Tears of a Clown

by Robin Ray

City HS Seniors.” Below it is a small handmade sign which reads “In Loving Memory of Ellen Downey & Bell Gardens.”

  On the lakeside, normally dormant as the sun retires in the west, are 30 students playing volleyball, swimming, hanging out on the scattered wooden piers, strumming guitars and playing Pokémon Go on their smartphones. Five kids, getting high in the bushes just a few feet away, are hoping the thick shrubs around them grant them full anonymity even though there are no teachers in attendance. Beverly is sitting at a small pit roasting marshmallows skewered through a found twig. The sky has a cloudy overcast. Chip comes over.

  “I cast the line,” he asserts, then sits down on a stone slab by the pit.

  Beverly peers at the small wooden dock about 60 feet away where she sees Chip’s rod, planted in a crack in the landing, has a heavy trout line stretched out about 25 feet in the lake.

  “Be careful with that pole,” she warns him. “My uncle paid a lot for that.”

  “It’s safe. It’s anchored pretty tight. I promise to bring it back in one piece.”

  “Aren’t you supposed to move the lure back and forth? You are fly fishing.”

  “I might still get a bite.”

  He cracks open a cold can of beer, takes a long, almost unending swig, then picks up a stick of marshmallows and roasts it in the fire.

  “You know,” he continues, “life’s so unfair. This place would really be jumping if Bell was here.”

  “If life was fair was I would’ve been born rich and living in the Hamptons. I’m doomed to spending the rest of days here. Look what’s happening. Last year this outing would’ve had about 100 seniors. I counted 30. Everybody’s scared to come out.”

  Julia, standing off to one side, and wearing her darkwave attire, had approached unseen.

  “I’m not,” she disagrees.

  Chip, embarrassed from his last dealings with Julia, tries to make himself as small as possible which, of course, is an epic fail.

  “Hey, Jules,” Beverly greets her.

  “’Sup, Bev.” Julia responds then looks at the All-American.

  “Hey, Chip.”

  Chip, nervous as a playboy at a paternity hearing, could barely speak. “Hey.”

  “Mind if I join you two?” Julia requests.

  “Be my guest,” Beverly offers, pointing to the stone slab facing Chip.

  Julia sits down on the makeshift chair; Beverly senses the tension between the two.

  “So,” Beverly asks her, “is everything that’s going on making you frightened, too?”

  “Of course. But you can’t run and hide…”

  She turns her gaze to Chip.

  “…like a coward.”

  The football player takes a long sip of the beer sitting by his feet. Beverly looks curiously at her two friends. Julia’s gaze is intense; Chip looks like he just lost his shirt in a poker game.

  “Why is it whenever I’m in the company of girls,” Chip reveals, “I feel like I’m on trial?”

  “That’s what guilt does to you,” Julia answers.

  “Am I intruding here?” Beverly asks. “I mean, I can always disappear.”

  “No,” Julia acknowledges. “It’s okay. Chip and I had a misunderstanding. Actually, I wasn’t even going to come down here, but my problem is I isolate too much.”

  Chip murmurs to himself. “Like serial killers.”

  The siblings Al and Laurel strut over.

  “What’s up, gang?” Laurel greets them.

  “Hey,” they respond.

  “Mind if we join in?”

  Chip motions to an empty spot. “Please.”

  Al and Laurel sit down on stone slabs next to each other.

  Julia looks at Al. “This outing is for seniors, you know.”

  “Yeah, I know. Got any beer?”

  Chip gives Al a beer from the blue cooler near him.

  Beverly turns to laurel. “I heard about what happened at your house. You must be really shook up.”

  “I’m still in a daze,” the budding chemist admits.

  “They’re almost finished looking through the house for more bombs,” Al adds. “Until then…”

  He looks at Julia.

  “…can I sleep over at your house?”

  The Elvira lookalike groans and rolls her eyes. Laurel smiles at her brother’s failure.

  “Did y’all see the city news van?” Al continues. “All this clown shit is giving us a bad name…cool!”

  “It’s not funny, Al,” his sister scolds him.

  He shrugs and takes a swig of the beer.

  Sheriff Torrance comes over. “Hey, kids.”

  They greet him back.

  “Because of what’s been going on,” he suggests, “I’m urging everybody to leave here as soon as it gets dark, okay?”

  They nod in agreement. He turns to Laurel.

  “Laurel, your house is fine now. But, just to be on the safe side, we’re posting someone there, at least until your folks get back anyway.”

  She nods. “Thanks.”

