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The sounds of rainfall mixed in with the clicks and clacks of wheels traveling on tracks were basically the main thing anyone could hear in any train car, unless others were talking amongst themselves to distract from that and (from what could be seen by smaller eyes) the downright downcast gray view outside. And why would they not want to? After all, nobody thought that they would live to see the Big Top fall. And they all knew who to put the blame on, too, and it wasn’t the ringmaster.
No, the blame was placed on the little elephant that ran out of his little tent, tripped on his enormous ears on the springboard, was propelled forward from said springboard to the elephant pyramid situated on a small ball, and caused the chain reaction that ended with the entire tent falling around those who were unfortunate enough to have been trapped inside.
And Dumbo, that very elephant, was slouched and facing away from a pair of sympathetic ears (and whiskers and a tail). However, Timothy wasn’t entirely sure how to put a positive spin on their situation, but he knew he had to try.
The mouse took off his circus hat, checking to see if there was a hidden peanut on standby (just in case) before approaching the infant elephant’s side. “Dumbo, hey,” he whispered, “got a minute?”
A fold in the mass of gray lifted to reveal a blue eye that threatened to turn reddish from tears. After a sniffle and unwrapping himself from the cover of his ears, Dumbo nodded.
That was all Timothy needed to smile at that moment. “Good. Listen, lil’ fella, I know it was rough back there –“ a gross understatement “– but for what it’s worth, ya did great. I thought so, at least. An’ hey, at least you came outta it all right. I was worried sick about ya for a moment there.”
The elephant looked like he didn’t know how to take it, instead lowering himself down to the ground to see his only friend better as he continued to speak.
“Yeah, an’ I bet that if people really thought about it, they’d’ve liked what you were tryin’ ta do. Besides, it was the last show of the week, anyway. Kind of an interestin’ note to leave on.” That was how Timothy had swayed the ringmaster to plan it, after all. At least the circus workers didn’t have to take down the tent afterwards.
Dumbo turned his gaze elsewhere, still sorry from the events. His expression nearly broke Timothy’s heart. He knew the elephant didn’t mean to ruin so much; the poor kid was just nervous to go on. And had a pin to push him along to, heh, actually make him go out there in the first place…
The rodent shook off that thought for now. “Hey, look kiddo,” he started, walking within Dumbo’s gaze, “anyone can go ta pieces when the chips are down…” He jumped, turning to face Dumbo with a confident expression on his face. “But it’s the people who smile in the face of advoirsity that’s got the stuff! An’ I know beyond a doubt that you’ve got that stuff!”
That small gesture caused a small, shaky grin to form on the elephant’s face. Timothy chuckled. “Yeah, that’s it.”
Suddenly, a bolt of lightening flashed outside and thunder roared, bringing the conversation to a sudden halt. When Timothy gathered himself from the little stumble into the hay and looked back over at Dumbo, he was wrapped up in his ears again. So much for smiling in the face of adversity…
Out of the only opening in the cart, Timothy could only see dark gray. “Gettin’ a bit late, ain’t it?” he noted, looking back at the peeking little elephant. “It’s all roight, only a little rain. It’ll be better by tomorrow. Why don’t we get some shut-eye?”
Dumbo moved his ears, attempting to wrap them around himself again before stopping that altogether, choosing to situate himself in a hay pile instead. Fortunately, Timothy saw what he was trying to do and assisted the young elephant in making a makeshift blanket out of his ears, making sure that he was nice and cozy before hopping back to the train car floor.
Before the mouse could leave, however, a small squeak sounded, causing him to turn back to his friend. “What’s the matter, little guy? Not sleepy yet?”
Dumbo shook his head.
“Oh. Well, whaddaya need? Water? A story? Maybe a song?”
A vigorous nod.
“Ah, I gotcha.” Timothy wasn’t much of a singer himself, but if a lullaby what Dumbo needed, he’d give it a shot. “All right, I think I know a tune.” Taking a deep breath, he softly began to sing.
