Circus Camp

Christian, Chris to his friends (fine, to Mickey) and late grandma Princewill, dragged the large black suitcase up the hill cursing as the wheels snagged in mud from late May rains and swore that he would kill Mickey if he ever got his hands on him. He squinted against the 3pm sun, up at the entrance to the gate through little rivulets of sweat burning straight lines into tan skin and thought back to his last conversation with Mickey. Mickey, wearing that stupid Lakers jersey he always wore, pulled back one side of his lip in a grin that he imagined was `appealing to babes’, flung his right arm over Chris’ neck and said in his parched Dunhill voice,

“Eh, Chris, Chris, Chrissy my man, don’t worry now, I have the best job for you. The BEST job!”.

He’d said that part loudly, ignored his glare at the hated `Chrissy’ nickname and even ignored old Ms Williams who’d glared across the parking lot at them, rolling her cart quickly to escape the post sunday worship youth congregation at ShopMart.
Then quick as a mouse, Mickey had grabbed his neck tight, leaned in so you could really scent the smokes, and described the gig- coach at a summer girls’ circus camp. Somewhere up in the mountains in some village town, training teenage girls
‘GIRLS, Chrissy, girls, think of the hot babes!’ to be acrobats or contortionists `Contortionists!!’ or clowns or whatever.

He’d said it’d be an easy gig, he had a degree in phys ed after all, and it’d be a chance to reinvent himself, help others, be a good Christian for once so Mickey had convinced him and here he was, tracking mud over new Nikes, staring up at the metal gate with the sign declaring it to be the ‘Apaniyan Circus Camp for Girls’, ready to shape the next generation of women, break them down and build them up as proper contortionists or whatever.

So he dragged his suitcase, and he went up to the gate and knocked. A beat, two, then the gates swung inward and the dimpled face of the woman the brochure had said was head counselor bubbled up to meet him. In a cooler season he might have asked for her zodiac sign for a pick up line about stars aligning, but in this moment, all he wanted to do was get a drink of some cold Sprite and rest in a place with some AC where he could store this damn, heavy suitcase. Dimples, swung back so many pretty braids, dimpled even further and held out a hand to him-

“Oh you must be Christian Princewill, so nice to meet you, I’m Jennifer, but you can call me Jenni, that’s Jenni with an ‘i’, I’m head counselor and we’re so glad you came up to coach our girls this summer, they’re so mad to meet you, they’ve heard so much about you and I know this place is in the middle of nowhere, so we usually get like nobody and definitely no boys, so thank you so much Chris, can I call you Chris, hope that’s ok”.

He blinked down at Dimples- Jenni- and imagined a world where one person could spit out that much vocabulary without punctuation, then nodded once, then twice-
“ah yes, fine, ok”.
Brown eyes crinkled further and she tightened the grip on his hand once more briefly before letting go. Well, that was quick, he’d thought Mickey had been joking with the whole ‘contortionists’ bit, but maybe not. Jenni led him past a few cabins and the stares and giggles of leggy youth campers to a small brick building by the lake. It was nice all very scenic, but he wasn’t paying attention until he felt the blessed cold blast of the AC. He breathed a sigh, dropped the suitcase, and plopped down to lie on the twin bed. Jenny dimpled some more above him-
“Haha, looks like you needed that, you seem tired, let me help you unpack your bag”.
She reached towards the suitcase, he thought of his embarrassing underthings, flushed and shot up to sit straight on the bed-

“No, thanks, don’t worry about it, I got it!”

She paused; hand outstretched, then raised an eyebrow and shrugged.

“Ok, no problem, will leave that to you- can I get you something to drink Chris?”

“A sprite would be great”.

“You got it camper!”

She reached down in the mini fridge beside the bed, opened it and handed him a bottle of sprite. And under the dimpled smile of the woman he now mentally referred to as ‘the angel of Apaniyan Circus Camp’, he downed the bottle of sprite and plunked down to sleep under the soothing hum of the Chigo AC.

“You should do the honors Jenni”
“Oh no you Cassie, I did it last time”
“We all saw how he looked at you Jenni, you would have been next”
“I know, I saw what was inside the suitcase, that poor girl”
“Yeah, completely dismembered, good thing we had the police scanner up here Jenni”
“They always run this way, don’t they- I guess some girls up in the mountain in a circus camp are easy pickings.”

Giggling, laughter, older, rougher laughter that seemed to come from farther and farther away.

“I guess they don’t call us a Killer Circus Camp for nothing”
“Hahahaha, oh Jenni, you’re so funny”
“Well, I am studying to be a clown, so thank you for the compliment Cassie. Anywho, this man is not going to dismember himself now is he. Cassie you take the arm, Nene, Amina, you can take the legs. Cut out the tongue but leave his head for last, so he can hear clearly. Though the drug in the sprite is pretty effective, so he won’t be able to move. Let’s make this a perfect 100, ladies.”

A chorus, in unison, “Yes, Jenni”

And after some time Chris, Christian Princewill, self-proclaimed lover and killer of women, ended.