There was a crime, and I was worried.
And I was always worried about an acrobat named Lorenzo.
He was my father, and he'd exercised every day until his slender body was covered with muscles. He was stuck in the bottom row of the pyramid, the acrobat supporting the other gymnasts who stood on his shoulders. More acrobats stood on their shoulders, and more on theirs … and then a clown knocked them all down.
Our circus high-wire star earned twice as much money as the acrobats. After two years of hard practice, my father still hadn't earned a spot on the high-wire team. He was stuck on the ground with the tumblers, performing each night in their routines without a break for three solid hours. Tonight I saw disappointment in his face as the spotlight focused high above him on a wire strung from the circus tent poles.
And that's when the crime happened.