our circus no longer has a bearded lady. My mom had been growing her beard for over 40 years and was famous across the country for it, but now it’s no more.
She’s trying to grow it back, but it’s unlikely it will ever get anywhere near its former splendor. Until then, she’s working the cotton candy concession.
Me? I run the Tilt-A-Whirl. I’m never climbing in a cannon again!