The Circus by Georgia Luber

The circus is in town again. The grand old Ringling Brothers Circus that started in 1907 and was the circus of my youth. I have a clear as day recollection of riding in my grandfather's gorgeous jet black Cadillac to the circus when it came to Denver in 1978.He had passed away the year before and my father had been driving it, determined to keep it pristine. He was obsessed with the noises the car made, and any squeaking or jiggling or humming would cause him to request total silence as we drove along so he could determine the source.
We stopped a few times on the way to the circus because of a slight hum in the front speaker but made it to the parking lot with about ten minutes to spare. We drove into the lot, past the various circus cages where the animals were either on display or awaited their turn in the ring. As we passed the enclosure housing the black panther - which was pacing frantically - it lifted up its tail and sprayed the side of the Cadillac. It never even broke stride. I remember my father letting out a strangled yelp and declaring that the panther had, in fact, pissed all over the side of the car. He went on to explain that the acidity of the urine was devastating to paint and after that I don't remember much. It was always a funny family story about that time that we went to the circus.

I am afraid that my kids will not have the opportunity to tell their "when I went to the circus" story, because I have no plans to take them. It isn't my fear of panther piss. I just cannot sit there and clap while the elephants perform tricks that they were bullied into doing. They are too smart to be circus freaks and they are endangered to boot - so where is the joy? It seems unfathomable that Halle Berry can take her kid to the circus and not notice that it seems a little weird that an elephant is doing a conga line, or that the lion tamer needs a bull whip to get the lion to balance on a tiny stool.The circus seems wholly unnatural and entirely passe, in my not so humble opinion. The food is worse than a minor league baseball game, and ever since it was discovered that John Wayne Gacy enjoyed dressing as a clown, I've run out of reasons to go.

One of my favorite quotes on the subject of animal suffering is by Matthew Scully "When we wince at the suffering of animals, that feeling speaks well of us even when we ignore it, and those who dismiss love for our fellow creatures as mere sentimentality overlook a good and important part of our humanity". To accept the circus as entertainment is simply inhumane on it's most basic level. It isn't a brutal as dog fighting or cock fighting, but it is the pimping of defenseless living things for financial reward. I realize that many of these circus animals would otherwise be dead or awaiting certain death on the plains of Africa as the poachers circled, or they would be stuck in a tiny zoo in some godforsaken place.I know that plenty of humans suffer a lot more than having to do cartwheels when they don't want to. However, the majority of humans have a voice and reason and could ask for help if they needed it.

I doubt that any of the Cirque du Soleil performers are being held by chains between performances or poked with cattle prods before they shimmy up the high wire to balance on a chair. And if the tiny Malaysian spool throwers were being beaten with metal hooks and forced to toss heavy wooden spools to one another with small pieces of string, you can bet that Amnesty International would be on the case.

It is time for us to decide what sort of society we want to be. If the heir to Baskin Robbins can give it all up in the name of animal suffering, then can't we let the lions be lions and the monkeys go back to the trees? Does it truly enrich our lives to go to the circus or is it just a habit?

I think we all want our kids to know what we knew,to have the same idyllic memories of childhood that we had. I fear that time has passed, and, because they will inherit generations of laziness, greed and complacency, we will have to forgo the jaunts down memory lane and ready them for the rough road ahead.

ABOUT GEORGIA LUBER

Georgia Luber is an aspiring novelist and blogger who secretly wants to be a super hero. Hampered by domesticity (a wonderful husband and two small kids), she chooses to write and rant instead, hoping to affect change through words. She supposes her motto would be - "words,in fact, speak louder than actions". www.shazzsahm.com.

For My Sister
by Eugene Yiga

I wish I could remember you. I can't.
I was still a baby and you were still a child.
We don't talk about the accident.
Maybe that means they've all moved on.
Or maybe it means the memory of what you went through is too hard to bear.
I like to think you didn't fight that crushing force
But accepted the end with a smile on your face.
We'll never know.

I wish I could remember you. I can't.
They say we were very close.
We'd spend so much time together, forever organising our toys.
I like to think you also loved bubble-bath beards and hated raisins in your food.
I like to think you also loved storytelling and hated those grasshoppers in the park.
I like to think I used to have one friend in this world that made me feel alive.
I'll never know.

I wish I could remember you. I can't.
I wish I knew the day you were born so I could sing you happy birthday every year.
I wish I knew the day you died so I could remember just how short life is.
I wish I knew the sound of your voice so I could hear it comfort me through all the suffering I go through now.
I forced myself not to cry at your funeral in case the tears would never stop.
Twenty years later and the tears have finally come.
I wish you knew and could see how much I miss you and how much I love you.
You'll never know.

Non fiction: No Hope For Perfect Research
by Miranda Fisher

          
There is no expectation of achieving flawless studies and investigations and anticipating to get definite riposte. I come to an understanding with Griffith and his article “There is No Hope of Doing Perfect Research,” where he discusses two styles of examination, both being either logical or inductive. Therefore no research in his opinion, as well as mine, is perfect.

