by Matt Stanton
“So he must be somewhere pretty close to here. Do you think he’s living in the town hall?” Hugo asks as we walk around the side of the building. “He could have a little hideout backstage somewhere.”
“He could. That’s what I would do,” I reply.
“No, actually, that wouldn’t make sense,” Hugo says. “Because we saw him walking across the parking lot from that old warehouse that time.”
I stop. Hugo’s right! I forgot about that.
Across the parking lot beside the town hall is an old, empty warehouse. I look at Hugo. “Do you think . . .”
“. . . Tumbles is living in the warehouse?” Hugo finishes my sentence.
Before Hugo can work out what he thinks about that idea, I run across the parking lot toward the old building. Sure enough, there’s a door on the side with a little brick stopping it from closing completely.
About three hours later, Hugo catches up, totally out of breath.
“Okay, Max . . . time to go get your mom and dad . . . so that they can call . . . the police,” Hugo puffs.
“But we don’t even know if he’s in there,” I say. “Sergeant Purcell already thinks we’re just stupid kids. We can’t call her if he’s not even in there. Let’s just have a quick look.”
“Max, no –”
I push the door open a little and lean inside. It’s really dark in there, like we’re wearing sunglasses and a blindfold while walking into a cave that’s been painted black.
“Maaaaxxxxxx,” Hugo whispers through clenched teeth.
There’s a noise from the other side of the room, like someone bumping into something.
We both freeze. We can’t see who said it, but recognize the voice. Tumbles!
Hugo whispers to me:
“We can’t!” I whisper back.
“Why not?”
“Because he knows we’ve found him.”
“So?”
“He’ll run away!”
It’s quite tricky to have a whisper argument.
“So what are we supposed to do?”
“We have to answer him!” I whisper back. “We have to pretend to be other people so we don’t spook him!”
“Who are we going to pretend to be?”
“Um –” Quick. I need to think of something.
Ugh. Dumb answer. Hugo slaps himself on the forehead and groans.
There’s silence from inside. My eyes are starting to adjust to the darkness a little. I think I can see Tumbles sitting on a stool in the far corner.
“Max? Is that you?” Tumbles asks.
Uh-oh.
Suddenly I see Tumbles reach out his arm and flick on a lamp.
The light blinds me at first.
Hugo gasps.
I squint and realize that the man sitting on the stool isn’t Tumbles at all.
It’s Grandpa.
“Grandpa?”
“Hello, Max,” he says, standing. It appears that he’s made a little bedroom for himself. There’s a mattress on the floor, a few cardboard boxes for a table, and a big piece of broken mirror balancing against the wall. Next to the mirror is the Tumbles costume.
My eyes go wide.
Tumbles the clown is . . . Grandpa?
“Wait . . . what?” My brain hurts. I have been using it way too much recently.
This whole time my grumpy grandpa, who everyone has been trying to find, has been right there with me at the talent quest, covered in makeup, wearing a wig, and dressed up as a clown?
Hugo’s jaw nearly reaches the ground.
“You boys look a little surprised. Guess I fooled you, huh?”
Hugo and I both nod as we step inside the warehouse.
“I haven’t had this much fun in years.” Grandpa sighs.
“You’re more clever than you look, Max,” Grandpa says.
“Thanks.”
“I don’t think that was a compliment,” Hugo whispers.
“I used to dress up as Tumbles the clown all the time when I was a young man, Max,” Grandpa says. “But not since your dad was a little boy. I’d forgotten how much I enjoyed it.”
“Why did you stop?” I ask.
“Clowns are wonderful, but not everyone likes them. The last time I dressed up as Tumbles was for your dad’s third birthday party. That was a long time ago and it was a disaster. A little boy was scared of me and ran screaming through the house. He knocked the cake over, which caused the candles to set the tablecloth on fire and burn down half our living room. I tried to put the fire out, but my cape – I used to wear a cape – caught fire too. If someone already thinks a cute clown is scary, a clown on fire is a whole other level. There was a big photo of Tumbles on the front of the local newspaper. It was pretty terrifying for everyone involved. Your grandmother made me promise that I would never dress up as Tumbles again. And I never have . . .”
