Cirque de Joie- Chapter XII.
Chapter XII.
The day was a cloudy one. The world seemed asleep; neither whistle of the wind nor the cry of a crow could be heard in the desolate streets Blaine travelled along, leather messenger bag full of fliers slung across his body.
It was unnerving, the world being so lifeless, especially after the last town they were in. Blaine knew how this town, so large it was almost a city, could light up with celebration and excitement, but at the moment the streets were barren and the buildings gray.
Blaine scuffed his converse on the pavement as he spotted a local barber shop. He could see activity inside; the whole front of the shop was a glass window so passerby could peer in and watch a man have his hair trimmed or his beard shaved off. Blaine looked at the swirling blue, white, and red stripes as he opened the door. A small bell dinged cheerily above his head. Unlike the streets the small shop was filled with sound: the radio in the corner broadcasting swinging bandstand music, the scrape of a razor being drug across a man’s cheek, the ‘shwishing’ of a pair of scissors as it sliced through hair, and the comfortable conversation between a man and his barber. Blaine softly cleared his throat. An old man who was trimming a small boy’s hair looked over his work, peering over his thin glasses with kind eyes.
“Can I help you?” he asked, looking down at the messenger bag, “You sellin’ somethin’?”
“No sir,” Blaine said politely, stepping forward. “I’m actually with the circus that’s in town and I was wondering if maybe I could hang a flier in your window.” The old man looked Blaine over for a moment, staring from his hazel eyes to his curly hair and back again before a smile widened across his wrinkled face.
“Blaine Anderson?” the old man asked, stepping out from behind the barber’s chair. “My you’ve grown! Where’ve you been boy?” Blaine shifted uncomfortably.
“You know where I’ve been Charlie,” Blaine said. The old man, Charlie, shrugged and his eyes softened. He stepped closer to Blaine.
“You’re parents miss you,” Charlie said with pleading eyes. “They want you home.” Blaine sighed and rubbed the back of his neck.
“I know,” he said. “But I’m not staying here. They know why I ran away and I’m not coming back to this place full of homophobes. I won’t stay where I’m not wanted.” Charlie sighed in defeat and held his hand out. Blaine pulled a colorful flier boasting “Cirque de Joie! The most wondrous circus performance in the States!” Charlie picked up a roll of tape and taped the flier to the window so that all who passed by would see it.
“I remember when I used to cut your hair,” chuckled Charlie. “You had a god-awful head of curls when you were little.” The corner of Blaine’s mouth twitched with the memory. It was a better time, when your peers didn’t care about who you liked, but only if you were going to share your 100 pack of crayons.
“They’d still like to see you though,” Charlie added after he taped the last corner to the glass. Blaine shrugged and turned to open the door.
“I haven’t gone to see them in four years,” Blaine said. “Every time the Cirque comes here, I can’t bring myself to do it.”
“Maybe this time,” Charlie said encouragingly, walking back to his work. Blaine looked over his shoulder.
“Yeah, maybe this time.” Blaine closed the door behind him, the cheery bell above his head sounding more mocking than happy. He started down the street once more, periodically stopping to tape a flier on a lamp post or bare wall. His head buzzed with memories of times he walked down these streets with his parents and times he was too afraid to because of kids from his school. He was suddenly glad the streets were empty, there was nobody there to call him a fag or push him against a wall. Then he thought of what happened to Kurt and he shivered, though the air was warm. Quickly he hustled down the street, hoping to find something to calm his mind.
Meanwhile, Kurt was in one of the most rigorous practice sessions of his life.
“C’mon Kurt!” Mike yelled. “Keep your arms straight! You were too limp during the last performance!” Kurt growled and tried to keep his arms outstretched as he gripped the silks. It was nearing one in the afternoon and they had been practicing since seven in the morning. He understood the need to practice before opening night in two days, but he also understood the need for a good night’s sleep.
“There you go!” Mike praised, clapping his hands together. “You can take a break now!” The Asian then turned to harp at Santana, who was too busy flirting with Brittany to actually practice. Kurt lowered himself down to the mat and grabbed a bottle of water. He walked over to one of the empty stands and sat on the metal bench. He quickly opened the bottle and gulped down the water, relishing how the liquid hydrated his parched throat. He capped the lid and pressed the bottle to his forehead, sighing at the coldness against his skin. Condensation from the bottle trickled down onto his face, but he was too tired to care if it ran into his eyes. He watched his fellow aerialists as they went through steps of the dance part of the routine.
