Pierre, the Clown
PLEASE remove my makeup. Pierre, sixty, Jester.
Ding, ding, ding!
With a bright little ring, the doors swung open. Sophie rose to greet whoever was there, but no one was.
She blinked. The doorway stayed empty.
Then, circus music burst to life, bright and bouncy, and before she knew it, Sophie was gently swaying along.
Soap bubbles came next, drifting through the salon in lazy, popping loops. A cheerful slide whistle whooped. Light percussion rattled like maracas.
And then, as if summoned by the chaos, he appeared.
“Come one, come all! Honk your noses and wiggle your toes—because iiiiiit’s showtime! Welcome, one and all, to Pierre Pierrot, Pierre the Clown’s Spectacular Sillytime Extravaganza!”
In marched a rather short man, turning the crank of a candy-colored box as he went. His face was powdered white, with mismatched splashes of color around his eyes and mouth, and a shiny red clown nose perched proudly at the center of it all.
Stepping right up to Sophie, he put down his music box and retrieved from his pocket a red handkerchief.
“Gather ’round, gather ’round. Here we have a perfectly ordinary handkerchief. Nothing special about it all,” he said.
“That’s right, a perfectly ordinary handkerchief, nothing special about it at all!” Sophie repeated, caught up in the act.
The man draped the cloth gently over his clenched fist.
“One.” He moved it to the right.
“Two.” He shifted it to the left.
“Pieeeeerre!” He whipped the handkerchief away. Bang! The top of his hat sprang open, bursting with streamers as a beautiful white dove fluttered from his hand.
Sophie shrieked in delight, enchanted by the trick. She applauded with all the enthusiasm she could muster.
Buoyed by her reaction, the man stood straight, puffed out his chest proudly, and bent into a deep bow. “Good afternoon, young miss! Pierre the Clown—Pierre Pierrot—at your humble service.”
“Hello, Mr. Pierre,” Sophie replied, cheeks flushed with excitement. “Sophie Olzon. Now, that was a pleasure.”
Still beaming, Sophie offered her guest a seat. Pierre had to hoist himself onto it. Once settled, Sophie offered him the tea and snacks before taking a seat.
“What a delightful and enthusiastic performance,” she said. “You must be quite the hit with children.”
“Oh, yes,” Pierre replied. “I am. The biggest hit, in fact.” He paused there, taking a sip from his teacup.
Up close, Sophie could see it now—beneath the white paint and lively movements, the years had left their trace.
A moment of silence; the dove still circled above them.
“Or at least, I was, anyway.”