Max remembered being small.
He remembered thinking of his mother as a goddess, walking up in the clouds. He remembered holding his father's hand, tiny fingers barely enough to fully clasp and yet far too large to be a son of his age.
When will I be up there with Mum?
Soon, you need only to believe.
And believe Max did, because it had been the one thing given to him in kindness. Because if he was the work of a god, and not just science, than maybe, just maybe, he had some other purpose.
That moment, that half second when he jumped off the board before he started to fall, that was when he was closest the the clouds.
Max remembered his first performance.
Now just stand there and wait for the signal. Don't forget to smile!
And smile Max did. He had been so excited for that moment. He had practiced and prayed until he was too tired to bring himself to do either. Then the curtains had opened and the audience had gasped and gawked and clapped.
And in that moment Max had finally connected the dots and realized that no matter what he did, no matter how well he flipped or how high he dove, the real attraction was simply his existence.
Birthdays came and went and Max remembered the year he stood in front of the mirror with a stolen can of paint.
Come see the incredible! The one of a kind! There's nothing else like it!
Too small and too large and too loud and too quiet and never never what he was supposed to be. Always a blunder. But then again, what did anyone have to compare him to?
Every little broken standard and somehow Max had still been broken enough himself to love it. To love the attention, to love the bravado of it all, to love the gods and to love this place.
It wouldn't be until the third time he almost ran away that he learned to truly love himself.
But hey, cheers are still cheers.