Revenge of the Juggler

"Your angel here ripped off the juggler," a lady from the other side of the ever-widening crowd yelled. "Everybody saw it."

Soon, more witnesses stepped up and gave the same account, and every head within hearing range was nodding in agreement.

By now John Paul's face was turning red as he tried to explain himself, but the words were not there. "You do believe me, don't you mom?"

More and more folks were giving glowing testimonials for the wonderful juggler and words of condemnation for the brat. The festival director quickly switched sides and had his arm around the juggler, apologizing. At the same time, the mom's demeanor took a sharp turn from that of a wounded animal protecting its young, to a piranha about to devour its own. Embarrassed to be seen with their now-bawling friend, the kid's buddies slipped away as his mother grabbed him by an ear and lead him down the middle of Main Street. The boy was reduced to a quivering sob story; not a trace was left of the once boorish heckler. As the ten year old was swept away by a force greater than his own, he kept looking back through the crowd toward the juggler, wondering how everything had turned against him so suddenly.

Still holding the dollar bill in his hand, the juggler folded it lengthwise and propped it up on his nose. He balanced it there long enough for the retreating John Paul to get a good last look. Then he took a deep breath and blew straight up. The bill shot into the air like a paper airplane then fluttered to earth like an autumn leaf, finding its way into a little girl's hand.

"Okay," shouted the deputy, his thumbs tucked into his service belt, "show's over."





About me

This is me: home-writer, book-reader, dog-lover and occasional poet. I make this website to share my and my friends texts with You, dear Reader. Please: read carefully, don't be scary, upgrade your mood and be king and leave your comment. :)