I’d never met an actual circus announcer before.

I’d never met an actual circus announcer before. I wasn’t sure whether to believe him or not, but when I saw him standing there, with the spotlight falling on him, the cigarette smoke swirling around his tailcoats and the sawdust on the floor, I felt proud for him. I was glad he got to do what he wanted to do with his life. I saw him grab the overhead mic and his voice boomed into it.

“Sammy Joan, The Bearded LADY” he cries out as the opening processional marches around him. He announces the strong man, the acrobats, the elephants and lions. The clowns come by in their little cars and circle him. Everyone laughs as they stumble out of the tiny contraption, falling over each other in huge pratfalls. At last the laughter dies down and he holds the microphone out away from his face.

“Ladies and Gentleman,” he says and then takes a deep breath, “THE GREATEST SHOW ON EARTH!”

The spotlight dims and he drops his arms. As the light fades out I can see him light up a cigar and walk off into the darkness.

__________

Behind all of this, the doctors have given up on the crash cart and his heart monitor is making that steady loud whine that only means one thing. The attending doctor calls it. Time of death: 11:19 a.m. They slowly walk away from the table. A nurse pulls a sheet up and over his face. A new intern spots me behind the window that looks into the operating room.

“Hey,” he says, “You alright? You look like you just saw a ghost.”

“Every day,” I reply.

He doesn’t know what to make of my reply, whether I’m joking or not. I’m not. One of the older nurses grabs him and leads him away, explaining me to him as they toss their bloodied surgical aprons in the bio-hazard bin.

I’ve tried to explain death to them all before, that when you die you become the thing that you loved most about the world.

A hospital was both the ideal and worst choice for a person of my abilities.