The Infectious Laugh

There he is. The clown everybody has been whispering about. I wonder if it's a sick joke or strange threat that blew into town- but I don't care. I roll-up my sleeves  and decide my fists are going to put an end to it.

#

"Come on, man. You know how kids are." My friend, George, says. "Remember when they were saying that the principal was poisoning the water fountains?"

"I remember." I reply.

It's true. It was a legit fear at the time; then again, if the water was as hard as it was back then, I still would think it was sabotage.

"It's one kid’s imagination. The rest of his classmates are feeding off of it."

"Jordan’s imagination doesn’t get the best of him."

Jordan is my son, my world.

"Every kid has a moment like that."

"I'll talk to him about it."

My office is small, expected for a small town.  It looks like a string of different college kids work here, because it's summer, and the dress code is pretty casual until the leaves start changing. Everybody is talking about it. Some say he's been carrying weapons. Other say he's been lingering around the elementary school. Nobody mentioned anything being done about it.

#

“I never want to see you around this school again.”

The clown smiles. His lips move along with all white face paint, covering all the skin from his neck to his hairline, covered with a ridiculous orange wig. His eyes, darkened with a shade blue, and his nose, colored in a bright red, complete his clown costume. Black lines point down his face, which look like tears falling down his face. The wig makes him look tacky, but the rusty knife in his hand makes it real.

“I’m serious. I’m going to the police.”

The clown steps forward, walking towards me. The knife dangles at his side. He starts to giggle. My hand

aches from the clenching, and my arms shake.

The psycho closes in on me with a knife, but I’m more worried about what I’m going to do to him.

#

“Jordan, it’s okay.”

His face is red, the same color as his eyes. He’s been crying for a while.

“Dad...I….I”

“Tell me what happened.”

“The kids were picking on me.”

They dared him to approach the clown, not even realizing the danger, but this means it’s worse. The clown is actually there.

“You didn’t go, did you?”

“I wanted to, Dad, I did! I don’t get scared easy, you know that.”

“I know, I know-”

“But I’ve heard so many stories. They say the clown eats you a while, but then spits you back out, but you come back different. They were saying that Percy hasn’t even been spit back out yet! I don’t want to be eaten.”

Percy has the flu. George’s son.

“Have you seen the Clown, Jordan?”

“In the distance, yeah. We’re not allowed to go near him, but he keeps on appearing in different places. The teachers said they might cancel recess until he goes away.”

“Don’t worry— Daddy will take care of everything.”

#

“You took him on by yourself?”

The police officer frowned at me, unimpressed by my stature. He wasn’t convinced I took him down.

“Look, clearly that wasn’t the intention when I approached him.”

“You do realize he could have hurt you badly, right?”

“Yes, and I’m sure he could have hurt one of the kids too” I said, signaling to the elementary school in the distance. “How long did the school knew about this?”

“We were asked to be on alert in case another sighting was reported.”

“So why did I have to be the one who came here and stop it?”

“Sir, would you like comment on anything else?”

I turned and looked at the unconscious clown being carried into an ambulance, unsure of what to say.

“Am I in trouble?”

The cop looked down.

“No. The knife we found was real. Even if this was all just a horrible prank, charges will be made. As soon as we identify the suspect.”

“Good.”

“Aren’t clowns supposed to wear wigs?”

The ambulance doors close, taking the bald head clown away from view. I turn back to the officer.

“Yeah. Weird, huh?

#

“You’re crazy, you know that?”

My wife. My everything.

“Nobody was going to do anything.”

She dunks a cotton swab in hydrogen peroxide. Pulling it out, she lets the excess drip back into the dark brown bottle.

“This is going to sting.”

“I know.”

She dabs my cut knuckles with the swab. This isn’t my first fight, but it’s been awhile since my hands hurt this bad.

“Thank you.”

“What would have happened he stabbed you? Is that the scene you wanted your son to see?”

There’s no response to that. I can’t fathom Jordan stumbling upon his father, bleeding from chest. He would grow up without his father.

“I’d rather him grow up without me, and then me live without him.”

It’s her turn for silence. It came out combative, but she knows I’d do anything for him. She feels the same way. I drop a bag of ice on my right hand.

“I need to stop punching people.”

“I’ve been telling you that for years.” She’s right. “What’s that?”

I follow her finger, turning my head to see the orange wig she’s pointing out. I don’t know what

compelled me to take it.

“It’s a trophy.”

 #

“Did you really take out the clown?”

“I wouldn’t say take out, but-”

“I mean, you probably didn’t.”

Work has been weird. Some people high-five me, with others just stare. George hasn’t skipped a beat though.

“You don’t think I can do anything.”

“Just being honest. Besides, the clown hasn’t stopped.”

“Hasn’t stopped?”

This didn’t make sense. The cops arrested that asshole when they released him from the hospital. My lawyer filled me in on the details in case he wanted to try to spin this on me. He’s pretty confident that he can’t.

“I’ve been hearing more rumors of sightings. Maybe there’s more.”

“No way, we would have heard something.”

“Are you going after the new one?”

“No, there is no new one.”

“Whatever you say. My hero would have gone two for two.”

I can’t help but laugh.

#

The air is cold, and it feels so good. The sweat covering my face and body cool me down, but no; I have to focus. In the bushes I stay low, and I peek to see what’s on the other side. I can’t help smile.

