Clowning around
All nights start the same, a casual bottle of whiskey followed up by the burning
sensation in my chest, a numb feeling throughout my body, and a ‘Ding!’ buzzing on my
phone that reads, “Time for you to get your makeup done and dusted Albert!’’.My eyes
start to blur as I slowly walk towards the makeup crew. I sit in the chair facing the mirror
watching them paint over my sadness. My lips are red, my face is a pale white and my
nose has a circular red blob on it. I zone out focusing my vision towards my eyes, they
look tired. I look tired. So I get back into my routine, grab another whiskey bottle, and
drink away my emptiness before the show.
The curtains open and the stage lights pierce my eyes wide awake, time to be a clown
again.I checked the crowd to see if any seats were vacant, we sold out again.I begin the
act hoping the crowd doesn’t pick up on the fact that I am completely wasted and on the
verge of blacking out. So I just awkwardly smile whilst telling ironic jokes about different
types of people in life.The feeling of being the one making the joke instead of constantly
being the one laughed at because someone else made a joke, somehow manages to
take me to back to myself in high school, but now roles are reversed i'm the bully that
people willingly waste their money on to sit here for less than two hours and laugh at. I
finish the show with little to no memory of anything I had said thirty minutes prior. I
scatter back behind the curtains and let out a sigh, I can finally have another drink. I go
back to my dressing room and wipe off the makeup,I see who I really am again and
that’s when the emptiness kicks back in. My head feels heavy and my eyes struggle to
navigate my focus to the bottle in front of my hands,time for another drink.Suddenly the
door to my dressing room opens before I can even get the chance to place my drink
back down,it was my big boss.
“Another great show Albert, I just wish you would stop needing to down your stage fright
with alcohol. It isn't exactly professional now is it?”.
I nod but on the inside, I’m raging there’s so much stuff I could say to shut this guy up,
but I am simply too tired .
He has no idea what I'm going through inside of my own head.
That feeling.
But then again I'm not sure whether I do either.
So I just nod and nod until eventually he leaves me alone.
Driving home after a show is always the same familiar feeling, a combination of my
sober thoughts depressing me as well as my drunk body depressing me even more.
Time’s a blur, but I’m finally home.
“Daddy!”
Haley does her usual run up to me as I open the front door.
“How was the show? another sell-out? Oh by the way I made dinner!” She says holding
a wrapped-up bowl of pasta.
“Good job Hals, your mother would've been so proud.”
I hug her tight, she's the only bit of her mother I have left.
I go straight to the fridge and grab a can.
Haley’s smile fades “Another one? You already took a ton to work, you're becoming an
alcoholic dad”.
I ignore her, kick my shoes off, and walk straight to the couch. At last, I can sleep.
I wake up to the buzzing of my alarm, it’s eight am meaning I’m late. The hangover
lingers in the back of my head as I walk to the sink and splash my face, the cold water
shocks my body awake. I run to the kitchen and grab my lunch for the day, a pack of 8
beers, 3 bottles of whiskey, and enough fireballs to last me the day.
The sober feeling isn’t the most comfortable feeling for me,I stare at the road with my
eyes blurred again. This time not due to alcohol but because of the tears flooding my
eyeballs.I give myself a slap on the wrist and remind myself I’m a man, I’ve just got to
suck it up.
Work is always the same, have a drink, then another, and whoops you guessed it
another. Hair and makeup done, then I forget it all the moment the curtain rises up, I
fake a smile and begin the act. I am a clown not an actress. Don’t get me wrong, yes it's
an act but some part of it should show a passionate truthful side, so why is it I’m up here
faking my every move? Maybe I’m just a liar then? Is there even talent that goes to
being the world’s greatest liar? Show ends, the routine continues, a few more drinks
then a drive home.
So I drive back under the influence with a loose hand to the wheel and squinted eyes
that slowly drift away and,
“Oh God, I’ve hit someone”. I quickly speed away whilst complaining about the damage
to my car that the clown must have caused. I’m home now, I’ll just drink it all away, my
wife’s death, the damage to my car, my depression. It’s all gone within my first sip.
Suddenly I’ve downed them all.
“Haley! Can you grab me some more!”
No response.
“Haley?”
Still no response.
“Huh, that's odd”.
Two knocks followed by, “Albert Cunning!” radiate through my home. I slowly get up to
open the door. It’s three police officers.
“We’re sorry to inform you but your daughter Haley Cunning was involved in a hit and
run, unfortunately, she passed, the ambulance crew tried their best but they just couldn't
save her, we are yet to find the killer.”
I sigh, close the door on them, and reach for another drink.
