BEING HIS GYMNAST

The bright white lights above me cast an eerie shaft of illumination across the stage.

I feel swept up in the magic of the theater, the drama of the great

scarlet curtains drawn back with golden tassels.

The glossy but well-worn wooden planks of the stage creak ever so softly beneath me with every soft step.

Every mottled whorl of the wood is a new texture on the sensitive bottoms of my feet, barely softened by my flexible acro shoes that feel more like socks.

The ceilings overhead are vaulted to such a lofty height that it’s more of a sky than a ceiling. I can hardly...