Tears of a Clown

by Robin Ray

collects food coupons like an alcoholic collects DUI’s, she runs out to the dock through the surging rain and grabs the expensive graphite pole. Just as she is about to dislodge it, someone shoves her in the lake, causing her to splash down in the most awkward angle.

  Because of the powerful deluge, an undercurrent had formed where she landed, causing her to struggle frantically in the annoyingly frigid drink. Seconds later, finally managing to get her head above water, she eyes the empty dock and begins swimming towards it. Then, finding herself only just about two feet out of the reach of the thick fishing line, she stretches forth and grabs it. It suddenly begins spooling out.

  “Oh, fuck it,” she moans, abandoning her attempt as she is still fighting against the current threatening to drag her under. Just then, a flash of lightning strikes a half dead birch jutting out over the lake in front of her. Small and large leafless branches fly off everywhere as the tree catches fire. One branch, the length of a car, splashes down right in front of her, causing her to lose momentum. Eyeing the nearby fishing line again, she reaches…reaches…reaches till she snags it. Using the line to pull her out of the water proves more difficult than she thinks as the coarse thread keeps spooling out through the eyes in the rod. Finally, spooling stops as the knotted end anchors itself in the smallest topmost eye. Carefully, she yanks herself out.

  Unbeknownst to her, the rod’s handle lodged in the dock is beginning to slip out. Near the dock, a black water snake almost two feet long swims towards her then submerges. As she grabs the edge of the wooden dock, she feels something under the water tugging at her. Screaming, she grabs a stick that was blown off the birch and slaps it frantically in the drink. Seconds later, she sees the snake swim off in the opposite direction.

  Using all the strength she can muster, she heaves herself up on the slippery dock, wrenches out the rest of the trout line anchored in the last eye, and tries dislodging the pole. With the wind and rain in her eyes, and the rod too stubborn to leave its roost in the dock, she promises the next attempt will be her last. Luckily, it is, as the pole becomes free. Quickly, she zooms towards the entry trail where she is met by Chip, Al, and Laurel coming down in her direction. All four dive under a sycamore tree for shelter.

  “Are you okay?” Chip asks the soaking Asian. “We only just realized you’re still here.”

  “I’m good,” she pants.

  “What took you so long?”

  “Took me so long?! Somebody pushed me in the fucking lake!”

  “What?” Laurel utters.

  “Where’s Jules?” the out of breath cheerleader asks.

  “I don’t know,” Laurel answers, “but we’d better get out of here before we catch a cold.”

  Al sneezes. “Too late.”

  The four students start heading up the mushy trail, making sure to remain under the cover of trees lining the side of the path. Finally, they reach the top quickly, the strength and force of the winds and rain having tapered a bit.

  As they’re about to exit the park, Julia comes running up the trail. “Wait for me!”

  Complying, they wait. Finally, Goth girl catches up to them.

  “Where the hell were you?” Beverly demands.

  “What are you?” Julia shoots back. “My mother?”

  “People like you shouldn’t be allowed to walk the streets!”

  “Don’t start with me, Bev!”

  “Knock it off you two!” Laurel interjects.

  Beverly looks at Julia. “Just keep playing. You’re gonna get yours.”

  “What is she talking about?” Julia asks to no one in particular.

  “Somebody pushed her in the lake,” Al answers.

  “Bev,” Julia states, “if you must know, I was taking a piss.”

  “Bullshit!” Obviously, Beverly doesn’t believe her.

  Julia waves her off. “Eat me, bitch.”

  “I’m joining a seminary,” Chip grumbles.

  Minutes later, the rain nearly subsiding, Julia jumps in her car in the parking lot near the beginning of the trail. Al runs to her window. She sighs.

  “Want some company?” he begs.

  Julia studies him momentarily. “Maybe if I just screeched off, the mud raised up by the spinning wheels should give him a hint,” she thinks, then relents. “Yeah. Get in.”

  Ecstatic, Al waves bye to his sister and gets in on the passenger side. Julia ignites the engine and they take off. Beverly, Chip, and Laurel climb into Chip’s hooptie, a peach colored 1976 Chevrolet Caprice, a time capsule of an auto that has seen better days. All three pile in the front with Beverly in the middle then they drive away.

