The clown was a girl, but nobody knew. The circus manager never bothered to inquire, to ask whether the urinals needed to be replaced. The dancing troupe never bothered to inquire, they gossiped among themselves, content with picking lint off their synthetically bright costumes. The other clowns never bothered to inquire, they were much too interested in rehearsing their lines and dance moves. The audience never inquired-clowns were acted by men.
The clown sat in front of her mirror, gently massaging white liquid-paste into her face. Her pores had to fully absorb the white particles, and the excess glump was wiped off with a bleached piece of cloth. The makeup pencil millimeters thicker than a marker, she drew over her fair brows. The brows must be long and flat, and coasted off the natural structure of her brow bone. After a clear lubricant was applied to her lips, she sprinkled on bright red powder. She couldn’t use the Maybelline Sensual Cherry that her sister used everyday-it would be too shiny, too feminine, and too beautiful. She was, after all, to take the character of a clown.
It was almost 2 o’clock, and groups of people bored by the mundanely systematic way of life started to fill in the audience seats. A dark woman with unsightly lumps of flesh pulled along a little boy, both of his hands already greasy from the bucket of popcorn his mother carried. Two teenagers matching in their black unlaced Doc Marten boots walked to the backseats with their arms enveloped around the other’s lower middle. The girl’s hair was a spectrum of oranges and browns, and she brushed through the fiery mess with her hand, bejeweled with silver studs and gold animal heads. The boy’s eyes were not visible, for he was wearing reflective aviator shades, and he kept them on the girl anyway. Two cigarettes peeked out from his worn jean pockets. There were also two middle age men, in their elegant suits and neat side parted hair. They talked contentedly with each other, oblivious to how out of place their appearance and demeanor seemed.
The clown heard the swelling hubbub from her dressing room, but the smooth, overly reflective walls prevented her from catching any complete conversation. She finished the red cherry print on the nose and twisted the wig into place. It was thick, to cover the bulging bun of hair on the back. The clown walked slowly to the closed curtains, standing still right behind the crack. As the curtains rolled open, she leapt out into the stage.
Two hours later, the show was over. Late into the afternoon, the sky muted into a grayer blue, and outside cacophony faded into a mellifluous tune of bicycle bells and good byes from all over. The audience members, satiated from the monotony of their daily lives, left their seats content, emotionally rejuvenated, and ready for another week of ennui-until the next performance.
The clown was already washing off the white cream that had already caked on her face, and wiping off her red lips. Her male counterparts had already went home, but she had to find a good time to sneak out unnoticed by any of the employees. The clown put her ears on the door, and heard raucous laughter. The dancers might have been sharing liquor and cigarettes, forbidden in the dressing rooms. She might have to wait a long time. She got off her seat and walked to the corner of the bright dressing room, leaning onto the full-length mirror, cracked from the countless times she leaned onto it. It was cool, and she was warm. Many times when the sky deepened and she barred herself in the room, the mirror she leaned onto. It held all of the tension she felt streaming through the core of her bones, washing away the marrow that was her lifeline. The clown was afraid of the uncertainty tomorrow, and the circus troupe as a whole. The manager had told them that revenue was decreasing at a rather exponential rate, and the large number of clowns was completely unnecessary, and ever since then she was constantly apprehensive.
Outside, some of the spectators were still waiting for the scanty to find rides home. The lumpy lady’s child had long ago finished the popcorn, and the saliva on the fingers had already evaporated into the opaquely lucid reds of the sky. She dragged him from street to street, hoping to find an open cab for the trip home. The two teenagers in Docs walked away from the theatre running their hands over each other, unable to control their urge to do what should be done in privacy. His pocket was now void of the cigarettes, for both of them had spent a considerable around of time smoking and laughing at the clown through their smoky outlook.
“Damn, that boy was hilarious as hell, bit scary too,” the boy coughed. The girl didn’t reply, for she was busy publicly satiating her sexual needs, and after a slight pause the boy resumed his desultory groping.
The clown peeked out of the door, the wig cocked on the side of her head like a red unthreaded decorative hat that lived a tumultuous life of wear. The dancers were now dozing off from the substances that sped through their innards. Swiftly she closed the door, to change. She knew she had less than five minutes to leave-the manager would come and fire up at everyone who was there. The dance troupe would not be performing the next weekend.
She pulled over her slender form a cerulean tight fitting sweater, unlike the papery yellow clown uniform that she donned earlier. Half a minute later, she was already fully dressed in black hosiery, black loafers, and a stiff gray skirt. The girl walked out quickly with her shoulder bag neatly dangling off her shoulder, and slipped out into the night. Her sky blue sweater clashed beautifully with the dark nighttime sky. It made her dark features seem opaquely clear, jewels in the night. Outside, some gentlemen nodded at the young girl, and a few boys whistled. Members of the audience had laughed at her performance, but now they were already about their business. After all, the humor she provided was a temporary happiness, a pointlessly significant form of entertainment that was enjoyed but forgotten. The clown-girl’s day was far from finished. When she got home, she’d still have to cook dinner for her family members. It would be a while until she could rest.
Flango? Okay! Anyways, I’m Lily and I’m going to review you...whether you like it or not.