Le Garçon en Caoutchouc

Ever since those faded pictures emerged from their family album – hazy images of slender figures bending into breathtaking shapes – Antoine couldn't think of another dream besides becoming a contortionist. His mother and grandmother had both found stardom with their grace, balance, and flexibility within the Parisian circus tent, but only a few cherished black-and-white photographs remained from those dazzling days.

"Mommy, can you teach me how to bend like this?" Antoine asked, pointing excitedly at the image of a teenage girl doing a breathtaking handstand, wrapping her legs around her head while sitting comfortably atop her own shoulders like a chair – all as though it were just another everyday thing. It was an almost impossibly beautiful pose, one that sent shivers down his spine. The young lady, none other than Antoine's own grandmother in her early years, smiled confidently from the worn photograph, as if daring him to try and match her impressive feat. "Please!"

Claire gently patted her son's back. "It takes practice," she said, although doubt lingered behind her eyes. In these days, contortion wasn't considered a particularly suitable career choice for a young man, especially when there were plenty of less precarious ways to make a living in Paris. She hugged her son's slender frame close and sighed softly. "You are a boy, my dear, how about trying something more fun like football or learning music?"

She could hardly believe her own stubbornness as she embraced Antoine's thin form. Seriously, a football player? How does this even make sense for a child so small and supple; at best he could manage to roll up into a ball himself than kicking one across the field! Claire had always known deep down that her son inherited his family's remarkable physical traits: an incredible elasticity, almost magical, just waiting to be honed into a skill worthy of display on stage lights.

Antoine was the second child, and when she gave birth, she expected a daughter until the last minute. When yet another boy arrived, tears filled her eyes because she knew she couldn't possibly bear another pregnancy with its grueling demands, exhaustion, and a total gamble as to whether she would eventually get her much desired little girl. Perhaps this line of contortionists had come to an end at last.

"You're a boy," she repeated like a prayer against the inevitable truth. "Boys are meant for other things."

As though sensing his mother's hesitancy, Antoine suddenly turned towards her grandmother, who sat patiently in her rocking chair next to the fireplace, mending a worn blanket.

"Grandma," he asked innocently, "Why can't boys become contortionists?" He gazed expectantly at the old lady whose eyes gleamed with mischief.

His grandmother, Marie, chuckled warm-heartedly. "Hmmm," she mused thoughtfully, her needle weaving an intricate pattern in the fabric of the blanket. "Well, back in my day, being a contortionist was considered unsuitable for young ladies. So of course, there weren't any girl contortionists in my father's troupe until I proved them wrong!" She winked playfully at Antoine as he sat up attentively.

"My father, your great grandfather, refused to teach me contortions because I was a girl! Back in my day, it wasn't considered proper for ladies to bend their bodies into strange shapes, so only boys did this kind of thing. But one day I took the scissors and chopped off my long locks. Then I walked up to him and said 'How about now? Still doesn't suit me?' And instead of getting mad, he just laughed and started teaching me all the tricks!"

Antoine giggled, trying to picture his grandmother with short hair standing defiantly before his great-grandfather. His mother, Claire, couldn't help but smile too. "Mother, you've never told me that story before," she said, surprised.

Grandmother Marie shrugged lightly. "Ah, life is full of surprises!" she winked at Claire before turning her attention back to her knitting needles. "And sometimes," she added mysteriously, "all it takes to change things is a little bit of courage."

Later that evening, after doing the dishes, Antoine found himself lying on his bed, staring up at the ceiling as his imagination began to run wild. He could almost feel the stretch and pull in his muscles as he imagined himself performing incredible feats of contortion. In his mind, he could easily fold himself like a paper crane and wrap his legs around himself, he could twist his neck just like an owl and spread his legs out wide like a pair of wings.

Claire peeked inside from the doorway, concern swirling in her eyes as she caught sight of Antoine lying on his belly and arching his back, throwing his head up trying to look behind him. She walked over and gently put her hand on his shoulder.

"Honey," she said softly, her voice laced with both concern and admiration. "You really want to do this?"

Antoine nodded excitedly, his youthful energy radiating through him. Claire took a deep breath and sat down beside him. She felt like she was in a dream but she wouldn't dare to pinch herself to wake up just yet. All she wanted now was for this dream to come true.

She took a firm hold of Antoine's shoulders. "First, we need to start with your breath. It will help you relax more and hold poses longer. If you don't know how to breathe properly, you'll get tired after fifteen minutes, but with proper breathing, you will be able to bend for hours a day and still have plenty of energy left!"

"I won't get tired," Antoine promised confidently. His eyes sparkled with excitement as everything he just daydreamed about suddenly seemed within reach, and he could not wait to start building his dreams into reality.

He inhaled deeply, letting go of tension as his mother pressed firmly on his shoulders, gently pushing him further and further into bliss. Then suddenly, he felt his hair brush against the back of his thighs! He grinned widely, almost losing his breath from surprise and joy, but then quickly calmed himself down, remembering how many amazing things were waiting for him if he kept doing it right.