Pop! – Suzanne Wacker
The French Festival was held every summer in the town square, even though no one who lived there had ever been to France. Everyone said bonjour and merci, tried to sing French songs, ate croissants, and admired the miniature Eiffel Tower.
The mime was there every year too. He dug his faded striped shirt and black pants from the bottom of the wardrobe, dusted off his red beret and painted his face white. He oiled the wheels on his little cart. Inside were two wooden handles joined by a loop of cord, and a bucket of soapy water.
On a sunny afternoon, the festival was in full swing. The can-can dancers had just finished their set to thunderous applause. People lifted their plastic flutes of champagne and cried, ‘Bravo!’.
In a corner, near the trellis of red, white and blue flowers, the mime set up his cart. He dipped the wand into the bucket and lifted it high. Rainbows flashed in the air.
A little girl in a red and white gingham dress giggled as she danced under the bubble.
Pop!
A boy of about twelve, wearing a striped shirt, red beret and scuffed shoes, smacked the bubble out of the sky. ‘Gotcha!’
Clutching his chest, the mime staggered backwards, his mouth open in horror. He shook a gloved finger.
The boy grinned.
Rolling his eyes, the mime dipped the wand into the water and lifted it slowly.
Another bubble began as a small globe.
‘It’s beautiful!’ the girl said.
Pop!
The boy jabbed the bubble with a dirty, jam-crusted finger.
The girl glared at him. ‘Stop it!’
‘Why?’
‘Because you’re ruining them.’
‘They’re only bubbles.’
The mime screwed his face into an exaggerated frown.
Watching him, the girl said, ‘He doesn’t like you.’
The boy smirked. ‘Yes, he does.’
The mime smiled. Dipped the wand into the bucket again. A bubble began to form, then expanded.
The girl held her hands out protectively. It was almost as big as she was.
Pop!
The girl was crying now. ‘Stop!’
The boy laughed.
Shaking his head, the mime held up his hands in a pleading gesture. Another dip. This time, the bubble was enormous. It shimmered in the afternoon sun as it grew bigger and bigger.
The boy reached up. His hand disappeared through the soapy surface. The bubble closed around him and his feet lifted from the ground. ‘Hey!’ He pounded at the walls. This time, the bubble didn’t break.
Over the tops of the marquees, the bubble and the boy floated away. The girl watched until it disappeared.
The mime doubled over with silent laughter.
Looking up at the empty sky, the girl said, ‘I told him you didn’t like him.’
Right Left Write’s July prompt was Melodrama. New prompts are announced monthly February-November in QWC’s Pen & Pixel email newsletter.
Find out more about Right Left Write at www.queenslandwriters.org.au/rightleftwrite.