It was quiet in my van although I could hear muffled cheers coming from the tent. Right now the ringmaster would be giving his opening spiel, riling up the audience. It will be another hour or so before I get the sharp knock at my door, telling me to come to the back of the tent where I will wait, attempting to dry my sweaty palms on my tight black pants. Earlier today Mr Prasc, keeper of the monkeys asked if I was really going to attempt it. I said yes. Maybe it was the stupidest thing I've ever wanted to do but maybe, just maybe, I'll be able to pull it off. I feel sick just thinking about it so I reach for a distraction and meet a pack of cards and a watch.

I finish my game of solitaire in record time. Maybe tonight is the night for records. A muted roar from the tent. A year ago, I would've bet you $20 that it was the horses. Today I will just smile and tell you.

A dull knock on the door of the next van. It's the lions turn now. I'll hear the audience's silence as their keeper puts his head inside a lion's mouth and the children's screams as they roar. In reality their names are soft and gentle. Fluffy. Tootsies. Cotton. The audience won't ever know though – they will construct wild, dangerous names for each beast.

Only a few minutes left before that fateful knock. I change out of my tracksuit into the costume made for me with love from Mrs Mrip. It itches like crazy but no one will ever know. Anyway, this is the last time I'm going to wear it, unless I can pull this crazy stunt off. That's exactly what it is. Crazy. I'm beginning to doubt if I can do it.

Knock.

My heart explodes into life.

Knock.

The room is hot and stuffy. It's closing in on me.

Knock

I grab my shoes and burst out into the open air, drawing great breaths. The autumn 'nip in the air' hits my face full on and my lips feel dry. The skin on my face is stretched tight, feeling taut. I nod to the runner – a nice little boy called Jack. He's not very bright but he's a decent kid and does his job well.

"Are you alright?" I hear from the boy, most likely not for the first time. Another nod in his direction and I'm jogging over to the tent, my costume not doing very well to keep me warm. With every step I take the audience sounds louder. And louder. And Louder. I reach the back section and it takes willpower to avert my eyes from a stack of chairs in a corner. Walking past them, I sidle up to the crack between two sections of the curtain fabric and peek through.

The light is almost blinding, the noise is deafening. I can see a sliver of the ring; the clowns have the audience roaring with laughter. Their slapstick humour pleasing the crowd, the subtle inside jokes providing amusement for the circus folk.

They are nearing the end of their act – reduced to spraying the first few rows with water from the plastic flowers pinned to their overlarge, brightly coloured jumpsuits. I turn around, just for a second and see several people watching me. Their gaze is frightened, poorly hidden. My friends, no, my family. I know they believe in me.

My costume is driving me crazy just as I predicted, my hands feel like they're dripping, my stomach doing more flips than I can do. My heart is pounding twice, thrice the rate it should be. I'm trembling and I'm certain my face is white under the thick stage makeup.

I hear clapping, lots of loud, thunderous clapping. It's my turn now. I go over my act in my head yet again, trying to calm myself down. I know I can do it. The question is will I? No time to worry now.

As the clowns come out, pretending to trip over their novelty sized shoes, I share a grim grin with them. They understand and keep walking, knowing not to say anything, not to crack any jokes. They'd be walking on eggshells.

The ringmaster goes out. Says a few words, gets the anticipation levels up. I take a deep breath, wipe my hands one more time, gather my strength and bounce into the ring. The crowd goes wild. I should be tumbling around the ring by now but I've frozen. It's the most people that I've ever seen in this tent, way beyond the perimeters of full, almost at breaking point. We must be getting a lot of money from this show.

I start tumbling, flip after flip but that's not what they came for. They want the big stuff. Jumping and twisting, I try to build up the excitement but then I stop. Eyes wide. Motionless apart from the rising and falling of my chest, body sweaty. I motion for the ringmaster to bring in the chairs. The crowd cheer.

I balance on one, easily. Flip off it. Steady the second one. This is just a warm up. The next few fly by. I'm putting on the greatest show of my life. Up to chair number six. By this time, I've settled into performance personality. Wide grin. But when I think of what is to come it fades inside. Almost there. I'm balanced upon six chairs on my palms, still sweaty. I can hear the drum pounding from within the orchestra. Or is it my heart? The same pulse. Time slows; I can hear the audience chanting seven! Seven! Seven! I'll give them seven. Standing on six chairs. Climbing down. The chanting stops, nothing to be heard except the drum and my heart. I reach for the seventh chair and clamber back up the stack with agility that startles even me. Stand on the sixth. Balance on the seventh. I can visualise the excited faces. Climb up onto the seventh. Hands down. Feet in the air. The audience erupt, feeding my euphoria. If the trapeze is high, my head is higher. I did it. It had never been done before. The poster said seven. I did seven. The audience got what they were looking for tonight. My palms are still sweaty.