<\/p>\n
\u201cLook, Steve! Over there.\u201d Yolanda pointed to a commotion at the edge of their manicured lawn. It was 8 a.m., and Yolanda and Steve were taking their early-morning tea on the terrace. They were hoping for a glimpse of the doe and her fawn, which often passed through the strip of lush forest separating their sprawling property from the back neighbor\u2019s in this gated bedroom community. <\/p>\n
Beyond the blooming colors of the flower garden, the crystalline waters of the swimming pool, and past the delicate ivory lawn ornaments, Steve fixed his gaze upon a clown. He furrowed his brow and narrowed his eyes: A clown?<\/em> The clown had just collided with their Italian porcelain birdbath, sending a spray of water over himself and his bright suit\u2014purple polka dot pants, supported by red suspenders, and a yellow shirt. He had stubbed the base of the birdbath with his too-big, red floppy shoes, causing it to fall over with a thud.<\/p>\n \u201cOh, my! Now, who is this<\/em> dubious guest?\u201d Steve wondered aloud. He and Yolanda watched incredulously as the clown tried to reset the birdbath with his white-gloved hands.<\/p>\n \u201cMaybe we should go help him, Dear.\u201d Yolanda offered.<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m not dressed to meet people, Yolanda.\u201d Steve reminded her, nevertheless pulling his blue silk robe closed and tying it with the sash. He reluctantly extracted himself from the cushioned chaise lounge, forgetting to put his kid leather slippers on, and rushed toward the end of their property with Yolanda at his side.<\/p>\n The dewy grass lapped at the bottoms of Steve\u2019s silky pajama pants, soaking them. He\u2019d never walked barefoot on the plush lawn and could now feel the softness of the grass. Ah, Preston, our groundskeeper\u2019s meticulousness pays off. <\/em>He thought. \u201cPromise me you\u2019d not do this\u2014uh, approach a stranger\u2014a clown, no less\u2014if I weren\u2019t around,\u201d Steve cautioned Yolanda as they walked toward the hapless buffoon.<\/p>\n \u201cOf course not,\u201d she replied too quickly. They were now standing at arm\u2019s length from the scene: the clown was doggedly working to fix the toppled birdbath. The grass around him was spongy with the fallen mixture of water, bird droppings, and feathers. Steve took in the dirty wet stains on the clown\u2019s white gloves. The nest of his ocher wig framed his pasty face as the clown concentrated on fitting the bath to its stem. His painted red smile swallowed half of his face and was bleeding into his bulbous cherry nose.<\/p>\n Imagine that\u2014a 21st<\/sup> century jester lost in suburbia! <\/em>Steve mused.<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s alright. Never mind.\u201d Yolanda patted the clown\u2019s arm, taking the dish of the birdbath from him, and wrestled with its weight before Steve rescued it from her delicate hands. He turned it over; the base had broken. No wonder the fool could not put it back on!<\/em> He thought.<\/p>\n The clown blinked robotically, his mouth now an upside-down U. With a muddy gloved index finger, he pointed to a make-believe tear sliding down his cheek.<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s fine,\u201d Yolanda said. \u201cIt was an accident. We\u2019ll have it fixed or get a new one,\u201d she reassured the clown. Steve knew how much Yolanda loved looking at the birds through her binoculars, watching them alight and flit about, frolicking in the bath. The lawn ornament had been a costly delicious find on one of their travels to Rome. Now they would have to make do with a commercial replica from a local garden shop. \u201cWe\u2019ll get Preston on it first thing tomorrow, Dear,\u201d Steve patted Yolanda\u2019s arm. <\/p>\n Suddenly, Steve lost his footing and fell in the soupy grass, the wet mess penetrating his robe and lounge pants. He dropped the round dish of the birdbath. It cracked in two as it fell. \u201cDamn clown!\u201d He yelled. The clown pulled Steve to his feet with a soggy glove. \u201cNow see what you\u2019ve done\u2014this mess! And now I\u2019m all wet!\u201d Steve lamented, smoothing the material of his sopping robe.<\/p>\n The clown\u2019s sad face turned sadder. Yolanda smiled at the clown reassuringly: \u201cIt\u2019s okay\u2026he has to go in and get dressed anyway.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYeah, and now I have to take a shower too! You damn clown! Get lost!\u201d Steve shouted.<\/p>\n The clown made a great show of removing a skinny yellow balloon from the pocket of his red vest. With a series of short wet breaths, he blew it up into a grotesque sausage. He quickly twisted and turned the tube into a yellow bird with a beak, wings, and a tail. He handed it to Yolanda and flapped his arms at his sides. Yolanda squealed like a young girl at a child\u2019s birthday party.<\/p>\n Steve turned to the clown and in a clipped tone: \u201cWhat, a bird balloon?! Are you for real?\u201d The clown put a finger into the air to signal \u201cOne moment.\u201d He reached back into his vest pocket and withdrew a tattered slip of paper, turning it over: 123 Lakeview Drive.<\/em><\/p>\n \u201cOh, you\u2019re lost!\u201d Yolanda guessed the mime\u2014like she was playing a game of charades.<\/p>\n The clown ruefully nodded as Steve read the reverse side of the paper: Billy Weaver 10 a.m.<\/em> He assumed it was a birthday party for a little boy. \u201cYou\u2019ve got a party to do,\u201d Steve acknowledged tightly.<\/p>\n The clown\u2019s eyes brightened, and he nodded, \u201cYes!\u201d The clown shook his head and put both his hands out in front of himself as though holding a steering wheel, driving. His smile broadened. He then made a quick jerking movement, his body suddenly stopping. Next, he mimed getting out of a car and opening the front hood, leaning in to inspect the vehicle. He straightened and frowned, shaking his head.<\/p>\n \u201cYour car broke down,\u201d Steve guessed, sighing. He was getting tired of this game.<\/p>\n The clown nodded enthusiastically, again pointing to a new make-believe tear under his right eye, the one outlined with a massive yellow star etched in black. Tiny droplets of sweat dotted his furrowed brow; his smudged melting macabre face looked distorted in the sunlight.