Dreams from a popcorn seller

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Chapter five: climbing.

After I put on the harness, the helmet, and the powder bag on my waist I began learning how to go up and come down. I listened carefully but really I was bursting to try the climbing.

Finally my instructor took me to the easy wall. I held on to a yellow rock and pulled myself up.

“No, no,” my instructor, Rose, said. “Stand up on the rocks! Push with your legs, don’t pull with your arms.”

I sighed and did as I was told. I glanced over my shoulder and fell off the wall onto the thick padding on the floor.

Why? Because my boss, Mr. Gone was rock climbing.

Yes, Mr. Gone was rock climbing. It made no sense. He was so fat and just not made out of climbing material. Yet he was climbing so professionally on the walls with hardly any rocks. More surprisingly, the wall was lopsided.

If he saw me here he would surely ask me about the man with the blue beard. He might even scold me for being here. He would make up some weird reason for me to not be here. He had no chance yet, since he fortunately hadn’t spotted me, and as soon as I changed I was out and about walking before he could say a word.

“Um—I have to go—family emergency. Can I come back tomorrow?”

“Sure,” Said Rose, “Good luck.”

I nodded and practically ran out of the building when I remembered I still had my powder bag on. I sighed and ran back in, and so on.

When I finally got everything off and got out of the building, I thought about my boss climbing. Then I thought, “if Mr. Gone can do that when he’s all fat and stuff, then I can become an acrobat.”

Knowing that Mr. Gone was out climbing, I went back to the circus tent and, even though it was breaking the rules, I went to the swings.

I slipped on some tights and took off my skirt. Then I did a somersault. Easy. A handstand? Not too easy.

I bent over and put my hands on the mat. Then I kicked upwards. All I did was hurt my back a little and do a backwards somersault.

Next I attempted a cartwheel. Ouch. I landed face first on the mat. When I looked up I gasped.

Mr. Gone was staring down at me, with a certain look of anger on his face.

“What is this?” He sputtered. “You know you are forbidden to come across here!”

I stared at the ground. “I’m sorry.” I mumbled.

“Sorry isn’t enough,” Mr. Gone said, “I am now decreasing your pay to six dollars a month.”

And with that, he stomped out of the room.

I haven’t attempted to try doing cartwheels or handstands ever since that little incident with my boss.

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