I have explored research coursework in a number of of my psychology lessons while going to school online at the University of Phoenix. I have had to compose documents about my discoveries, with the psychology field being 90% speculative and theoretical and not certain, and the other 10% being actualities we know about the mind and how it works together with our body. It would be immoral of me to say that the inquiries I have presented to the psychology field have even come close to the impeccable research.

One of my projects involved me watching people in a public place, and arbitrating their body language I had to consider what they might be feeling inside. I sat in a local department store observing people at customer service, and I witnessed people in the check-out line as well. I described 10 people that were all exhibiting recognisable body language, yet only five of my guesses were right. I found this out when I asked each of them how they were feeling and explained I was doing the work for a personality class. That made clear to me that if you are unable to probe somebody or talk to people in society we assume things about them, I found no method for perfect examinations. There is no reliable system in place that allows for trughtful conclusions to be drawn by just watching and predicting how people feel, just by the behaviour they exhibit on the outside.

Another homework assignment I had to do was about alcoholism in kids raised in homes in the country with fewer neighbors and alcoholic parents as opposed to the kids who mature in the city and can simply get away from their homes and the drinking. I was trying to demonstrate that kids who have alcoholic parents and reside in the city, and who have more friends to hang out with and have more places to go will be less likely to want to be exposed to the alcohol or want to drink. I was able to prove that the kids who live in bigger cities or neighborhoods, and who have more places to go and people to come into contact with, are not at home as much as kids who are in the country. Yet I was not able to prove or even come close to determining if the kids in the country were more prone to drinking or did drink when they left home. I investigated my community, in the country, because I knew 22 families along our road who drank yet did not know the other nine families. I did talk with the nine families and got responses and realized some people drank profoundly, yet it had very little to with where they were raised. More determining factors had to be measured. I learned a lot about the families with alcoholics living in the home. Many of their kids had grown up and relocated, and detested drinking because of their parents. They even shunned their parents except for a few times a year during holidays. Several kids even took mental health medication as they got older to help them deal with the past troubles they had experienced due to alcoholic parents. I still had many unanswered questions, and it was impossible to make textbook inquiries with only a small amount of research.

I understand what Griffith means when he states that research has obstacles, opposition to the investigators and too many setbacks thus leaving imperfect findings. I see how this could lead to research being biased. I also grasp how this keeps a lot of explorations from not ever being concluded let alone conveyed to the public eye for others to appreciate.

ABOUT MIRANDA FISHER:

Miranda Fisher is a 33 year old work-from-home mom of two teens and a 3 and 4 year old. She goes to school online at Ashford University Online, and is studying for her BA in Journalism/Mass Communications. She graduated from the University of Phoenix Online with an AA in Psychology back in January 2010. Miranda will continue to work from home writing independently as a freelancer to build up her clientele, so she can have more writing opportunities and jobs to support her family while she continues to work on her Bachelors degree.

Judie with an e
by Andrew Campbell-Kearsey

Judie could not decide; six or seven bangles on her left wrist? Looking into the antique effect mirror in her hallway, she appraised her appearance.The imperfections in the glass and the way the silver had darkened in mottled patches added to her mystery. Newly single, she relished the opportunities which reinvention could bring. She enjoyed burying her baptismal name and creating one which was different. Her smile had cost her a small fortune. The implants had been agony, but no pain no gain. She considered it a wise investment.Judie had begun to lighten her hair in her early fifties. She approved of her asymmetrical cut. However, as she approached sixty, she felt as if she were walking a fine line. She so desperately wanted to stay in touch with contemporary fashion, yet had a morbid dread of being considered as mutton dressed as lamb. Child-bearing and a cruel metabolism meant that she possessed no clinging, tight articles of clothing; at least not intentionally. Today’s ensemble had resulted in a patchwork effect. She had read that layering was in vogue, as well as bold clashes. In the same persuasively written article she had gleaned that the modern woman no longer had to worry about certain colours ‘not going well together’. This explained her purple velvet blouse, tartan trousers and paisley scarf. The chunky belt rested on her hips. She had lived through a period of austere Japanese minimalism, so decided against the cerise butterfly brooch and one of her many oversized, floppy fabric flowers, despite loving them all.The buzzer went. She looked back into her second bedroom, which she now referred to as her office. She walked to the intercom.  

“Hello, is that Miriam?” 

The timid voice answered in the affirmative and was allowed entry. 

Miriam was terribly anxious. Her family would have made fun of her decision to speak to a therapist. So it was with a certain amount of shame and a great deal of scepticism that she contacted Judie. The advert had offered two trial taster sessions at a reduced rate to see if this brand of counselling was for her. Miriam found the flat’s décor rather overpowering. She considered the intentionally exotic drapes and wall-hangings to be permanent dust traps. She preferred clean lines.  

“Welcome to chez moi” 

Judie gave a theatrical flourish with her hands. Miriam assumed that a positive response was needed. 

