The day began in a very "matter-of-fact" sort of way. Well, as "matter-of-fact" as any of my days really get. I found myself outside of a convenience store alley staring at a homeless man. He was staring contemplatively at a kazoo lying on the ground before him, that looked as though its kazooing days were no more than a fond memory. I looked at my watch, and affected an expression that said that someone was eagerly awaiting my arrival somewhere that was not here (though, truthfully, I couldn't remember a time when anyone had been eagerly awaiting my arrival anywhere, ever.) I shuffled off down the street, trying to think of somewhere to go or something to do, until I eventually decided to walk until inspiration struck. I walked through the city for an amount of time I can no longer recall. Eventually I came to the theatre and saw that the circus had made it's way into town. Not having anything better to do, I purchased a ticket and made my way inside. I walked down the central aisle and sat in the first empty chair. I found myself sitting next to a family of four: A mother, holding a bottle of what must have been hand-sanitizer, and looking at every surface as though it were having dirty thoughts about her immune system; Two children (both girls, that couldn't have been any more than a year apart in age) looking breathless, and hopeful, and elated in a way that only children can truly achieve; And last in the portrait of suburban joy, what must have been an older brother, who kept glancing toward the exit with an expression that said that he could think of ten things off the top of his head that he would rather be doing, and three of them involved being on fire. I turned a little in my seat to give the boy what I hoped would be a look filled with silent understanding, a look that said that I, too, had once been at the mercies of entertainment chosen with the sole intent of placating younger siblings. I hoped that it would be all those things, but I never got to find out if it would be any of them, for it was at that moment, that it happened. As I was turning to offer the boy the look that would buoy him in his sea of forlorned contempt, my gaze was drawn to the floor of the arena, where an obscene number of clowns were streaming out of a car that could not have, by any stretch of the imagination, contained them. In that moment, I was taken back, ten years, to a brand new drivers license and an equally small car, its once vibrant paint job marred after colliding with a telephone pole. I still remember, with startling clarity, the look on my father's face when I came home that day, with a smile painted around his lips in vibrant red make-up, a smile that did not reach his eyes. He hitched up his pants, (pants that could comfortably hold a family of four if they'd wanted) and gave me a look that said, in no uncertain terms, that the nightmare was only just beginning...
An eagle, wearing a cape, screaming into the heart of the earth.
The day began in a very "matter-of-fact" sort of way. Well, as "matter-of-fact" as any of my days really get. I found myself outside of a convenience store alley staring at a homeless man. He was staring contemplatively at a kazoo lying on the ground before him, that looked as though its kazooing days were no more than a fond memory. I looked at my watch, and affected an expression that said that someone was eagerly awaiting my arrival somewhere that was not here (though, truthfully, I couldn't remember a time when anyone had been eagerly awaiting my arrival anywhere, ever.) I shuffled off down the street, trying to think of somewhere to go or something to do, until I eventually decided to walk until inspiration struck. I walked through the city for an amount of time I can no longer recall. Eventually I came to the theatre and saw that the circus had made it's way into town. Not having anything better to do, I purchased a ticket and made my way inside. I walked down the central aisle and sat in the first empty chair. I found myself sitting next to a family of four: A mother, holding a bottle of what must have been hand-sanitizer, and looking at every surface as though it were having dirty thoughts about her immune system; Two children (both girls, that couldn't have been any more than a year apart in age) looking breathless, and hopeful, and elated in a way that only children can truly achieve; And last in the portrait of suburban joy, what must have been an older brother, who kept glancing toward the exit with an expression that said that he could think of ten things off the top of his head that he would rather be doing, and three of them involved being on fire. I turned a little in my seat to give the boy what I hoped would be a look filled with silent understanding, a look that said that I, too, had once been at the mercies of entertainment chosen with the sole intent of placating younger siblings. I hoped that it would be all those things, but I never got to find out if it would be any of them, for it was at that moment, that it happened. As I was turning to offer the boy the look that would buoy him in his sea of forlorned contempt, my gaze was drawn to the floor of the arena, where an obscene number of clowns were streaming out of a car that could not have, by any stretch of the imagination, contained them. In that moment, I was taken back, ten years, to a brand new drivers license and an equally small car, its once vibrant paint job marred after colliding with a telephone pole. I still remember, with startling clarity, the look on my father's face when I came home that day, with a smile painted around his lips in vibrant red make-up, a smile that did not reach his eyes. He hitched up his pants, (pants that could comfortably hold a family of four if they'd wanted) and gave me a look that said, in no uncertain terms, that the nightmare was only just beginning...
