The Klown by Tom Fynes

 

I never liked him. He was always bigger and better than me. 

Better makeup than me. Those garish red ruby lips. Those long squeaking shoes.

The rubes loved him. 

The Big Top came alive as he tumbled around. 

Throwing buckets of cold water over me and Micha.

She was in love with him. Never once looked at me. Her skimpy ballerina outfit. Legs going on forever. Balanced on her snow-white steed, then falling off into his arms. It made me sick. 

Happy was the centre of all our Circus advertising campaigns. 

His on off relationship with Micha filled the Circus newsletter gossip columns.

I was never looked at as anything but his foil. 

Bozo, the ever falling down clown. 

Happy got all the punch lines, and I just got the punch.

Oh how I hated and despised him. He walked among the rubes, invisible without his clown makeup.

With his gaudy uniform on, he was Hollywood box office. King of the hill. A number one. Top of the heap. And that garish red lipstick. 

I longed to take a sharp barber’s razor to his mouth, and open him up. 

Give him, ‘The Glasgow Smile.’ 

Then we’d see who’s laughing last.

His fall from the highwire was trained to perfection. He was an artist, tumbling down from a great height. 

Hitting the safety net, then bouncing out and onto the sawdust floor. 

In time to throw a bucket of cold water over me. 

The rubes loved it. Got the big laughs. 

Then he was sweeping up the beautiful Micha, and galloping out of the Big Top, on Starfire the wonder horse. To thunderous applause.

But this time, someone screwed up. The safety net was somehow loose. 

Happy's plunge down to Earth, was brought to a sudden stop by the sawdust covered cement floor. 

Every bone in his body was pulverised. He was rushed away by the Circus roustabouts. The rubes were shook up, just for a brief moment. Until I continued the performance, and swept Micha up on Starfire and galloped out of the arena. 

Believing it was all part of the act; the rubes went mad and stood and clapped.

Happy was dead by the time they got him to the hospital.

We all said our prayers, burned him and scattered his ashes, on the Big Top sawdust floor he loved so well. Then we packed up the Big Top, and left that nameless town far behind.

The show must go on.

Micha cried a lot. I pretended to care. 

An investigation said the safety net was not secured properly. The cops could not pin the blame on anyone. Procedures were tightened up. 

The show must go on.

The Circus Director had me in his trailer office next day. 

He said they were hiring a new Bozo.

"And what about me," I said.

"You’ll just have to step up to the plate. The top job is yours."

I started smiling, as it was only then I realised, that makes me, Happy, now.