<\/p>\n The clown put his finger up once again to signal, \u201cOne moment.\u201d He went back into the trees and returned with a zebra-striped knapsack in one hand and a folded metal contraption in the other. He slung the overstuffed bag onto his back then opened the metal contraption with a series of clicks. It was a purple unicycle with a bright yellow cracked leather seat!<\/p>\n \u201cYou\u2019re not going to drive there on that!\u201d Yolanda queried the clown. He nodded with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.<\/p>\n \u201cWell then, let\u2019s show you the street,\u201d Steve offered, turning to cross the lawn. The dewy grass was now drying in the morning sun in contrast to the clammy silk stuck to his body. Steve led the clown through the gate to the front.<\/p>\n He retrieved an area map from his Mercedes and opened it up flat on the black hood, blistering hot from the sun\u2019s rays. He pointed out the best route to Lakeview Drive. The clown nodded, and Steve shoved the map at him.<\/p>\n \u201cOh, why don\u2019t you just drive him, Steve?\u201d Yolanda suggested. \u201cIt\u2019ll be faster for him.\u201d She was pleading with those big doe eyes of hers.<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m not dressed. Besides, I don\u2019t even know this clown,\u201d Steve told her. The clown looked expectantly from Steve to Yolanda and back again. Then he raised a grimy gloved finger: \u201cOne moment.\u201d He pulled a tattered brown leather wallet from his vest pocket and withdrew a sheaf of crisp bills\u2014brightly colored Monopoly money!<\/p>\n \u201cVery funny, Clown!\u201d Steve was entirely out of patience. He just wanted to get back to the tea he feared was now cold with swimming bugs. Why did this clown have to barge in on our Sunday morning ritual anyway?<\/em> Steve asked himself.<\/p>\n \u201cHe\u2019s lost, Steve!\u201d Yolanda insisted.<\/p>\n \u201cYeah, and he should get lost,\u201d Steve commanded. \u201cWell, good luck then,\u201d he nodded to the clown. \u201cYoli, come!\u201d Steve turned to go back through the gate as the clown struggled with the zipper on his knapsack. Yolanda was not at his side. Steve stopped\u2014watching and waiting\u2014and tapped his foot.<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019ll help you with that.\u201d Yolanda worked to free the zipper from the striped material. The bag popped open to release an assortment of clown props; a gun clattered onto the uni-stone driveway. Steve ran to snatch it up. The clown was faster, but Steve wrestled the weapon from the clown\u2019s grip.<\/p>\n Yolanda stood there, silently taking in the brawl. The trigger released, and a loud pop erupted, shattering the quiet of the neighborhood. A plastic red rose shot out of the gun\u2019s barrel.<\/p>\n Yolanda clutched her stomach, uproariously laughing while Steve turned once more to go through the gate, barking over his shoulder: \u201cI said, \u2018Get lost,\u2019 you damn clown\u2014now go!\u201d<\/p>\n Yolanda helped the clown stuff the items back into his knapsack. In his peripheral vision, Steve saw the clown mount his unicycle. He held the map open with one hand and waved with the other as he pedaled off down the tree-lined street. Yolanda gripped the red rose in her hand and waved back.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" The Lime Tree<\/strong> I knew what the package would contain: a copy of my sister\u2019s first book of poetry. She was in her early twenties like me, but was already being noticed as an animal activist and a writer. I was flipping through the slim volume when a poem\u2019s title made me stop.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":4242,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"ngg_post_thumbnail":0,"footnotes":""},"categories":[14],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-2156","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-fiction"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue25\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2156","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue25\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue25\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue25\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/3"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue25\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=2156"}],"version-history":[{"count":23,"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue25\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2156\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":4844,"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue25\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2156\/revisions\/4844"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue25\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/4242"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue25\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=2156"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue25\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=2156"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mtls.ca\/issue25\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=2156"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\n\u201cBecause you never know\u2026\u201d Steve\u2019s voice trailed off.<\/p>\n
\nThe clown shook his head \u201cNo,\u201d pointing to the birdbath as if Steve had not gotten it<\/em>, his intention.
\n\u201cSo, what brings you here?\u201d Steve wanted him to cut to the chase.<\/p>\n
\n\u201cYou\u2019re quite lost then. Lakeview Drive is on the other side of the lake,\u201d Steve pointed out. The clown shrugged his uncertainty.
\n\u201cBut you can\u2019t be walking, not around here,\u201d Yolanda observed.<\/p>\n
\n\u201cBut he\u2019s a clown, for goodness sake!\u201d she protested.
\n \u201cExactly,\u201d Steve said.<\/p>\n
\nIt was only a coarse brown envelope from home, but it fetched a smile of pleasure in me. I had been feeling low, facing an uncertain future as an international student studying in Toronto. The latest changes to immigration laws had made returning to India a real possibility.<\/p>\n