fu clown
As they say, All in the telling, and here I’ve always skewed skeptically optimistic, daily reminded by glancing at the speed gauge, reading fully 130 mph. Never been that fast, and don’t think that lies within any realm of possibility, but nice to have the reassurance, nonetheless. Indebted to some anonymous assembly line worker with a kind heart or profound sense of (potentially) (violent) humor.
* * *
A Joke.
Once upon a time when I was a boy, my aunt and uncle took me to the Circus. Oh, my fascination with clowns. How when they look really happy, really they’re sad. When they really look sad, they’re really not. How they’re invariably evil and otherwise unemployable.
Imagine my elation when the spotlight shone upon me, and a happy clown approached me with a mic.
“Are you the horse’s head?” the clown asked.
“Well, no, I’m not.”
“THEN YOU MUST BE THE HORSE’S ASS!!!”
And the crowd, my aunt and uncle included, hurled their laughter at me. Humiliated, I knew that I would someday have to redeem myself in the eyes of this sad clown, already, at barely 8 years of age, presciently weary of lifelong vendettas.
For two and half decades, I wandered bitterly from one town to another, always seeking out that clown, seeing myself as the horse’s ass. Until the day of my revenge, having practiced and perfected my retort. As a child, I merely swallowed the invective, unable to re-gift the pill. But on our next meeting, I would be bringing Mickey Finn.
I’m lying down and the person lying with me shines the spotlight.
“Are you the horse’s head?”
“No, I’m not.”
“Then you must be the horse’s ass.”
I watch her fill with laughter like I’ve never seen in her before, laughter like 1,000 radiant children at 1,000 big top shows. And it’s time for my response. The one I’ve been saving up these 25 years.
“I’ve never been this happy in all my life.”