Tears of a Clown
The wheels came off the bright red and yellow car. Horns were honking and sirens screaming. Clowns were wriggling through every available window and door. Woodwinds and horns swooped up and down, pounding out a Screamer’s March. A clown put his face right up to mine and laughed an open-mouthed guffaw. His loud “haw-haw” raised his eyebrows and formed his lips into a perfect O. My ten-year-old mouth mirrored his as I started to cry. My big sister tried to comfort me. She handed me the red and white striped box of popcorn and whispered, “Don’t be afraid. It is the grease of clown make-up mingled with salty tears that season the popcorn.” She loved absurdities.
In the waiting room, the sports section of the newspaper is turned upside down on the vinyl tan chair. The headline facing up reads: EMT shot inside her ambulance by patient.
In the ICU, I paint thick white arches over my sister’s eyebrows and draw a single tear drop on her cheek. With a thinner brush I shape a white outline around her mouth so that it looks like an exaggerated smile. The ventilator pumps up and down, like a calliope breathing for her.
Author: Oanh Nguyen is a part-time student at the University of Pennsylvania, focusing on Creative Writing. She currently lives in the Philadelphia suburbs with her daughters and other animals. Her work appears in Poet’s Choice, Sad Girl’s Literary blog, Herstry, and Moving Force Journal.
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