The Clown
/She enters an antiques store and wants to buy a painting of a clown. The old proprietor reveals why she can't buy it.
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She entered the antiques store and looked around. The old proprietor woke up as soon as the bell above the door jangled.
"Oh. Good afternoon, young lady. May I help you?"
"Just looking."
"Fine. Let me know if you need any help."
She started looking at the walls. She had enough furniture, but she needed something on the walls of her apartment in downtown Ashleyville, Ohio. She walked to the rear of the small, crowded store and spotted a large painting of a clown. He wasn't a scary clown, but he was definitely a sad clown. Sounds like an oxymoron, she thought, a sad clown. The colors in the painting were bright, but the frame was showing signs of age. She walked back to the front of the store.
"I like the painting of the clown that's hanging on the back wall. How much is it?"
He looked at her, and suddenly his eyes looked somehow familiar. "Not for sale."
"Then why is it hanging up on the wall with all the other items you're selling?"
"I like to look at it. Brings back memories." His eyes drifted toward the back wall.
Margaret looked from the clown to the old man.
"Is that you? Are you the clown? Is that why you don't want to sell it?"
He gave her a rueful smile. "That's right. I'm the clown. In more ways than one."
"Where were you a clown, and when?"
"Are you a reporter, or something?"
"No, I teach third grade. I just find it interesting that you used to be a clown and now you run an antiques store."
"Life is one long adventure. Even today, right now, I find I'm having an adventure. There I was, on a sunny summer morning, taking a nap, and you walk in and stir up memories."
"I'm sorry if you don't want them stirred up. I can look for another painting for my apartment."
"No, it's all right, young lady. I haven't told anyone about my days as a clown in a long time. Maybe it's time."
He closed his eyes and began. "When I was a kid, the circus would come to Ashleyville. I'd go down to the train station and watch them unload the animals and take them to the outskirts of town, to the fairgrounds, where they would set up a big tent. And I'd watch the performers, though when they came off the train I wouldn't know if they were clowns or trapeze artists or lion tamers or what. Of course, sometimes I could guess. And then I would go to the circus, the first night with my family and on the other days by myself. It wasn't hard for me to get a job cleaning up or fetching water, or doing other things. So during those days when the circus was in town, I would be there all the time. I really liked the clowns. I liked the little car they could pile into and out of and all their shenanigans. I decided I wanted to be a clown. I wanted to make people laugh. I wanted to take on a new identity. Truth be told, I wasn't that happy at home, and I wanted to get away from Ashleyville. It seemed too small, too boring."
"I like it here," Margaret said.
"I like it too. Now I like it. But when you're young, you sometimes look for those greener pastures."
"So you became a clown? What did your parents say?"
"I just ran away with the circus the summer after I finished high school. I never heard from my folks. Seems they were just as happy to see me go."
"Where did you travel to? All over the world?"
The old man laughed. "No, not all over the world. This wasn't the Ringling Brothers Circus. It was a small outfit, but a good one, in my opinion. We traveled all over Ohio and states nearby during the spring and summer, then we'd wend our way toward the south as the weather got colder up north."
"Who painted your picture?"
"One summer a young woman came to the circus with paints and brushes and easels. She was an art student and wanted to paint clowns. She said she liked clowns, and she could paint using lots of interesting colors. I posed for her in my full clown outfit and makeup. I'd look at her--she was pretty--the whole time. Well, I had to look at her, of course. But I wanted to. My, she was pretty."
"Sounds like you loved her."
The old man gazed at his portrait on the rear wall. "I did."
"Did anything come of it?"
"No. I was a clown. I don't think she wanted to fall in love with a clown. She just wanted to paint one."
"Did you try? Did you say anything?"
"No."
"Why not?"
I wasn't handsome. I was on the quiet side. Only when I was a clown was I outgoing. You see my problem?"
"Yes. I guess I do. You had two identities, and you didn't think she would want either one."
"Yes. Now if only I could have come up with a third identity. Maybe lion tamer."
"Why lion tamer?”
"The day after she finished painting my picture, she ran away with the lion tamer. Left all her stuff. That's how I got the painting."
"Really? You're not making this up?"
"You're pretty smart, young lady. Maybe I am, and maybe I'm not."
"I don't think you're making anything up. I think it's all true."
"Yes. It's true. Well, you can't buy my clown. Do you want anything else? I can give you a good price."
By Anita G. Gorman
From: United States
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