The Clown in the Tree

Our Clown

My tree once delivered me a clown.

It was a cloudless day in January; a rare, crisp, miracle-day, free of the usual breathless humidity. My little brother Gino and I were wearing sweaters our great Aunt Loretta had sent us from New Jersey for Christmas. We didn't think we'd ever get to wear them.

We were playing in the backyard; a narrow plot of scorched grass. Our sprinklers had been broken for a long time, but we couldn't fix them because Mom said it would cost a fortune. We were playing a game we'd just invented. Gino hid a ripped tennis ball, and I had to go and find it and get back to "base" (one of the rusty clothesline poles) before he tagged me.

I found the ripped tennis ball hidden in a patch of shade behind the cactus bush on the side of the house. As I ran past my tree on my way back to the yard, a burst of color caught my eye. I was wondering what it was when Gino tagged me.

"Gotcha, Fi!"

"You won!" I said. A smile lit up his normally serious face (Mom liked to call him her "little old man."). "Hold on a sec!" I said, and I ran back around to the side of the house.

Sure enough, there was color in my tree.

He was a tall clown who looked like he'd been tossed on the tree by a storm. His legs were draped across the branch; his arms dangled off it. His face, which stared out at me from an awkward angle, was bright white with a purple star on each cheek and a red circle on the tip of his nose. His eyes were large and searching, and his lips, pressed together, formed a perfect purple heart.

He wore white gloves on his large, slender hands, polka-dotted shoes on his long, skinny feet, and a jumpsuit with a frilly collar and balloon pants. The jumpsuit seemed to be of countless colors, with patterns that were constantly changing. It had three big gold pom-poms down the middle. On his head, he wore a shiny purple hat with a gold tassel that swung back and forth.

I looked into his worried eyes and gave him a smile, nothing big and toothy; just a small one. He smiled back and strained to see around behind me.

I hadn't realized Gino had been standing there, his eyes big and fixed upon the clown. The clown untangled himself and sat upright on the branch.

"I'm Fiona and this is my brother Gino," I said. "I'm ten and he's six."

The clown smiled at Gino. Gino stepped forward and offered him the ripped tennis ball.

The clown reached out with a long arm and took it. He held it up to Gino and pointed at it, then he pointed to himself. Gino nodded and the clown gestured joyfully. Smiling at Gino, he placed the ripped tennis ball against the middle pom-pom of his jumpsuit. It vanished, and a burst of confetti shot out of the pom-pom and sprinkled down on Gino, who squealed with delight.

I suddenly remembered to check the time; it was almost three. If we weren't on the next bus, we'd be late for our drawing class at the community center. We had to go to drawing class, even if there was a clown in my tree. Mom had paid for the class and our supplies by saving up all of her tips from the pizza parlor for four months plus the money she got from helping the guy sell Christmas trees at Winn-Dixie. She said she always wished she could draw and now Gino and I were going to get to be real artists.

The clown flapped his arms as big, shimmery bubbles streamed from his sleeves. Gino was jumping all around trying to catch them. I ran into the house to grab our bag for class that contained our sketchbooks and pencils. Then I ran back outside and asked the clown if he would come down from the tree and follow us. He jumped down right away.