Always Within Reach

Buckled under the sheer stockings of my knees rested the wooden bar of a trapeze. Lazily, I swung upside-down from left to right. Day in, day out, I swing back and forth, forth and back, smiling my empty smile. My ponytail flailed above and below me. I’d split out my legs. I’d curl around the wood. I’d flex in every which way, shaping my body into whatever so pleased the crowd.

One-handed, one-legged, blindfolded; I’d swing. Then at the end, I’d let go. There was no net. Because there was no need. The ground stretched far below, but I would not reach it. After my final flip, arms would stream in from above and I’d grab hold. We’d wave our goodbyes, him and I. Then bow to the crowd.

Let go, grab on, let go- but I swung too low.

In a dead moment, his fingertips kissed mine. Then I plummeted. The crowd shrieked for me as he abandoned his beam, dove down, and cradled me and curled the ground away from me.

He was always within reach... but I’d never noticed, until the sirens wailed, the ambulance strung him in, and he gripped, ever so slightly, onto my hand.