The Carpenter and the Clown
© 2011 by Payne
© 2011 by Payne
Spoiler
I was having some serious trouble staying within the word limit...
Matt Kellerman woke to an unusual sound. It wasn’t the normal noise of his alarm clock and his neighbor’s obnoxious music. It was music, and it was coming from his neighbor’s house, but it was one of his favorite songs. They’d never seen eye-to-eye on musical preference, but today seemed to be Matt’s lucky day.
He stayed in bed, eyes closed, until the song ended. Ah, man, gotta get to work…
Then he smiled; today, he was putting the finishing touches on a treehouse for the Smiths, who were away on vacation. It was a surprise for their son, and Matt was actually enjoying the work. It took him back to when he was a kid. He’d built his own treehouse out of scrap lumber and old carpet from the alley.
If he’d been able to build his ideal treehouse back then, it would have been a lot like the one he’d built over the past week.
Morris entered the shop, and was greeted by the bubbly young woman behind the counter. “Hi, Mr. Ashton. How are you?”
“Hey, Tiffany. I’m alright, just looking for some balloons.”
“Balloons…” Her face scrunched up in thought. “I think we have some in the back. I haven’t gotten around to putting them out yet. Hold on.”
She started to go into the back, but the door opened and another girl hurried in. “Tiff! Did you hear what happened?”
Tiffany stopped, looking at Morris. “I’m sorry, hang on a sec.” She turned to her friend, and started whispering.
“No problem.” Morris glanced at his watch, and started browsing the shelves. He’d only parked in the two-minute space, but he didn’t think it would take much longer…
“Text him right now!” Tiffany said shrilly to her friend. Biting her lip, she looked over at him again. “Just one more minute. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.” He smiled, though he was getting nervous. A minute had already passed.
Tiffany kept trying to walk away, but each time her friend would start talking. Finally, she said, “I’m sorry, Jen, I’ve gotta get back to work. Mr. Ashton is waiting…”
“Okay.” The girl caught sight of Morris, and her eyes went wide. She left quickly.
Tiffany came out with a box of balloons. “Going to work?” she asked cheerfully.
“Yeah.” He dug into the pocket of his clown suit, pulling out a twenty. “Keep the change!” He grabbed his purchase, ran outside, and found a police officer walking away from his car. The parking ticket was stuck under one of the wiper-blades. His already-crappy day was getting worse.
A woman was walking by with her little boy, who looked up at him curiously—then burst into tears. The woman scooped him up and hurried away.
Morris was used to this; he was a professional clown. He went to birthday parties, told some jokes, made some balloon
animals, etc. It was surprising how many people hated clowns, though.
The crappy day had started when he woke up to find that his dog had chewed up his wig. He had to drive for an hour trying to find a clown-supply store. Even then, he could only find a hideous purple wig, which smelled strange and was starting to make his head itch.
Matt painted the last windowsill, and sat down on the smooth wooden steps. It was a damn-fine treehouse, complete with shelves and a table in the middle of the floor.
He glanced across the street, where a couple of kids were coming out of the supermarket—the same one that had been there since he was a kid.
I wonder if they still have that magazine rack…
He jumped the treehouse steps and crossed the street. It was almost noon, so when he got there he grabbed a loaf of bread, a package of bologna, some mustard, and three bottles of chocolate milk to wash it all down. He hadn’t had a bologna sandwich since he was a kid, sitting in his shoddy treehouse.
Then he went back to the treehouse to enjoy the fruits of his labor.
Morris got to the house in full clown regalia—holding a package of balloons in one hand—and knocked on the door. No one answered. He tried again, then went around back, where there was a large treehouse and a swingset. A man was sitting in the treehouse, so Morris went over to him. “Where’re all the kids?”
“Uh…what?”
“Did you not hear me?” Morris demanded. “Did I stutter?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“If everybody’s planning to jump out and scare me, I’m gonna be pissed.”
“I don’t know—”
“That idiot probably gave me the wrong address,” Morris growled. “I just wasted ten minutes.”
The man snorted. “Not my fault.”
Morris glared at him. “You wanna come down here and say that?”
“Why don’t you come up here?”
Fuming, he clambered up and faced the man, who said, “I never liked clowns.”
That was the last straw. Morris punched him. However, the man hit him right back, making Morris’s bulbous red nose squeak on impact.
Matt regretted hitting the guy, but he couldn’t help it, caught up in memories of childhood fights in his old treehouse. “Sorry.”
The clown stood shakily. His red nose was askew, his real one was bleeding slightly, and his makeup was smeared with sweat. “Should be. But…I guess I shouldn’t have started it.”
“Yeah.”
They stood in silence for a minute, and Matt said the first thing that came to mind. “Hey, want a bologna sandwich? I’ve got the fixins…”
“Uh…what? Eh, I guess so?”
So they sat in the treehouse, eating sandwiches and drinking chocolate milk, reminiscing about childhood.
Good luck with writting more
