[11] Tournelle du Soleil (Patreon)

• 15 May 2023 • Day 1 at Cirque IHQ: My Cup Runneth Over •

Come on, Ess. You're an adult. He's an adult. He works with god-knows how many different people and sexualities and genders here at Cirque and– and this is an international HQ and– and you are who you are and if he doesn't accept it then ... then you can go home and cry about it later–

I set my water bottle on the automatic water fountain. The filter clicks on and a stream of cold water begins echoing off the inside of the large metal container.

Sergey leaning in to give me a hug goodbye.

“Sergey," I say, stilted. Formal. Anxious as fuck. I keep fumbling on: "About the act. I need to– There’s something to tell you about before you watch it. Just … just so you know."

My brain feels like it's overheating with the processing power required to get the damn words out while simultaneously wrestling with the realization that I’m going to have to try to frame this in binary terms.

Do I just tell him I’m a guy now? Is that easier? God damn it.

Sergey just stares at me, the default stern-and-serious expression fixed in place.

I press on: “I’m– um, in the act I’m– by the end of the act I take my shirt off. In the video. In the– in my number. By the end of the number I’m shirtless.”

“Okay,” he says slowly, looking caught at an intersection of being amused, confused, and uncomfortable all at once.

I realize that I’ve made it sound like I’ve made some kind of sexy burlesque act. Damn it.

“Okay wait, wait, I need to explain that better. Or more. Oh, this is hard…”

“You don’t have to–" he searches momentarily for more words. "You don’t have to have hard conversation if you don’t want,” he says, waving a hand as if to brush the thought away.

I'm sure he would much prefer that we don't have this conversation. Then we could just keep carrying on politely with each other, enjoying our rapport and focusing on our mutual interests (niche circus skills) and leave gender out of it completely. Too late.

My brain is spinning with the thought of how I’d wanted to do this all summer, and had failed to do so. Now it's happening in the middle of the training hall floor at the Cirque du Soleil International headquarters. Good job, dummy.

“Well I had surgery– I don’t have–" I exhale sharply. "There’s nothing to see when I take my shirt off in the act.”

“Okay…”

Nope, I'm just gonna have to say it. Do I really have to be this blunt? I think I have to. Oh god...

It tumbles out in a rush: “I had surgery and I don’t have breasts anymore. So when I say 'I take my shirt off', there’s nothing to see because my chest looks like … looks like a guy’s chest. In my straps act I start out dressed like a girl but by the end I’m dressed like– basically I look more like– like a guy.”

I kick myself over my phrasing immediately.

“Okay,” he says, face as impassive as ever.

"Okay," I echo.

"So you want to be guy now?"

"I– "

I trail off. What's the answer to that question?

Sergey continues: “It might take me little while to watch because my schedule, very busy–”

“–Yes, of course, no problem–”  Relief. Yes.

“–I see you in studio this afternoon though–”

“–Yes, sorry to keep you, yes–”  Someone please shoot me with a tranquilizer dart.

“–Okay see you soon.”

“-See you soon, yes, bye, thank you.” Save me from myself.

I stand rooted to the floor. It feels like my guts have dropped out through the soles of my feet and my skull has tried to expand outwards and orbit a few extra inches away from my melting brain.

I'm holding my breath.

I realize that I’m waiting for something bad to happen.

Nothing bad has happened.

Nothing bad has happened.

The sensor on the water fountain clicks on and my bottle overflows.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Stay tuned for your next instalment of Tournelle du Soleil.   It'll be landing in your inboxes tomorrow at 7am EST / 1pm CEST. Until then, stay strange & wonderful -- XO, ess