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Every week he felt like he had to change his name and “face.”
He went through all of the popular names, Bozo, Pagliacci, Honk, Piero, Barun, etc. But those were other clown names, they didn't belong to him. He had went through all the popular motifs when he made his face paint. Stars, shapes, swirls, white face, Weary Willie, goth style, etc.
But all these faces never felt right. None of them belonged to him. He felt like a volatile concoction waiting to explode every second of every day. He had his face in his palms, crying, moaning out in pain when she walked in.
“Oh boy. What is it this time?”
He turned his head, there she was again. Celeste. Somehow she always knew when he was having an episode.
“Is this about the trapeze idea? Listen-”
“Don't say my name. Please. I don't…. I’m not him when I work, okay? I’m…”
“You’re not anybody most of the time. Last week you were Astro, the week before that, you were Pyro. A lot of ‘O’ names with you.”
He rubbed his head and rocked back and forth, attempting to self soothe. Celeste sighed. She walked forward into the dark tent, sat down on the cot next to him. She cleared her throat and said, “You didn't answer, ya know?”
“I just don't know who I am, what I wanna be, what I wanna do with my life…”
“So the same as last week and the week before that? Listen…”
Celeste patted her hand on his back, she knew he didn't like touch but there was a need to connect.
“Why are you here? In Coney? Huh?”
He stopped rocking back and forth and thought. His mother wanted him to become a nurse, his father never cared enough to ask about his dreams. He wanted to make people smile. He wanted people to remember him, he wanted to feel like he earned the right to breathe. That it was “okay” that he took up oxygen like everyone else. A lump in his throat formed as he opened his mouth, tears ruining his makeup.
“I want to make people happy, because if I am the reason they smile, it means I'm doing something good. Coney’s the best place to do that, I think.”
Celeste was silent. This was the routine they had, what she had with every carny in the circus. She let them all speak, and she always listened. Someone had to. After all, nobody cares about the freaks, they only come for the freakshow.
“But I can't do that, I can't make people happy if I'm sad all the time. I can't choose a face, I can't choose a voice, I can't choose a name. I hate every part of me and I can't even cover it up right.”
Celeste chuckled, giggled, laughed. He slowly turned his head to her, horrified that one of his closest confidants was laughing at him.
She wiped a tear away, “Everyone loves a sad clown. But you gotta get out there and show up. Not for the crowd, but for yourself.”
She knew he didn't like touch. She knew. But she found her arms wrapped around him anyway. Her cheek resting on the top of his head. When he was miserable like this, inconsolable, he felt like the kid brother she never had.
“The people out there don't care about who you are. They don't care about any of us. They're here for a show, buddy. And you've given them that ten times over, right?”
He kept sobbing, it was his turn to listen. He hated touch. It made his skin crawl. But not with her. She felt safe, warm, he didn't mind her.
“You train as hard as the rest of us. When Johnny’s back was hurt, you did the acrobatics with me, flipping through the air like fireworks. When Priscilla was being chased by the bull, you ran in there and got the attention off of her. You’ve proven yourself already. The crowd knows the Clown entertains. I know you're stronger and more capable than you give yourself credit for.”
She grabbed his nose off of his face, a red plastic little thing, and she put it on her nose. She squeezed it once, it honked.
“Look. I’m a clown.”
She put the nose on the tip of her horn.
“Now I'm a Unihorn!”
He smiled, laughed. It was a dumb joke, but it was a good one regardless.
“You see how easy that was? I changed from unicorn to unihorn because I wanted it. I made it happen. Who cares if you don't know who you are? You got all the time in the world to figure it out. The crowd doesn't care as long as you give them a show. And I don't care if you spend years with me and the rest of the carnies changing who you are every week. As long as you keep showing up? I’ll keep doing this showbiz with you.”
They weren't hugging anymore but they felt closer than ever. This bubble of love and familiarity is theirs and theirs alone for the time being. He never had a sister. She never had a brother.
But maybe family wasn't such a big nightmare after all. Not when there’s people like this waiting for you.
“I… I was thinkin’ maybe of being a human wrecking ball next week. We could have one of the animals behind a wall of cardboard boxes painted like bricks and I could swing in on a rope. Burst down the whole thing and let the animals ‘go crazy’. Maybe Juan could do that routine he likes where he dances with the lions?”