I start chuckling to myself. I don’t know why, but I try to hold it in. I don’t want to ruin the surprise, but before I know it, my laugh grows. My head rears back, and my side hurts, and I feel elated. I wonder how I got here, able to see humor in all this, but I think to myself—

Does it matter?

#

“Honey, are you alright?”

My eyes droop, and the milk in my cereal seems to be heavy in my spoon. It dangles a little bit in my grip.

“I had a weird dream last night.”

I don’t even remember what I was laughing at last night, but my side still hurt.

“You look terrible.” My wife stares at me, sipping on her coffee. “You sure you don’t want anything?

“I’ll be fine.”

“Okay.”

She walks out of the room. I wonder if I should take something. No pain, no blurry vision, no hacking cough— it feels like I didn’t sleep.

“Jordan,” she yells. “Get ready. We leave in 15.”

I hear him stomping down the stairs, dragging down his bookbag. He pops into to the kitchen, not hesitating for a moment to throw himself into a hug at my legs. I drop my spoon to hug him back.

“Have a great day at school, Jordan.”

“Thanks, Dad.” He scurries off.

Man, I love that kid.

#

My thumb scraps off the knife. It’s perfect. Just sharp enough to get the job down, but just old of enough to oxidize, giving the blade a little bit of character, adding a lingering effect to its usage. Everybody loves a joke that stays with you. I brush of little bits of rust on the knife, crouching low, out of sight. I don’t want to ruin the surprise, because comedy is all about timing. If I come in too soon, people won’t appreciate the punchline. I don’t know what it is, but I know, for some reason, it’s going to be great.

#

A quick shove wakes me up.

“Dude, you look like shit.”

Back at the office- how long have I been here?

“What happened?”

“You dozed off at your desk.”

I look over to my computer monitor and shake my mouse. Springing to life, I see that my day has been started for at least two hours. Two hours I can’t remember, moments unaccounted for.

“I don’t even remember putting my head down.”

“Coffee?”

“Yeah, yeah. That sounds good.”

Standing up, a sharp pain erupts right above my knee. I feel like a fool as I limp around with George.

“You’re falling apart dude.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“You got to start running again.”

“Maybe I should be stretching.”

“Whatever you say old man, let’s bring you back to life.”

He walks with me to the pantry, and  fills his mug with office coffee.

“I’ve been feeling weak all morning.”

“Get some sleep, maybe wash your face every once and awhile."

“What?”

“You got shit all over it.”

#

It’s almost ready!

I’m in position, and the time is almost here. The knife is as sharp as ever, and I think it even rusted even more, which is perfect. Everything falls into place. It’s dawning on the start of the show. A bit of me is nervous, but this is normal. Stage fright. Cold feet. A little tingle in the hands before they are put into action. The knife shakes, rising the joy building in my chest. I’ve been waiting for so long for this for this moment!

#

“Jordan came home crying after school today.”

I’m holding her in my arms, and she buried her head into my chest.

“The clown is back.”

The heat of her body warms my soul, and its familiarity is comforting. It makes me forget how long my day has been, and how weak I am.

“Oh yeah?”

“More sightings. The other kids haven’t backed down at all.”

“I’ll talk to him when I get a chance.”

“Did you get some sleep?”

“Soon.”

She looks up to me, concerned. She licks her finger, and wipes something off my face.

“Did you get it?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

She ends the embrace and walks off into the kitchen.

“I’m sure he’ll be fine. Kids are always cruel.”

I want to follow, but I almost stumble. I gain my balance and just hang out there, in the living room for a moment to regain my composure.

“Am I cooking tonight, or are you?” She yells from the kitchen. “I’ll do it if you’re not feeling well.”

I look at my hand. It’s won’t stop shaking it.

“I’ll make sure to cook tomorrow.”

#

I see them. The children!

The sun casts my shadow, which reflects my foolish figure. The knife still reflects in the sun, and some blood tickles the print of my thumb. My grin hurts my cheeks, and my laughter warms my throat.

When they look my way, I signal them to come closer. The knife can’t be seen- I mustn’t spoil the show. Three of them bite, while the rest of them run away. Brats don’t know good entertainment, then again, most people don’t.

They get closer and laughter spills from my lips. I want to speak, but I advise against it. This is a silent show. At least, from my end.

They’re here! Brave souls! I’ll give them a performance they will never—

“Dad?”

#

“Jordan?”

My voice....it sounds foreign. I look at around the woods and the three kids stand in front of me.

“Dad, what are you doing here?”

The woods look strange, then I realize I’m next to the elementary school. I look at my hands to see myself wearing gloves and a rusty knife in my hand.

I flinch at the sight of the blade, dropping it to the ground. The kids flinch too.

“Dad, it was you the whole time?

The other two kids run.

“Jordan, you have to go.”

“No, dad! Why didn’t you tell me? I could have stood up to the other kids! Why wasn’t I allowed to know?”

“No, Jordan, it’s not like that-”

“Why, dad, why?”

I take a step forward, and Jordan sprints away. I’m alone. I feel paint dripping away on my face, and my hair itches underneath the wig. I have so many questions about how I got here, but it doesn’t really matter now. This is whole thing feels odd. It feels like a joke.

“Enough.”

I turn to see George standing there, armed with a wooden baseball bat, pointing it at me.

“I never want to see you at this school again.”

There it is. The punchline- it was me the whole time. George charges as I do the only thing I can.

I laugh.