“Until this week?”
“Yes, well . . .” Grandpa grunts and grumbles as he walks over to his Tumbles costume. “They gave me a walking stick, can you believe that? That Dr. Donkey-Butt told me I need to walk with a stick!”
I burst out laughing. “You call Dr. Duncanbray ‘Dr. Donkey-Butt’?”
Grandpa is funny!
“They advertised the talent quest at the nursing home and I thought maybe I could be Tumbles just one more time. I asked Dr. Donkey-Butt if I could enter and of course he said no. But I thought, you know what? What have I got to lose? Before they make me walk with a stick, take twelve pills a day, and everyone forgets about me in that nursing home, maybe we can have one last hurrah, eh? Tumbles and me? I ordered the clown suit over the phone and I just snuck out for the audition. No big deal.”
“Everyone’s been pretty worried about you,” Hugo says.
“Oh, they’ll be fine,” Grandpa replies. “I never meant to be gone for the week, but it took me a while to get back to the nursing home after the audition. When I did get there, your parents had already called the police and you were out searching for me with that giant dog!”
“Yes, well, there was no way I was coming out with that giant beast there. I hate dogs!”
“Me too!” I say.
“I knew that with everyone making such a big deal out of my disappearance, there was no way I’d be allowed to actually go in the talent quest. I’d had so much fun being Tumbles again that I didn’t want to give it up. It’s just a few days, I said to myself. Just a few days.”
“Did you hear people thought you’d been OLDnapped?” Hugo asks.
“Yes, that was a little fun, wasn’t it?” Grandpa chuckles. He holds up a copy of today’s newspaper. His enormous face is on the front of it. “When I realized I was going to be ‘missing’ for a week, I started hiding in this old warehouse, because I didn’t have to walk too far to the town hall. And then I thought, with this being Tumbles’s last hurrah, maybe I should build a bit more theater around the whole thing. No one cares about an old man who’s gone wandering off, but a kidnapping will get everyone’s attention. So I wrote the ransom note myself and dropped it off at Channel Eleven. My plan had been to reveal my true identity in my act tonight. It might be my face on the front of the paper today, but it was going to be Tumbles’s face on the front page tomorrow. What a way to finish!”
“You’re a . . . genius,” I say. “Grandpa, that’s the best act ever!”
“Well, it was going to be. Until you ruined it.”
Oops.
“Oh, mean-schmean. I knew Max could handle a bit of funny banter, couldn’t you, Max?”
“Sure! Totally. It was fine. Didn’t bother me . . . at all,” I reply with a gulp.
Hugo looks at me like I just grew a Pinocchio nose and my pants caught on fire.
“You’re a lot like me when I was a boy, Max. I was the funny kid too. But being funny isn’t easy, is it? It’s hard work. When you entertain people, you’re putting on a show. Always. Which means you’re playing a character. You can’t just stand up there and be Max telling jokes. You’re a chara
cter telling jokes. People aren’t just laughing at the joke, they’re laughing at you. You’ve got to be okay with that.”
“Okay . . .”
Grandpa sits down. “Show me your act for tonight. I didn’t get to see it yesterday.”
“It’s not that . . . good,” I admit.
“Just try,” he says, and points to Hugo. “You, stand over there. You’re the audience. Fire away, Max.”
And so I tell him my chicken jokes, which neither he nor Hugo even smiles at, and I’m about to get to the drumstick one when Grandpa suddenly leaps up and yells:
He scares the pants off me!
“What?”
“Oh, nothing,” he says, sitting back down. “Don’t worry.”
But I’m completely thrown off now. “No, tell me. What?”
“It’s nothing. Really. Keep going with your joke. It’s gone now anyway.”
“What’s gone?”
