Cannonball by Alex Selby
Cannonball
I had never met anybody like Frank Zumpano before. His dating profile immediately stood out: this was a handsome man who had traveled the world. The most intriguing thing on his profile, however, was his job. He was a human cannonball.
During our first date, I was surprised by how reserved he was. He listened intently to everything I said with moments of unbroken eye contact. His eyes were piercing but tired.
On our second date, Frank explained that he came from a long line of human cannonballs. He’d grown up in circuses, never really struck around in one place and the only relationships he’d had were with other performers. He warned about the perils of dating contortionists: ‘they can maneuver around any problem…even when it’s their fault!’
At the end of the date, I moved in to kiss Frank but he moved away.
‘I’m sorry,’ he started. ‘I’d just like to take things slow. I know too well the feeling of soaring heights and crashing lows.’
One evening after we’d been seeing each other for a couple of weeks, I remarked that he was a lot gentler than I initially expected. ‘Gentle?’ he enquired. I explained that when I saw his profile, I expected some extreme-X-Sports-Monster Energy-drinking-type.
He looked at me and then out the window.
‘For a long time I played up that stuntman angle of my life, but it was a form of deception, and I was sick of lying to people, lying to myself and lying to the audience’
‘Lying to the audience?’
‘There’s no gunpowder inside the cannon; it’s all air pressure. The smoke is lit outside for dramatic effect.’
He rested his head on my chest.
‘You know what is the most important part of the whole act?’ he asked
‘No.’
‘The safety net. It has to be the exact right size, at the exact right time and the exact right place,’ he said before pecking me on the cheek.
It would have been really nice if Frank and I were the exact right fit for each other, but after a couple of months the sheen of Frank began to wear off, and the cracks in our relationship began to emerge. He was always away performing, and when he was around, he didn’t feel present. It was like the cannonball act was draining all the energy out of him, the adrenaline overclocking his emotions so there was nothing left for him to feel when he was with me.
We’d get into one sided arguments where I’d lose my patience with him, and he would immediately fold, turning to self flagellation before lashing out at the world. He’d groan that nobody wanted to see the human cannonball act anymore, young people were too addicted to their phones now and it was too late for him to change his career path. I’d be goaded away from the argument, from my own feelings, in order to console him.
When I lost my job at the research lab, Frank started off consolatory before somehow making it about himself again, how if he lost his job, he’d be screwed as his skills weren’t transferrable. In these conversations I began to realize that though he would never admit it, Frank was entirely self-centred, and who could blame him? He was used to being the centre of attention; it’s where he felt comfortable, soaring above everybody in the air, everybody else just a speck in the distance.
I was old enough to realize that time is finite, and you can’t make somebody change if they don’t want to change. So, I decided to break up.
We met at an Italian restaurant by the beach where I ordered some meatball bolognese that I knew I would barely eat, instead nervously prodding it with a fork, something to distract me from the awkwardness of a confrontational conversation.
Frank looked at me from across the table.
‘What are we doing here?’ he enquired bluntly. We were both old enough to understand the implications of the ‘we need to talk’ text I’d sent.
‘I don’t know what to say Frank, but I don’t feel like there’s any spark between us anymore,’ I said.
‘Oh, so you want to break up? We’re not going to work on this?’ he said, his face turning red. I poked a meatball with my fork.
‘I don’t think there’s anything left to work on.’
‘Of course you’d think that, the excitement of the human cannonball has worn off and now you can’t handle something real.’ he said, spit flying from his mouth. I looked at Frank, said nothing, and thought about how attractive he had seemed on his profile those months ago. How gentle he had seemed when we first met.
‘I know a little something about sparks, it’s a big part of my job. It being the thing that ignites the cannon, you know?’ he said, running his hands through his hair.
I was embarrassed with myself that I had once found this man’s cannon analogies charming.
‘You’re seeing someone else aren’t you?’ he continued, working himself up.
I was so taken aback, I couldn’t help but scoff.
‘Yes, I’m seeing a lion tamer, Frank.’ I replied.
‘I don’t find that funny.’
‘I’m not sure you find anything funny.’
‘So you find me boring?’
I shrugged.
‘I literally shoot myself out of a cannon.. I’ve done it over two Ferris wheels. You worked at a chemist.’ he said, furiously punctuating his words with points in my direction.
‘I worked at a pharmaceutical research lab. You’d know that if you listened to anything I had to say.’
‘I overshot again, missed the target, picked the wrong safety net,’ he grumbled to himself.
‘Enough clumsy cannonball metaphors,’ I said, genuinely annoyed, ‘besides if you missed the mark from a cannon, you would die. You’re not going to die Frank; you’ll be okay. You’ll still be a total self-centred dick, but you’ll be okay.’
Frank fell silent.
‘You’re right, there’s other fish in the sea,’ he said solemnly before rising from his seat, head down, and taking himself outside. In our months of dating that was the first time I had heard him use figurative language that didn’t directly connect to his line of work.
It took me a moment to see the small crowd forming outside the restaurant, to see this man who had been a stranger a few months ago, pull himself up and into the cannon. Men had come in and out of my life but never like this.
Frank Zumpano shot himself out of the cannon and out of my life.
He soared into the air and fell into the ocean with a big splash. It was the first time I’d seen him perform live, and truth be told, it was beautiful. He looked like an angel up there.
The crowd clapped and I was left to pay the bill.
Asshole.
You can find more from Alex on Substack and Letterboxd!