Brittany was flawless as always, moving her body as easily as a snake. Santana mirrored Brittany’s movements with a lesser amount of grace but with much more sensuality. Together they created a yin and yang of beauty and foreboding. Mike nodded approvingly before Santana stepped wrong and they had to start over, Mike yelling counts as he clapped his hands. Kurt shook his head, trying to suppress his increasing headache. He decided the best way to get rid of his was to not think about it, and the best way to not think about it was to not think about the cause of it, so Kurt let his mind wander to less pressing things. Suddenly the gaze of warm hazel eyes came to mind and the touch of calloused fingers from years of playing guitar.
Kurt blushed and set the water bottle down, covering his face with his hands. He had to admit, he was forming a crush on Blaine, but he was embarrassed to admit it. He was afraid that if Blaine didn’t feel the same way then he’d lose the only one that really understands him. But he couldn’t help but smile at the gentle, intelligent way Blaine spoke or feel his heart leap whenever his name passed Blaine’s lips. Kurt thought then of Pavarotti, who was currently sitting on Kurt’s cot. Kurt had sat for a good while just holding the bird after Blaine had let him have it. He’d thought about his growing feelings for Blaine, how the boy listened to him when he confessed why he ran away from home. He had cradled Pavarotti against his chest when he laid down to sleep. He couldn’t help but feel as though he had some part of Blaine in that bird even though it was supposed to symbolize Kurt himself.
“Kurt!” Mike yelled, braking Kurt out of his musings. The pale boy groaned, slowly walking to Mike to continue his excruciating practice.
~*~
Blaine sat in a little coffee shop nursing a medium drip and a chocolate biscotti. He needed a little pick-me-up. Thankfully there wasn’t really anyone else in the shop which doubled as a bookstore and the only person working was an old lady who probably couldn’t remember where she parked her car this morning.
He absentmindedly dunked the biscotti in his coffee, barely tasting the chocolate as he nibbled on the end. He searched his mind of something, anything to think about. His mind wandered to eyes that couldn’t decide between green, blue or gray and skin that glowed under the spotlight.
Okay, Blaine liked Kurt, a lot. But he wasn’t sure of his feelings on a deeper level than friendship. Blaine had never had a boyfriend before and he honestly couldn’t tell what his feelings meant. He did know that Kurt was beautiful, and a diva, but most of all he knew that Kurt was a tortured soul like him. There was a connection between the two of them, an understanding. Suddenly, Blaine’s phone vibrated on the table.
“Yeah?” Blaine asked, pushing the answer button. He could hear Will’s laugh through the phone.
“Are you almost done?” Will asked. “We need you back here.” Blaine groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yeah, I just have one more street to hit then I’ll be right there,” he said. He heard Will make a noise similar to a “hmph”.
“Are you alright?” Will asked, genuinely concerned. Blaine bit his lips and stayed silent for a moment.
“Yeah,” he finally said. “Yeah, I’m just fine.”
“Then get moving!” Will exclaimed. “Time is of the essence!” And with that Will hung up the phone. Blaine shook his head and placed his phone in his pocket. He draped his messenger back over his shoulder and picked up his coffee, munching on his biscotti as he quietly slipped out the door.
The last street was easy, just lamp posts to plaster with fliers. Blaine quickly taped them up, biscotti hanging out of the corner of his mouth. As he bent down to pick up his coffee he’d placed on the ground he spied a familiar house down the street. His heart skipped a beat as he noticed a woman with dark hair outside tending to the rose bushes. He stood frozen for a moment when suddenly the woman turned around, eyes gazing to the boy standing awkwardly on the street corner. She seemed confused for a moment before her hand flew to her heart. Blaine sucked in his breath. He quickly turned around and almost sprinted down the street towards his truck.
He leapt into the driver’s side, heart pounding. As he pulled out of the parking space he saw the woman standing on the street corner holding his forgotten coffee cup with his first name scribbled onto the side. As he drove away he looked at her in his rearview mirror, his eyes stinging.
“Sorry, mom.”