The Clown in the Tree

The Blessing of the Throats

The next week, Mom picked us up from drawing class. She'd gotten off early from her new job cleaning dirty air conditioners so she could take us to church for the Blessing of the Throats on the Feast of Saint Blaise. She said we had no time for strep throats.

We stopped outside the community center on our way to the parking lot so that Mom could wipe some charcoal pencil smudges off of Gino's face ("Gee whiz kiddo!" she said, "did you get any on the paper?"). Two boys from our drawing class came out of the building, but I pretended not to notice them.

"Hey where's your clown?" one of them said as they passed us. "Whoomp whoomp whoooooomp!"

"Help, help! My squirting flower's drowning me!" said the other.

"Whooomp whoomp whoooooooomp!" They laughed loudly as they headed to the bicycle rack.

"Stupid kids," Mom said under her breath. She licked her thumb and rubbed it on Gino's cheek.

I was relieved that she didn't ask us what that was all about. But Gino's ears were red again and he looked like he wanted to disappear.

The three of us held hands as we ran across the parking lot to our car. It was hot and humid again. Mom parked under a tree on the far side of the lot to keep the car as cool as possible since our air conditioner was broken. She said maybe we could get a discount on a new one through her job at the air conditioner place but it was still too early to ask her boss...

She turned the music on loud and was speeding because she was worried we weren't going to make it to church in time to get our throats blessed. At one point, she slammed on the brakes because the light had turned red and she almost ran through it.

"It's okay," she said, but she looked nervous in the rearview mirror. "We're almost there. No strep throats for us, okay God?"

Gino leaned over to me.

"Is God real?" he whispered, his large eyes burdened with uncertainty.

"Shhh!" I said, and tried to imitate Mom's face when she was really mad at us. I waved my index finger at him too, the way that lady at the church gift shop did to me when I touched a porcelain angel.

Gino looked so sad then that I hated myself. I reached over and tried to hug him, but he squished himself up against his side of the car.

We arrived at the church at twilight. The sunset surrounded it in fiery orange clouds. The priest held candlesticks to our throats and said some prayers. None of us got strep that year, and I kept believing in God and Saint Blaise.