Grandpa is shaking his head and his hands. “Nothing, really. I saw it above your head, but it’s gone.”
I look up into the warehouse above me. It’s very dark up there. What is he talking about?
“What’s above my head?”
“Nothing,” Grandpa says again. “It dropped down behind you somewhere. Spiders are not worth worrying about.”
WHAT?
Hugo chuckles a little and I glare at him. This is not a joke, you idiot.
“Well, as I said, it was above you.”
“On the ceiling?”
“No, dangling from the ceiling by its web.” Grandpa shrugs. “It could have dropped into your hair, I guess? Keep telling your joke.”
“There’s a spider in my HAIR?” Instantly I put my fingers in my hair and then stop. I don’t really want to poke the spider. Aarghh! What am I supposed to do?
Hugo is trying not to laugh, but instead he just makes a fart sound with his lips. Oh, so he won’t laugh when it’s supposed to be funny, but he will when it’s not? Great friend!
“Could be,” Grandpa replies. Why does he not seem worried about this? “Anyway, Max, you were telling a joke.”
“I can’t finish my joke now! You need to come and check my hair!”
Good idea, Max. Make him fix this situation. The spider can bite his fingers.
“Right in the middle of your practice?”
Grandpa gets up and stands behind me. I feel his giant, stubby fingers going through my hair. He’s shoving my whole head from side to side.
“Don’t look now, Max, but I think you’ll find your friend thinks this is quite funny,” Grandpa whispers. “There is no spider. Just play along.”
Wait, what? There’s no spider? I look at Hugo. He’s trying really hard not to laugh, but I can see in his eyes that this is funnier than any of my jokes. Oh, wow, this is how Tumbles does it! I’m going to try to fool Hugo and play along.
“Can you see it in there?” I ask, keeping the panic in my voice.
“A candy cane?”
“Yep.”
Hugo grins. He knows we’re pretending, of course, but weirdly, it still works. It’s kind of like throwing a ball back and forth. Grandpa throws me a candy cane, and I have to catch it, play along, and throw it back.
“Oh, good,” I reply. “I’ve been looking for that since last Christmas.”
“I’d give it back to you,” Grandpa says, “but the raccoon is eating it.”
There’s another ball for me to catch. I feel a bit quicker with it this time.
“You mean Sooty-Butt?” I say. Hugo cracks and laughs out loud. This is becoming quite fun. There’s no script. Not even any actual jokes. We’re just making this up as we go along.
“Sooty-Butt is the name of the raccoon?” Grandpa asks.
“Yeah. He’s been missing since March.”
“Well, hopefully Sooty-Butt ate the spider, because I can’t find it,” Grandpa says. “It could have crawled into your ear, I guess.”
Time to go crazy.
“INTO MY EAR! IT’S GOING TO EAT MY BRAIN!” I grab at my ears, pulling and screaming. Out of the corner of my eye, I check to see if Hugo is laughing. He’s laughing all right.
“I suppose it’s possible,” Grandpa says.
Time for me to throw a ball of my own and see if Grandpa can catch it.
I stop suddenly and tilt my head to one side. “No, I don’t want one right now.”
“What?” Grandpa looks confused.
Come on, old man. Show me what you’ve got.
“You just asked if I wanted a drink of water,” I say to him. “I said no, I don’t want one right now.”
“I didn’t ask if you wanted a drink of water.”
“Of course you did,” I argue. “I just heard you. And no, thank you, I don’t need a massage either.”
“What are you talking about? I’m not asking you about water and I certainly didn’t offer a massage!”
“Well, if you didn’t, Grandpa, then who did?” I ask. Then I see the twinkle in Grandpa’s eyes. He gets it.
“Maybe it was . . .” he says slowly.
I gasp. “It couldn’t be . . .”
Hugo chuckles as he realizes where this is going.
“You think the spider crawled into my ear and then offered me a glass of water and a massage?” I ask.
