The Big Top

What’s the difference between flirting and a joke? I’m not so sure I know the difference. Not when it comes to you. Both of them evoke similar emotions that make me feel uneasy. The feelings grow too big for my chest, like an overfilled balloon about to erupt with a loud bang, sending shards of colourful latex in all directions. I don’t think I flirted, not seriously, at least; it’s a joke. Boys will be boys, homies but no homo. Yet, the question, “Are you two together?” loomed over us like a wretched spectre, following every interaction, making me realize I’m not sure I know the difference between a joke and a flirt. Not with you, at least. 

Was it always this way? When did it change? It must’ve happened when my eyes were closed, my body sinking into the soft mattress where I longed for more than our inescapable game of cat and mouse. I must not have noticed; too busy trying to enjoy the circus for all its revelry. Distracted by the ringmaster’s cries and the chatter of others nearby. Shielding myself from getting scorched by the fire breathers that dared step too close. I would only half-heartedly draw back, daring the flames to lick my skin and leave their mark. I hadn’t even realized the words that usually dripped with droll had evolved into something more titillating.

Nothing about this is clear. A joke shouldn’t make my heart race or leave butterflies fluttering in my stomach. And it shouldn’t leave me staring at my popcorn ceiling in the depths of the night, attempting to read between the lines of our latest performance. You kissed me like it was slapstick, closed mouth and quick. Your lips were chapped, faintly tasting of tobacco and left over menthol lip balm while the chilled metal of my lip ring bumped against your flushed skin. I clung to every millisecond of that closeness, wishing I knew the difference between flirting and joking to understand what this meant. Though, in hindsight, I’m uncertain if you could distinguish between the two, either. 

The joke ends abruptly with utterings of our future life. We were sipping on cups of hot coffee while seated in the comfort of a shaded porch. Envisioning a life together that made both our lips curve into dreamy smiles. Hypothetical, of course. At least, at first. A scene being painted of our newest bit. I think this is where we began to notice the difference. The circus tent crumples as the beams give way, but we don’t try to escape. Instead, we seem resigned to suffocating under the heavy red and yellow canvas. I’m not sure if this was flirting, but I know for sure that it wasn’t a joke. There were no sly grins with waggling brows or raunchy solicitation that died the moment the words rolled off the tongue. Yet, the feeling is similar to when we joke or flirt; I’m not sure what we even do anymore. 

I still don’t know the difference between flirting and a joke, not when it comes to you. But, I think I know what this is. And I think you do too.