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Jojo couldn't have lost his job at with the circus at a worse time, not with his wife Karabeth and he expecting their first clownchild. CAUTION: Contains literary use of mild profanity.
Fiction
Fantasy
“I’m afraid I’m going to have to let both of you go,” Garston Ford the circus owner said after the last night’s show in Lincoln, Nebraska.
Jojo stood in front of the owner in the makeshift management tent, his head downcast, his eyes welling up. He knew that this had been coming, but it still didn’t make it any easier. “Isn’t there something we can work out so we can stay on?” Jojo asked.
“I’m afraid not,” the owner said. “I realize that your wife is with clownchild, but I hired you as a duo.” He was sitting behind a folding table that served as his desk, trying not to make eye contact with his employee, or rather, former employee. Ford cleared his throat. “I know you’ve been doing your damnedest to cover for her, but I’m a business man. . . .” His words trailed off.
Jojo searched through his fatigue-rattled brain for something to say that might change the man’s mind, but came up empty. “Then what should we do?” he asked. “Where can we go?”
After a moment Ford finally looked up. “Listen, we’re not the only circus on tour right now. I know it’s near the end of the season, but there are a few shows still on the road. Maybe you can find something before winter sets in.” Ford reached in his pocket and pulled out a fat roll of bills, peeled off six twenties, the pay Jojo had coming. After deliberation, he tossed an extra twenty in the pile. Severance pay. “Truly, Jojo, I am sorry.” The only thing Garston Ford was ever sorry for was poor gate receipts.
Jojo mumbled something resembling thanks as he scooped up the seven bills. He wasn’t really angry with Ford; the man had a business to run. But still, what was he going to do? As he lifted up the tent flap to let himself out, the owner said, “Best of luck to you and yours.” The empty words disappeared as Jojo stepped out into the misty, damp evening.
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