Grandpa nods. “It’s a very kind spider, if you think about it. Maybe you should try talking back?”
I use a quizzical expression and say, “Um, thank you, spider. What’s your name . . . spider?”
I pretend to listen to the spider talking in my head.
“Did he answer?” Grandpa asks.
I open my eyes wide with terror.
“What did he say, Max?”
I turn and look at Grandpa. “He said he can’t talk right now.” I stagger backward. “He said it’s rude to talk while eating.”
Then I put my hand to my chest and fall to the ground dead. End of show!
Hugo laughs and claps. Grandpa claps too.
And he’s got a big smile on his face. Looking at him, I remember that I’ve always wanted to make Grandpa smile. Now I have.
“You’ve got the idea,” he says, and winks at me. “You’ll be fine tonight.”
I never thought I’d say this, but I think I really like my grandpa! He’s just like me!
“Why don’t you do it with me?” I ask. “We could do the spider joke.”
“That’s a great idea,” says Hugo. “We could sneak Tumbles in the back door and he could come out onstage halfway through your act.”
“You don’t need my help, Max.”
“I think I probably definitely do, Grandpa. Can you help me?”
“Yeah, he definitely needs your help,” Hugo chimes in. Okay, buddy. Don’t overdo it.
“Fine, fine,” Grandpa says, and turns to his Tumbles costume.
That evening, Mom, Dad, Rosie, Hugo, and I arrive at the town hall just as it’s getting dark. I can’t get over how many people are here. This must be the whole of Redhill!
Can I really make all these people laugh?
Maybe the only thing they’ll be laughing at is me in this tuxedo. I look like a penguin! And this bow tie is very tight. Oh, well. You’ve got to look the part, I guess.
I still can’t believe Grandpa was Tumbles the whole time and that he was once a funny kid, just like me. He’s always been such a cranky old man, but joking with him today, he was so different. He was fun. Making people laugh does that to you. It’s like having soda and ice cream and jelly beans all in your mouth at the same time.
Maybe when Grandpa quit being Tumbles, he stopped being himself. That would probably make you pretty grumpy.
I look up at Mom and Dad. It’s been a very big week. I’m excited that all the stress is about to be over for them. They’re going to get to see Grandpa right in the middle of my act.
I say good-bye to Mom, Dad, and Rosie. They wish me luck and I run off after Hugo. He is going to smuggle Tumbles in through the backstage door once the show has
started. Tumbles and I are the last act of the night.
Rupert is running around like a chipmunk on a sugar-only diet. He buzzes by me, turning only to say, “You better have something special, Max!”
“It’s going to be good. Don’t worry!”
For the first time this week, I’m actually not feeling nervous. Tumbles is the most popular act around and we’re going to finish the whole show together. This is in the bag.
I stand in the wings with Hugo as the lights go down and the hall hushes.
The mayor says something we can’t hear and then it’s go time.
Abby is first. She does her disappearing magic trick perfectly and everyone loves it. Next is the saucepan man and he’s followed by the opera singer, who sings so loudly that by the end of the song no one can hear anything anymore. That’s not too big a deal, because the mime artist is next. While he’s doing his thing, Hugo nicks off to get Tumbles. No one seems to understand the guy dressed as a horse, but halfway through his act, Hugo comes back and taps me on the shoulder.
WHAT?
I turn and grab Hugo by the shoulders. “What do you mean you can’t find him?”
“He’s not by the back door where we agreed to meet. I even ran over to the warehouse, but he’s totally packed up and gone!”
I can’t believe it! How could Grandpa do this? Doesn’t he know that I can’t do the spider act by myself? It doesn’t work with one person. And every time I’ve done a stand-up comedy act alone, I’ve completely bombed.
“What?”
“Karma or whatever they call it,” I mutter. “When you do bad stuff and it comes back to bite you on the bum. Hugo, this is about to be a disaster.”
“Max, look at me,” Hugo says.
I turn and look at my life coach.
He puts his hand in the air for a high five.
