Warning: This post is long and ranting due to an accumulation of months of bullshit.
It was a show like any other, and then an event of a cataclysmic scale rocked the backstage. My wheel did not get up onto the ramp to get on stage. Well, one of the rims didn’t. And so, I tipped over a little. From the inside, it was all very slow and gentle. One of my cast mates struggled to right me, I came to rest against the décor, and eventually was shifted back on to the stage. While unfortunate, this was not the cataclysmic event…
When I got off stage after my act, I expected my cast mates to see if I was okay and then we’d all have a good laugh about what had happened. But no, that was not to be.
The disaster of disasters had occurred.
Apparently my wheel smashed PM in the face and then her head was smashed into a pole that holds up the shelving units. It was all about P now.
PM, I should mention, is always hurt. There’s always something. It might be her thumb. It might be collapsing in a heap backstage after her act, right where the most traffic is, because it was too hot/hard to breathe/other. It might be one of her myriad dietary restrictions that is somehow upsetting her. She might just be off brooding. And this? Getting hit in the head with my wheel? This was the End Times.
Of course it was entirely my fault. At least, so it was according to her. Wow did she ever rage about how I
never do my marks correctly and never do anything right! Except for those other 115 shows that came before. I have no doubt that after I had set my marks that the carpet was readjusted. Our Artist Director had decided that, in order for the workers to better dig the trench around the big top more efficiently, she would pull the carpets and boards away from the perimeter of the tent after they had been placed. It was the first time she had done that. I usually do my marks before the trench gets dug. Once the carpets were put back, they were kind of a mess and full of scrunches. As there had never been a problem before, I didn’t bother to check the marks again. But a difference of a couple of cm really can alter the course of the wheel, especially if the angle is changed. Heck, when I roll my wheel from its start position to the ramp to see if it’s correct (that’s about 1.5m) and then roll it back, it never arrives back on the marks. Never. A bumpy dirt floor will do that. It doesn’t take much.
That being said, for two days PM managed to do her act, though she took out one or two tricks. Her friends were there and I suppose she wanted to impress. But then her friends left, and suddenly things got a lot worse. It must be a concussion. Or a brain bleed (seriously). Something terrible anyway.
At this point I should probably mention that I didn’t realize the wheel even hit her. Which is odd considering I can feel the texture of the floor when I’m rolling on it. And anytime I’ve ever hit anything, I’ve been very much aware of it. When you hit something with any kind of force, you feel it in your entire body. It was only three days later that I realized that what I thought was coming to rest against the décor was actually the famous blow. It was about then that my jaw hit the floor because that was about as tame a bump as you can possibly get from a German wheel. Of course it also made sense as far as the series of events went. The wheel was being held up and braced as it fell over. It didn’t just crash toward the ground.
Meanwhile, PM went to the doctor, had her brain scanned and all kinds of tests done and then it was discovered that there was… nothing.
Nothing at all.
When you’re the Grand Marshall of the never ending
“Poor Me” Pity Parade, “nothing” suddenly makes you look like maybe you might just be seeking attention. Not that that’s every stopped a Pity Parade.
In a tone of suffering, PM would tell anyone who asked how she was doing that there was no bleeding in the brain (there might have been!) and when she was asked if she had a concussion there was a lot of “Well, no, but…” and then a great deal more tales of suffering. Eventually, the answer to the concussion question was transformed to a yes…
That’s when things really started to get suspicious. We were doing a gala when suddenly PM was complaining of terrible headaches. She could then be found sitting backstage, a shawl wrapped around her shoulders, now wearing glasses, and the kind of noise blocking earmuffs you would find on a construction site. Three days after the event, the situation had dramatically gone down hill.
It was only after the gala, when I was back in my caravan that I remembered that P had spent the first half of the show plugged into her ipod. Other elements of the story no longer seemed to make sense. Symptoms, actions, and the timeline did not fit together. Whenever the discrepancies were pointed out, the story changed.
For a while I thought I was the only one to see through the charade. But when asked if she would be doing the group acro act, the reaction to her response was one of giggles and rolled eyes. One of the artists could be heard to say “Oh yes, she’ll do it, but not without making sure you know she’s going to suffer through it.” When another artist pointed out that she didn’t look good, the immediate reaction from one of the other artists present was that “Things don’t always look the way they are.”
Naturally, PM was in tears after the acro act and hasn’t done the show since.
What I consider the final word is that from the Director of Artists. She confirmed that the scans showed nothing, that nothing was wrong, and that P had what is known as cranial trauma, otherwise known as, she got hit in the head. I often wonder if the Director of Artists really believed the Parade. I mean, she did say PM could skip her act and the group acro number, but still had her do trapeze for a number of shows. At this point, the DA just keeps saying, if she just does nothing, it will heal faster. Which is probably true, but I can’t help but wonder if it’s not just the easiest way of avoiding the never ending Pity Parade.
All I know is that I’m over it. I’m over asking how she is and feeding the hunger for attention. Any time I have ever offered any kind of advice, solution, or alternative to one of her many problems, I was always met with a sad voice saying “No, that won’t work with me because [insert reason for being different/special/irreparable here]” She doesn’t want to get better. She wants someone to feel sorry for her and to smother her with attention. And I, for one, am done wasting my time and energy on that shit.
