Summer 2011 • Vol. XXXIII No. 3 FictionJuly 1, 2011 |

American Boy

I've always had a fascination with circuses, perhaps because I traveled for the first decade of my life with parents who were trapeze artists, one town to another as shows opened and closed. I rarely knew where I was and found it impossible to learn the points of the compass. I had to be satisfied to know a few of the streets that radiated out from the tiny dot on the map signifying YOU ARE HERE. This problem continued for years, and I always traced it to the journey my itinerant family made with a traveling circus when I was ten years old—across Europe, into Asia on one side, Africa on the other. We followed a line that zigged north, south, zagged east and west as performance required. I was always a little seasick. I hated my parents because they thought me a strange little fellow. I had cravings for the normal, none for the trapeze; so when in Spain, I believe it was, I met the vacationers Harriet and Michael Wood wandering down the fairway where I watered the elephants, they c

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Wolf

By Jennifer duBois

I've always had a fascination with circuses, perhaps because I traveled for the first decade of my life with parents who were trapeze artists, one town to another as shows […]

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