Sometime
a
mischievous
flourish
a ball higher
in the
air
over his back
from under
a leg
I knew
this was a
flirtation
I was
both flattered
and cautious
He was after all
a street performer
artful at
engaging
a
passer by
but then one day
as I approached
he said “Here!”
and tossed me
the
ball
Startled
I almost fumbled it
but I didn’t
“well” he said,
“toss it back”
I did
“Thanks”
and I went on
my way
and he went on
juggling
Amused I looked back
he faked a
toss
to me
and
I laughed
and so did he
and I
turned away
tingling
The next time
I was ready
the toss came
I tossed
it back
but then
another came
I tossed it back
less ready
and then
another
and another
“very good”
he said
This time I skipped
as I turned
to look back
and
waved
he waved back
between
balls
So this became
our game
and
soon the rhythm
of it
became
familiar
“You see” he
said,
“anyone can do this
It’s not magic
its
practice”
I liked the honesty of that
and over time
we began to talk
as we played
he would show me
new tricks
but there was
more to him
than a Juggler
Slowly the man
emerged
and I found
myself
falling in
love
and as it
was
with the first ball toss
I came
to realize
this was not
Just a game
he had included me
in his world
made room for
me
in his rhythm
accommodated
himself
to my learning
It
was an act of loving for him
So we came
to be
together
People
marveled
at how we worked
together
At dinner parties
he would suddenly
juggle
knives
forks
tea cups
olives
or
while shopping
oranges
cucumbers
can
goods
He
seldom dropped
anything
But sometimes
at
night
while he practiced
I would
hear
a thud
and
know
the catch
had
missed
he never said anything about it
It was a
place
I did not go
nor did
he share it
I would
think back
to what he said
“its not
magic, it practice”
I had not realized
how serious that was.
Now
he was
trying new things
fire
knives
awkward
things
The thuds
became more frequent
the hours spent
in
practice longer
I
seldom watched
I was anxious
not to
disturb him
Sometimes he
would say,
“come
and see this”
and I would watch
knives and toasters
twirling
in the air
“Very
good”
I would
say
but I was troubled
Some playfulness
was
missing
and
he rarely looked at me
till he
was done
and all the while
his eyes
never left the air
and I began to see him
differently
I began to see
through
the artfulness of it
I began to see
the effort
I began
to feel
the weight
of the
objects
the calculus
of
the motion
the danger
of failure
there was no longer
any magic to it
Now at night
Every thud
sent shockwaves
through
me
the hours
of
silence
chilled me
His brooding
silence
estranged
me
We seldom
tossed the ball
anymore
I wanted to
part
of the spinning
knives
and twirling
torches
Though I
admired
the
accomplishments
I
felt no part in it
I was
outside
the rhythm of it
and the further
I
withdrew
the
more extreme the routines became
One day
I
entered
the practice
chamber
The air was thick
with twirling
blades
There was blood
everywhere
I
gasped in horror
and
in that instant
every bloody objected
fell to the floor
he
stood there
pitifully
holding
a single
ball
in his dripping
hands
he moved
to toss it to me
and I ran
crying
from
the room
I
heard the thud
but I did
not look back
Later
when he
came to me
as he often did
after practice
I
looked
at his bandaged
hands
hands that once
I
had delighted in
“Why” I
said
“Because I want you to admire me”
“I do” I replied,
“But you play catch with me”
he said sadly
“How can
I” I cried,
“How can I catch knives
and fire
it scares me”
“Why it’s all the same
it only
takes patience
and practice,
I
could teach you”
“I don’t
want to learn”
I
snapped,
“I don’t want to learn
how to juggle
hurtful things”
“But
that’s the challenge
of juggling,
the improbable,
the
impossible,
it’s the
uncertainty”
“I don’t
like
the uncertainty,
I’m afraid,
I don’t want my
hands
to
bleed,
I
don’t want to be a juggler.”
There
I had said it
there
was a silence
then he began to cry,
“We could still
toss the balls”
I knew
I
couldn’t
I knew
I would always
see blood on them
That was
how it Ended
I had
thought it was
Magic
I had
thought
there was a secret
it
looked so
effortless
I had
never
thought
about the practice
about what it really
took
to make it look
so
effortless
Inside that
weightless world
there
was a gravity
and it was
that gravity
that
overwhelmed me
I was my disenchantment
that wounded
him,
that drove him
to try the knives
and the fire,
How could he
know it drove me away
He thought
I loved
juggling
but it was the juggler
I loved
He thought
I
saw the truth
of it
but it was the magic
I saw
He
thought
I saw
his
love
in the weightless
thrill
of filling the air
with
improbable
things dangerous things
terrible things
I only saw
the
blades
and the wounds they made
I did not see the love
in
the blood he shed for me