By Alexis Swerdloff
So, here I am, standing in the hallway, the doorbell has just rung, and I am frozen. Hello, I am a 35-year old man and I am absolutely terrified of clowns. Yes, it’s the makeup, yes it’s the big red nose, yes it’s that falsetto voice, yes it’s the clown car -- God, I hate the clown car. You can imagine then, when Harry told me that he wanted a clown for his birthday party, I was not thrilled. I told him, “We’ll see,” which in parent language usually means, “no,” but for a child, translates into “maybe” and is enough to shut them up for an hour or two. That night, in bed, I told Linda about Harry’s request. “Can’t we just have a magician come?” I asked. “No, no,” Linda replied, “Harry really wants a clown. Your fear is irrational and silly. You’re a 35-year old man, for crying out loud.” So, here I am, it’s Harry’s birthday, the doorbell has just rung, and my feet are glued to the floor. “Get the door, honey!” Linda yells. I take a deep breath and tell myself that a clown is just a middle-aged man dressed in a polka-dotted jumpsuit, nothing to be afraid of. “Daddy, get the door!” Harry shouts. Slowly, one foot in front of the other, I approach the door and turn the handle.
I’m a 35-year old man with a beer belly hidden by a large, polka-dotted jump suit, wearing two layers of make-up and a plastic nose. My shoes don’t fit and my face hurts. Shit, most men my age are sitting around the breakfast table, reading the newspaper, sipping coffee, while little Bobby watches cartoons in the den and Fido, the dog, sits in the corner on one of those freakin’ L.L. Bean dog pillows with “Fido” monogrammed on it. Here I am, it’s raining, I’m a Goddamn 35-year old man with a wife who left me four years ago for my best friend…my fucking best friend…I’m wearing a polka-dotted jumpsuit, and I’m standing in front of 46 Briarcliff Road, Street, Path, whatever, and I hear the little bastards inside. I hate children. I hate families. I hate birthdays. I ring the doorbell and reach into my pocket, wrapping my fingers around the cold, loaded, pistol.
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