  About a mile up the road, Beverly and Laurel are sitting in the car in the parking lot of a 7-Eleven with the engine still running. Both of them are shivering, especially Beverly, as the rain continues to fall, albeit lightly. Laurel tries to turn on the heat but it doesn’t work.

  “Figures,” she laments.

  “What the hell’s taking Chip so long?” Beverly howls. “I wanna get home.”

  “Aren’t you gonna hang out later? It’s Saturday night.”

  “Nah. I’m too tired already.”

  Chip, trotting out of the store carrying a paper bag of chips and beer, hops in the car before he’s thoroughly soaked.

  “Can you take me home?” Beverly requests.

  Chip looks at his watch. “It’s kinda early, ain’t it?”

  “Julia wore me out.”

  “I’ll tell you what,” he surmises. “Just one hour after the party and I’ll take you home.”

  Bev bites her bottom lip. “I don’t know.”

  “Come on. We’ve been planning it for weeks. If I remember, it was actually your idea.”

  “Oh,” Beverly relents. “One hour.”

  Just a few minutes later, the three seniors, like silent burglars in the night, climb into the high school through a small rectangular window at the base near the dumpsters behind the building. Sneaking through the darkened hallway, the moist trio tiptoes downward, passes several classrooms and slowly opens the creaky wooden door to the school’s basketball gym.

  The arena is as dark and quiet as a vampire’s mausoleum. Save for the moonlight coming in through the reinforced windows and the lights of the green exit signs, very little else lit the room. Chip’s voice singes the silence.

  “Hey, gang. It’s only us.”

  BOOM!

  Lights and ska music come on. The 40 or so students, most in classic two-tone, resume their raucous party. A lot of the boys are wearing black pants, black & white checkered shirts or black jackets, dark sunglasses and black fedoras. Some of the girls are clad in black & white dresses or wearing t-shirts of bands such as The Specials, The English Beat, The Selecter, Madness, Sublime and No Doubt. Cans of beer are scattered all over. A group of drunken revelers are dancing in the bleachers. Some students are necking on mats beneath the hoops. At least two are asleep on a mat in one corner of the gym. Six students are sitting on upturned plastic basketball containers singing along to the song currently playing while others strum air guitars and air blow saxes, trumpets, trombones.

  Chip nods. “Now, this is more like it!”

  Beverly, however, is still shivering. “M-m-maybe we should g-g-get out of these things before we c-c-catch a cold.” She sneezes.

  “And get into what?” Laurel asks. “I’d forgotten it was a ska party.”

  “I have some old sweats in my locker,” Chip suggests.

  Laurel shakes her head. “I don’t think so.”

  “I have extra c-c-clothes, Laurel,” Beverly offers. “Wanna walk me to the locker room?”

  A late model Toyota pulls up in front of a guard rail in one of the high school’s remote parking lots; no other cars are present. The engine is cut. The door opens. The driver steps out, drops a cigarette, and grinds it out. After shutting the door, he casually saunters to the back of the school by the dumpster and opens the small ankle-high rectangular window slowly.

  In one of the
school’s claustrophobic basement rooms, a red incandescent bulb clicks on. Montebello, going through a tool box, examines a few wrenches, looking for just the right implement. He stops for a moment thinking he heard something. Listening carefully, he hears the faint thump of the music in the party raging on in the gym upstairs.

  Inside the gym, the party’s in full swing. The lights have been dimmed. Everyone is dancing, getting drunk, or both. There are now approximately 50 people in attendance, all promising to enjoy their Saturday night as teenage steam satiates the arena.

  POP!

  The lights black out and the music stops. The students, taken by surprise, murmur their confusion. A few students try turning on the lights and the music but it’s apparent that the power has been cut.

  WHOOSH!

  The double doors at the far end of the gym which leads to a hall are thrown wide open with the force of a maelstrom. There’s a dim light in the hall, and standing in the doorway is the silhouette of The Clown. He whips out his ominous handclaw and holds it up for all to see.

  A few girls scream. Panic ensues as the revelers dash noisily for the exits only to discover that just one of them opens to the outside. Immediately, they practically leapfrog over each other trying to escape through that one orifice. As they escape, a few look back and notice that the armed intruder is gone.

  In a poorly lit storage room on the first floor, Montebello, with a beer in hand, is sitting on a stool with one eye pressed against a hole in the wall. He is cleverly spying through a two-way mirror into the girl’s empty bathroom. Stretching his neck, he is hoping