“It’s very nice.” 

If only Judie had known how difficult it had been for her potential client to manage those three non-committal words. Miriam could see into the kitchen and spied the collection of humorous fridge magnets. In the hallway was a small table with a novel by Proust and a folded copy of the Times with an almost completed cryptic crossword. The stage had been set.           

“Do come through to my office.” 

Miriam, almost a good six inches taller than Judie, had to duck to avoid a mobile consisting of a collection of crystals. She entered the room and was faced with the dilemma of selecting a chair. There was a comfortable looking armchair which had garish covered cushions positioned at rakish angles. In another corner was a copy of a famous designer chair, which appeared trendy in an architectural way but was not terribly supportive. The other option was the obligatory couch. Her choice was diminished when Judie overtook her and settled herself into the armchair. Miriam sat in the middle of the couch; to lie on it would have felt too intense for a twenty minute ‘getting-to-know-you’ session. 

Judie was busying herself with her professional props. She had a bag at her feet from which she retrieved a large pencil case. She chose a chunky pencil and opened a large notebook which had a Monet print on the front. She balanced her half moon spectacles on her nose and beamed at Miriam. 

“So, tell me a little about yourself and how you think I might be able to help you.” 

Judie found it difficult to cope with silence, so added, 

“You mentioned on the phone that you wanted to change certain aspects of your life. Would it be relationships? Your family...Work?” 

Miriam regretted making this appointment. Her greatest problem was that she found it virtually impossible to tell people how she really felt if it would upset the other person in any way. She did not need anyone to diagnose this for her. She was painfully aware of it. Miriam had become convinced within the last ninety seconds that Judie was a total fraud and had no faith in her. She knew that she should politely, yet firmly inform her that to pursue the session would be wasting the time of both of them. Unfortunately, she was incapable. Instead she tried to deflect the questioner. 

“Perhaps you could tell me about your training and in which areas you specialise.” 

Judie, who was always keen to talk about her favourite subject-herself,  could also spot an attempt at evasion. 

“I want you to see this as your time, Miriam. An opportunity for you to explore areas for personal growth.” 

Judie was also reluctant to share the fact that Miriam was her first real client after her recent qualification. She had not even received her certificate yet, however, she had picked out a shabby chic frame to display it in her hallway. Naturally, she had clocked up hundreds of hours throughout her training. There had been no shortage in volunteers, but here in her second bedroom was her first fee-paying prospect. If she was ever going to raise the money for her share of the roof repair, then there had better be plenty of others. She tried to banish any trace of desperation from her voice and face. The advert in the local press had been extortionate and since the receivership of her vintage clothing shop, a steady income stream was essential. 

She tried to read Miriam, but she gave little away. It called for direct, closed questions. 

“So, why did you contact me?” 

“I suppose I liked the idea of a test drive, to see whether we are suited. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make it sound like a dating agency.” 

“No apology necessary.” 

The smug smile which accompanied Judie’s last comment made Miriam want to slap her. Where did these violent feelings come from? This was new. She chose a few, brief autobiographical details; simply background of upbringing and education. Judie nodded most enthusiastically, trying to retain eye contact. This meant that her copiously scrawled notes did not always remain between the lines of her paper. She would have to give this a little more practice. 

Miriam speculated that the universal laws governing time did not apply in this flat. Either that, or the knowingly quirky wall clock with reverse numbers needed a new battery. Finally, after nineteen minutes, Miriam started to button up her coat and mustered up the enthusiasm to thank Judie. 

“Thank you for your time.” 

She paused and before she could continue to explain that she felt that she needed a different type of therapy, Judie pre-empted her. 

“Please don’t feel constrained by time. I view the twenty minutes as a notional time slot. It is no problem if we overrun. I can’t help but feel that you are holding something back.” 

She awaited a response and misread Miriam’s growing acute unease. 

“I feel it’s important for you to unburden yourself.” 

By now, Miriam was upgrading the slap to a potential punch. She summoned up hitherto unknown reserves of assertiveness. 

“I really must go.” 

She made her way to the front door and was hoping for a clean quick getaway. Unfortunately, the lock mechanism proved too tricky and she had to turn to Judie and ask for assistance.She should never have come. 

“It’s a shame you are in so much of a hurry….. If you don’t mind me saying… is it because you’re black? Is that where your problems stem from?” 

Judie misattributed Miriam’s facial expression to that of having hit the nail on the head. She had hit the therapeutic jackpot and had succeeded in reaching a pivotal breakthrough with her first client. Her tutor would be so proud of her. All her training had not been in vain. 

“What are you on about? Just let me out of here!” 

“Sorry, I thought that…” 

“No, you didn’t think at all. You make a lazy assumption that the colour of my skin is the reason I am here.” 

“But Miriam, some of my best friends are black.” 

Fortuitously, Miriam managed to open the door and was gone. 

Judie reflected on the encounter. She had been warned that there would be clients like Miriam, people who just did not want to be helped.