And this is what she liked about him. When he finally got out of his head, he had decent ideas. He was a good clown when he wasn't letting his past haunt him. It was in these moments that she thought if the Clown could get out of his shell, even a little, then she could show the world her true self.
“I was thinking too. A lot of us are looked down on because the world thinks we're freaks. What if I could make a wish where we’re all free to be who we want to be? There’s a ritual next week. Summon a god, get a wish. Sounds like a deal to me, you know?”
He got the worried look on his face again, immediately he grabbed her hands and begged.
“No! No no no! What if something happens? What if you get hurt?! I wanna do more shows with you! I wanna see more cities with you! You promised me we’d leave Coney and we’d all go somewhere exotic like Hawaii!”
It felt good. To be worried about. She kept smiling and said in that calm low register she saved for panicked moments like this, it's what cancelled at least thirty refunds and two lawsuits.
“What if I get hurt? Buddy, of course I'm gonna get hurt. That's just showbiz. You’re not a real performer until you break a leg, right?”
She got a cloth and wiped away his tears. The big crybaby.
“I’ll keep my promises. When have I ever broken them? Huh? Have I ever lied to you?”
“...no…”
“Aren't you tired of having to hide who you are? I know you haven't talked to your parents in years.”
“...yeah…”
She smoothed out his dyed red curly hair.
“Your make up is a mess.”
He slowly smiled again. The panic retreating back into the pit in his stomach.
“That's okay. I didn't like this face anyways… I was gonna try experimenting with impressions next show. I was gonna pretend to be that famous detective.”
He puffed out his chest, flexed the non existent muscle he had and mimed having a book.
“Reading? What's that? All I know is left book, left hook!”
They laughed. Hands that were never held now clutching onto friend and family alike. When the laughter died down, the clown looked into her eyes that seemed to sparkle in the dark.
“What if I went with you?”
She scoffed at first, shaking her head.
“Yeah? What if YOU get hurt? What're you even gonna do? Be my bodyguard?”
With no humor in his voice, he nodded his head, said, “Yeah. Why not? I did good as a rodeo clown for Priscilla, right?”
She smiled, fondly, sadly.
“But Buddy, this isn't a rodeo. It's a ritual.”
He shook his head now, his face determined even amongst the ruined make up and paint. He got up and focused what little magical power he had into loose abandoned balloons.
Quicker than a blink, the Clown made impromptu balloon armor and a gag revolver glowed with arcane sigils. He looked silly but his face was that of a soldier preparing for war.
“I can protect you. I can protect myself. You said I got time to figure myself out, right? I don't know who I wanna be tomorrow or next month or whatever. But I know that today, and next week for the ritual, I wanna be the guy who makes sure you get out alive. You promised Hawaii, boss.”
“I’m not your boss, Buddy. I’m your friend.”
“Then you know I can't let you die. I don't have too many of those… Friends… You know?”
She took off the balloon armor and she took the gag revolver from him. Putting those things to the side, she grabbed the nose off of her horn and she put it back on his nose. She squeezed. HONK.
“I know. Just don't forget, you're a clown. Our clown. If you're not there in Hawaii with me and the others drinking a cocktail, then I’m gonna tell everyone your clown name was Dumbo. Okay?”
“Okay.”
They hugged again. The fear making her soft before was now being transformed into a steel-like resolve. The ever constant anxiety inside of him being lessened by her touch. He had only ever felt his mother’s hands around his throat. His father couldn't even bear to touch him. Everyone’s hands felt like flame in a factory, toxic ash and burning. But not hers. She felt like what he imagined peace was like.
The tension melted away, the tears long gone by now, now there was only breathing. In. Out. In. Out.
Every week he changed who he was, name and face. None of it ever felt right, none of it ever felt like it belonged to him. But here in the dark tent, hugging the person who found him crying at a bus stop, homeless and cold, the Clown knew one thing for sure.
He belonged here. With the carnies, the freaks, the people who accepted him. He belonged with this new family, with her.
“I wouldn't mind Dumbo, I think.”
“Nah. Too late, I think I like Wrecking Ball more. What if we called you W.B?”
“I hate that.”
“We’ll work on it.”