Cirque Du Soleil

by Sistah Shoop


It was all in the turn of her wrist.  She felt if she could get a good enough grip she’d be able to lift the box out into her garage without help.  Sistah Shoop had attended the Cirque Du Soleil and thought if those young folks could handle their selves in such a way so could she. 

She had been most impressed by the young couple that could pick each other up, hold each other up on either one leg or one arm and various other positions she had never read about or seen before.  Most amazing, she thought as she put her all into lifting the oversized and over weighted box.  No space cleared between it and the floor with any of her attempts.

Sistah Shoop realized that in being alone there were some things she could not manage.  Actually there were a lot of things she could not manage.  And being the proud woman she was she disliked asking for help.  She disliked having to call upon her friends to come over and move simple things like this dog gone box and from time to time her attitude.

She leaned her knee into the box; of course she could unpack it, move it and then pack it back up.  That seemed like additional work and if she called on Ms. Mess, she’d at least get some interesting conversation and perhaps a good laugh out of her day.  But she disliked that idea too.  Ms. Mess had bigger things on her mind, like love and runnin’ a business and just being out having fun.  Her inner child required that.

Sistah Shoop moved the box about an inch.  At this rate it would be some time tomorrow before the box made it to its destination, which would leave her behind getting to her destination.  Well she didn’t really have a destination.  She didn’t really have anyplace in particular to go.  She was on task of just being.  And right now she was being resistant, defiant, undeserving, antidependent, helpless, needy and just plain stupid.  She nudged the box another inch.

Ms. Mess had pointed out to her all the things she was and was not.  The list was long, worrisome and for the most part quite accurate.  She hated to think that she was any or part or all of most of the things on her list.  And she disliked even more that she was being at least half of the things at this very moment.  So she shifted and looked up at the calendar hangin’ on the wall.  Today was Thursday and she was not getting any younger by standin’ here strugglin’ with a big ol’heavy box.

She reached over and dialed the phone with purpose.  Upon hearing the voice on the other end she informed that she needed some help.  It was a quick call.  The voice at the other end didn’t need much prompting.  She hung it up and walked away from the box.  She headed for the kitchen where she took a glass out of the cupboard and filled it full of ice.  She reached into her pantry and pulled out a Dr. Pepper.  Ms. Mess loved a good cold soda and it’d be ready and waiting for her once the box was in the garage.  She walked to her front door and unlocked it because she knew her friend did not understand the words doorbell or knock.  And as she waited for the sound of Ms. Mess’s old truck she thought.

At any given moment I can be any of the things I am, but at any given moment I am only what I am.  And at that moment I am not all of those things…

She thought back on the performers.  They had supported each other with strength unmatched by anything she’d ever seen.  That’s what having friends was for, wasn’t it?  She was glad she had attended the cirque.

Sistah Shoop 2002_09

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