Peter looked at the wine sloshing in the glass, his hands
rested on the table. It was as if his body wanted to reach for the drink, but
his heart and mind wouldn’t work towards the goal. His face felt sticky and dry
from the clown makeup. It always did, he could feel the thick paste begin to
crack until the pressure of time and the wind.
“Peter.”
He heard his name, above all the sound, he heard his name.
Above the clatter of the silverware, above the mundane prerecorded voices of
the customers, above the suffocating hum of normality, he heard his name.
“Peter, are you listening?”
He glanced upward, he could feel the waitress’s eyes gnawing
at the back of his painted skull.
“Peter, we don’t like this sort of thing, you know? It doesn’t
give us pleasure.”
“I know.” His own voice sounded bizarre now, he hadn’t used
it in what felt like forever.
The other man, dressed in dark clothes and a black beret,
pulled some cigarettes from his pocket. It was about time. He’d been smoking
and blowing the white clouds into Peter’s face for at least ten minutes now, “What
one?” That was the first thing he'd said and the last thing he was going to say.
Peter nodded, placing the little tube in his mouth and
letting it dangle there. He never actually lit it.
The first man, a bright bald spot glimmering in the pale glow
from the restaurant, went right on talking, “It’s just that people don’t like
clowns anymore. You know? You’re scaring people around here. The kids start
crying whenever you come around.”
“I just wanted to make people happy.” The words seemed to
grind against his throat, like claws scraping their way up to his tongue.
Bald Spot tipped his head, “And that’s very admirable of
you. You know, I admire your selflessness.”
“I needed this job. My landlord is going to evict me.”
Bald Spot shifted in his chair, a look of discomfort
landing on his face, “Come on, really Peter. You know that isn’t fair.”
He forced his head to bobble up and down, “Yes. Sorry sir.”
Bald Spot sighed, “Now, we’re willing to give you three weeks’
pay, I really think that we’re being more than generous. You know?”
Peter scoffed under his breath. What exactly did he know?
“Yes, sir.”
Bald Spot said nothing more. And the man with the ever
shrinking cigarette said nothing more. And Peter said nothing more.
The place quieted, and went dark.
They fired him for always wearing a clown costume. Aaww, poor guy! Granted, it is creepy, but his intentions weren't bad so awww. I love this part: "He heard his name, above all the sound, he heard his name. Above the clatter of the silverware, above the mundane prerecorded voices of the customers, above the suffocating hum of normality, he heard his name." Good grief that's awesome imagery, I'm practically there. I always love stories of people who go outside the norms of society, so this was great! Awesome job!
ReplyDeleteLike Katie, I was also drawn to lines about "the suffocating hum of normality," and the way you set the scene with that description. I like the lines about the man never lighting his cigarette and your use of dialogue and the way the poor clown has little to say, resigned to his fate. A sad tale...
ReplyDelete