How Else to Spend a Friday?

July 10th

Leaning against the wall on Swanston and listening to the boys busk, I cast an eye out for Tisi.

Earlier at work, I had been hunting for some excitement and adventure for later, but from what I could gather, there wasn't much happening. Jezza sent a message that he and Michael were playing in the city should the weather hold out; the plan was to have a drink after. Shortly after, a message from Tisi asking about the night's activities. Clearly, I wasn't the only one itching for fun.

Tisi comes bounding up, big smile.
"The guys just got a circus-mobile to go to the desert. Wanna come for some lappies?"

[Lappies is bogan-speak for cruising around the city.]

Tisi is a circus performer, specializing in aerial acts. Over a month ago, she was offered a phenomenal gig: a cultural exchange with a group of circus performers involving a 3-week residency in an indigenous community in central Australia. The group would be driving there and back, an epic journey in itself.
When she initially found out, we flirted with the possibility of me flying out to join in for the return trip and various permutations of that general concept. But more than anything serious, it was far-fetched scheming over morning tea, attempted consolation for our imminent separation.

***

"There they are!"
The guys pull up in an old-style ambulance covered with ladders, a sparkly orange-red paint job, purchased as-is for a couple thousand dollars. I hop into the front seat beside Mort, while Tim and Tisi are in the back, talking through how to outfit it to accommodate everyone. I've met Tim before -- a highly animated, exuberant acrobat of many years -- but never Mort, who's coordinating the project. Neatly trimmed grey beard, dark eyes, straw fedora, oversized peach sweater, and wearing a string of malas around his neck, he has the air of a distinguished former hippie. [Kate recently asked me how circus folk differ from hippies. My conclusion: they're very similar, but circus people don't smell. Or more aptly, they don't smell like hippies.]

A few laps through the main streets of Melbourne, then it's over to the Circus Oz tent. The evening's performance will have just finished and the guys want to catch up with everyone for the post-show schmooze & mingle. Mort takes the ambulance onto the festival grounds, just able to squeeze through the posts that are no doubt in place to prevent vehicle entry and parks beneath the large Ferris wheel. Tisi, ever the diplomat, saunters over to the guys manning the ride and, subtly implying direct affiliation with Circus Oz, asks if it's OK to leave the car there.
"No skin off our nose, luv."

***

Inside the tent, Tisi tracks down someone she knows and succeeds in getting us wine at the performers' significantly discounted rate.

After a little mingling and a little wine, Tisi turns to Mort, "You know, Ali is a fantastic contemporary dancer and experienced performer. She should really come with us to the desert."
"That's right! I am. I... I should!"
Mort gives me a hard look, nodding slightly. "Hmm..."

That was all the encouragement needed. Tisi and I launch into an exhaustive list of every potentially useful skill and experience in my repertoire, including fluency in French and an ability to ride horses. Back and forth we go, an overwhelming barrage of she-can-do-this and I've-done-that-before.

Pause.
Another hard look.
"Can you play the accordion?"
"No. No yet. But I can learn."
Pause.
"You should learn the accordion for your act."
"My old housemate had two and this one time, he had friends over for a jam and 'cause I couldn't play anything other than piano, but there wasn't a piano, he gave me the accordion 'cause it has keys, so I have played one before, but not very well. It's loud, you know? And there's this amazing dancer in Toronto that I'm friends with and she has this accordion band called Hell's Bellows. Isn't that a great name?!" Please please please.

"So. What d'ya think, Mort?" asks Tisi, one hand on her hip, plastic glass of red wine in the other.

Mort nods. "I'll have to talk to Tim and there's really no money in the budget, but yes. Yes, I think so."

***

Tisi is describing the circus-mobile to Rocky, aerialist extraordinaire.
Rocky: "Why does it have ladders?"
Mort: "To go up. Even I know that."

Somehow, we manage to be among the last ones there, shuffling out with the other stragglers.
On the way to the car, Tim muses contentedly on the evening's events. "I got numerous hugs off Ellie tonight. That was cool."

***

Before noon the following day, Tisi has located an accordion (melodian, for accuracy's sake). The day after, she says it seems that Mort is serious about taking me. He likes my energy, is amused by how Tisi and I play off each other, and believes the appearance of the accordion is a sign. Even if it's a melodian.

A week later, talking to Mort on the phone, he tells me that if I cause any trouble, any cause for concern, he will kill me. "I'm not even kidding: any trouble, I will strangle you and leave you on the side of the road. Got it?"

The next day, Tisi is informed that her beloved -- me -- is in.

***

I will be going to Warburton, one of the remotest indigenous communities in Australia. A 10-hour drive from Alice Springs, in Western Australia near the borders of South Australia and the Northern Territory, this is where the last of the tribal Aboriginals lived. In the 1930's, when 3 white men walked out of the desert and into this community, they were the first white people ever seen in Warburton.

I'm running away with the circus to the desert.

I can't wait.