La la lu, La la lu
Oh, my little star sweeper
I'll sweep the stardust for you
La la lu, La la lu
Little soft fluffy sleeper
Here comes a pink cloud for you
La la lu, La la lu
Little wandering angel
Fold up your wings close your eyes
La la lu, La la lu
And may love be your keeper
La la lu, La la lu, La la lu…
Finally, the infant’s blue eyes were closed, and a soft snoring was coming from him. Timothy quietly snuck away. He almost couldn’t believe that the song worked.
With Dumbo now asleep, it was only the mouse that was awake with only his own thoughts to keep him up. Unfortunately, most of the thoughts weren’t as happy as the mood he was trying to create earlier.
First and foremost was one very important detail that he had forgot to tell Dumbo: Timothy had overheard the ringmaster say that he would be making Dumbo work with the clowns from now on. The clowns! No one should have to work with those loud, boisterous, all-around unpleasant behind-the-scenes people Timothy knew of in this organization. Judging from one point in time when the mouse had found wine bottles lying around their tent, the group wouldn’t be a very good influence for the little guy.
“Workin’ with clowns,” Timothy muttered to himself, not happy about the decision himself. “Sheesh! Those bozos wouldn’t know when ta stop if it was t’ree feet in front of ‘em.” Socially, they all seemed to be washed up except amongst themselves. The little mouse feared that Dumbo was going to be lumped into that same category pretty soon, no questions asked.
But Dumbo shouldn’t have to go through that.
Taking another glance at the sleeping elephant, the rodent sighed. He knew very well that the kid didn’t deserve anything that had been happening to him. First the other elephants had made fun of him for his ears, then his mother was locked away for trying to protect him against some bratty kid, and now he was going to be a clown because… because…
Timothy slumped down at the foot of a pile of hay until he was sitting on the slightly shaky car’s floor. It seemed to be time to face the music. No use beating around the figurative bush with himself anymore.
It was because of him. He was to blame for everything.
Sure, he might fool others a bit and maybe even buy into the lie himself, but this was too big of a glaring truth to ignore. If he didn’t use that stupid pin that he felt like he had to carry around everywhere (for protection, he had reasoned with himself) on Dumbo to make him go out on his cue, the tent wouldn’t have fallen down, Dumbo wouldn’t be a clown, and this whole mess wouldn’t have happened.
Timothy felt like an idiot. He knew that someone had to be there for Dumbo. The little guy was just a baby! How was he supposed to make it in the world? And yet this was where Timothy had led them. The kid had every right not to trust him after all that happened, but he did anyway. Why? Was it because Timothy was quite possibly his only friend at this point? Was it the hope for a better tomorrow that the mouse seemed to have placed in the elephant’s heart and mind? Was it because Timothy just had to defend any one that was down on his luck at this point?
Leaning back into the hay, the mouse rubbed his temples. “I’ve gone way too soft,” he whispered to himself. “This hardly would’ve happened back in Brooklyn…”
A gloved hand traced the part of his coat where he kept the pin hidden. After a while, Timothy reached under his coat to pull it out, take a good long look at it, and then toss it to the side. He felt sick to his stomach just looking at the thing.
Nothing seemed right anymore. Not now, and certainly not when he first joined the circus. He could see that now. He was too hopeful, almost naïve, but he also seemed to have this strong sense of optimism which… well, quite honestly, he never thought of why he had that strong sense of optimism in the first place. Maybe it was the American Dream, the one that said that any one, even a poor young mouse in the slums of Brooklyn, could rise up and make a better life for themselves if they tried hard enough.
Either Timothy wasn’t trying hard enough, or that dream was slipping away with each passing day. Time had made him almost cynical of the world around him. Call it a sort of coping mechanism, but it worked for him.
But being a cynic wasn’t going to help Dumbo out.
Closing his eyes, Timothy gave one final sigh before setting in. He knew it was a bit too late to make his own life better now. “I gotta make sure things go right… for him…”