Touch of the Clown by Glen Huser Page A

around the house with Livvy, getting her to the bathroom, putting her pictures up in her room, finding Bingo from where she’s let him roll under the bed.
    We are playing ball in the back yard when Daddy finally appears at the kitchen door. “Barbara,” he says, “we have five videos to take back. You and Livvy go for a little walk and tell them we want a two-day extension on the others.”
    â€œI’m tired of walking,” Livvy says.
    â€œWhat do you mean?” Daddy has come outonto the back porch, shielding his eyes against the afternoon sun.
    I catch Livvy’s eye and shake my finger at her.
    â€œIt won’t hurt you both to get a little exercise. My, this heat is something. I think we’ll just have cold cuts and potato chips for supper.”
    â€œAnd chocolate cake,” Livvy sings out.
    â€œChocolate cake. But do your errand first. There’s a dollar for each of you to buy some-thing you want.”
    â€œYippee!” Livvy dances around, clapping her hands.

CHAPTER NINE
    The second day of the workshop, Cosmo gathers us in a circle again. One of the girls with day-glo color in her hair–fuchsia, she told us in the washroom–has detached herself from the other two and positioned herself as close to the bald boy–Scott–as it is possible to be without actually touching him. The girl who had bright red hair yesterday is neon green today. Her name is Cloud. “My best time,” she told us yesterday, “was when I went to a Smashing Pumpkins concert with my girlfriend and we met these guys, like real cool, who thought we were about three years older than we really were.”
    The boy with his hair in a ponytail, Roger (but say it Roh-zhay, he announced yesterday), is wearing cut-off jeans and sits cross-legged, his tan legs gleaming in the overhead light.
    â€œDo you think he shaves them?” Jessica-Marie nudges me with her elbow. I wonder if she has somehow read my mind.
    â€œThis afternoon,” Cosmo says, “I want to spend just a bit of time on the whole business of where clowns come from.” He is dressed all in black today, loose-fitting cotton and black slipon shoes like the Chinese wear. He begins by asking us all where we first saw a clown.
    â€œM-Me,” Nathan says, “I got put into a barrel by a clown when I was about three years old. It was at a rodeo and the b-barrel had a really stinky smell and I started howling my head off. My mom socked him, I think. She didn’t like for anyone to make me cry unless it was her.”
    Nathan is beside me, leaning back on his elbows, the rest of his body slung forward. He has a rumpled look, as if he’s slept in his clothes.
    Most of the kids say the circus or the Exhibition parade. I have never been to either. Some years there were circus tickets given to us at school, but we still had to be taken. At first Daddy was too busy working weekend afternoons and evenings, and then, when he quit work, he never wanted to leave the house unless it was to cash his welfare check, go for pizza or do the shopping. “Watch
The Greatest Show on Earth”
he would say. “It’s better than going to the circus and running to the bathroom everyten minutes with little miss you-know-who.”
    â€œJimmy Stewart,” I tell the group. “The clown in
The Greatest Show on Earth.
It’s an old movie my dad taped off the late show.”
    â€œAh, yes,” Cosmo says, bringing out a little wicker suitcase. “The wanted man, the misfit hiding behind a false nose and greasepaint. Probably one of the more interesting aspects of the clown–the painted face, the mask–and one we’ll be working with later today.” With the cover sprung open, we can see the suitcase is filled with clippings, brochures, magazine photos.
    I think of the cardboard box hidden way back under the sewing machine at home. Mama’s collection is in it. She has every picture