  “I hope he’s not a molester,” Al groans. “I sleep naked.”

  “Al!” his sister yells.

  “You’ll be safe,” Torrance promises. “It’s only temporary. See y’all around.”

  He eyes the beers, shakes his head, and leaves. Julia looks at her brother.

  “You’d spread ‘em for 50 cents,” she jokes, motioning to her brother’s legs.

  “Is this the part where I’m supposed to laugh?” he retorts, then throws a handful of grass at her which she successfully dodges.

  “Behave yourself, Al,” she warns him.

  “Now you see why this outing’s just for seniors,” Julia laments.

  Chip gets up holding his empty beer can. “I’m going for a different refill.”

  Al also gets up. “I’ll go with you.”

  Both teens walk to another section of the senior party. Beverly looks at Julia.

  “He really likes you,” the Asian cheerleader states.

  Julia brushes the sentiment off. “Ah, he’s a kid.”

  “So? Put some hair on his chest, girl.” Beverly holds up her right hand for a high five. Reluctantly, Julia gives it to her.

  “Um,” Laurel interrupts, “would you guys not mind talking about my brother like that?”

  “Sorry, Laurel,” Beverly apologizes.

  “Me, too,” Julia remarks. “I’m still on edge about Ellen.”

  “You two were close, huh?” Laurel asks.

  “Uh, huh. We had a lot in common; different taste in guys, though.”

  “One can only imagine just how close they were,” Beverly suddenly figures sarcastically.

  “What are you hinting at?” Julia asks.

  “Nothing.”

  Julia stares at her. “Spit it out, Bev. You know you’re jealous of her.”

  “She was a tumbler,” the cheerleader points out. “I’m a flyer. Different positions.”

  “Let’s not start, girls,” Laurel admonishes them.

  “No,” the dark-haired pianist insists. “I want to hear this.”

  “Well,” Beverly states, “there were rumors.”

  “Bullshit!” Julia protests. “She was your biggest rival on the squad. I wouldn’t be surprised if it was you who…”

  She holds off from saying what is really on her mind.

  “Who what?” Beverly responds, her eyebrows now shaped like a ‘V’. She turns to Laurel. “Are my ears deceiving me, or did your gangsta friend here just accuse me of murder?”

  Julia plants her hands angrily on her waist. “Gangsta?! What the fuck!”

  Laurel holds up a beer. “Come on, girls. Let’s not fight. We’re here to party, remember?”

  Julia, however, is still heated. “You heard what she called me? This fuckin’ Michelle Kwan wannabe?”

  Beverly glares at her antagonist. “Michelle Kwan’s a figure skater, you asshole.”

  Julia, having had enough, tackles Beverly with the force of an NFL
defensive guard. Rolling around on the ground, the two try to rip each other’s hair out. Laurel dives between the two and, after a brief struggle, separates them. Frazzled, Beverly finally gets to her feet.

  “She’s crazy!” she yells, throwing up her arms.

  “You inject all that shit in your breasts,” Julia points out, “and you call me crazy?!”

  Beverly turns around, her hair a confusing mess. “I’m outta here.”

  She storms off straight to a blue Porta John and enters, slamming the door behind her.

  “I think I loosened her bladder,” Julia giggles.

  Laurel, dusting herself off, addresses her friend. “Are you proud of yourself?”

  “Yeah, proud. I guess that’s the word.”

  “Some people spend way too much time alone.”

  “Don’t you start with me too, Laurel.”

  Just then, a loud thunder crack catches everyone’s attention. Seconds later, cascading droplets of water start falling from the sky.

  “Oh shoot,” Laurel warns. “We’d better go.”

  Julia and Laurel, like the other students scattered about, quickly gather their things. Some start picking up the empty cans and bottles whiles others throw dirt into the fireplaces. The five who were smoking in the bushes emerge, but they are so giddy they barely stand up straight.

  Minutes later, after the students finish cleaning up the area, they exit the site, hurrying to their cars as quickly as possible. The rain, now streaming down in torrents, beats its irregular pattern upon the misty lake as the wildlife flies to their shelters. Beverly, finally opening the Porta John’s door a few moments later, notices just how heavily the clouds have broken.

  “Dammit!” she curses.

  Stretching out her neck, she looks around and sees she’s alone. Since she was inside, the sky has grown a few shades darker.

  “Geez,” she remarks. “A little rain and everybody bounces. Cowards.”

  Running out of the john, she sees Chip’s fishing pole still sitting out on the dock. At the risk of irritating her uncle who has been unemployed for months and now