Wire Walker

Wire Walker


This was it.  Marc checked his slippers' laces one last time, then began the climb up to the wire suspended a dozen feet below the big top's apex.  He reached the platform, picked up the Indian clubs and stepped to the edge.

Okay, he told himself, piece of cake.  You've been practicing for years and have done this hundreds of times.

True enough.  There were differences, though.  This wasn't a walk for fun along the rope strung between his bedroom window and the barn's roof, nor even across the wires that ran between his old school buildings.  This was for a chance at the career he'd begun working toward ever since he'd been to his first circus.  Oh, yeah - and this was without a net.

Growing up, his heroes had been The Flying Wallendas: Karl, Nik and the rest of the troupe.  He'd watched in awe as they performed their famous seven-person chair pyramid and, along with every other fan of the acrobatic family, he'd mourned Karl's loss in 1978.  Now, he was trying to follow in their footsteps.

All his nervousness disappeared, as soon as he stepped onto the wire.  Okay, concentrate!  Right foot, left foot, right.  Now get the clubs going.

Marc immersed himself in the rhythm of the spinning clubs and, almost before he knew it, he had crossed to the other platform and back.

"Once more, this time with the rings," called the ringmaster.

Marc changed props and stepped back onto the wire, his confidence showing in each firm step.  The trip out and back to his starting point was effortless.  He looked down, awaiting the verdict.

"You're in, kid!" the man congratulated him.  "Welcome to the Howell Traveling Circus!"

He'd done it!  He had achieved his dream of becoming a highwire artist!