My weekly walk with the Clown

The Clown and I take a walk together every Thursday afternoon. The Clown and I hold hands when we walk. The Clown has very big hands covered with red shiny gloves. The Clown and I swing our hand-held arms high as we walk. The Clown and I hum out loud as we walk. The hums aren’t songs. They sound as if a group of birds were humming.

I don’t know the Clown’s name. I’ve never asked, and the Clown never offered. The Clown has never asked me for mine. Each of us noticing the other is our names. If this were happening between me and anyone else, I would say that sounds cheesy, but with the Clown it’s not.

Sometimes when the Clown and I are walking and humming, I happen to look down and notice our feet are almost a foot in the air. It feels to me like we’re walking on the ground. But at that moment we’re not.

I’ve never not walked with the Clown on a Thursday. That means I’ve been walking once a week with the Clown since I was two-and-a-half. I have no memories before then.

The Clown is sometimes sad, sometimes happy. Sometimes the clown smells like flowers, other times like crap. Sometimes the Clown lifts its beanie with the spinning propeller and a hawk flies out from its head up to a cloud where it sits and looks down on us.

I’m always excited when I wake up Thursday morning because I know I will be meeting the Clown for our walk that afternoon. When the afternoon rolls around, my heart starts beating in excitement because I know the clown will be showing up soon. Usually the Clown arrives around 3pm. If it’s 2:59 and the Clown hasn’t arrived, I feel like I’m going to lose it because, “What if the Clown is not going to show up?!” But that’s never happened.

Sometimes during our walk, the clown will look me in the eyes. I look back. I get lost in that look and I forget which of us is which. I’m pretty sure the clown isn’t confused. But I can tell the Clown knows I’m confused and seems to feel delight.

If someone sees the Clown and I out for our walk, they often look at us puzzled. I’ll wonder to myself if that’s because I’m not dressed like a clown, or if that person wishes they were me, holding the Clown’s hand.

The Clown’s hand feels like its vibrating in my hand. The feeling reminds me of the joke hand buzzer I used to wear as a kid to shock my friends when I shook their hands.

The Clown and I walk for four hours. At that time the Clown lets go of my hand. I feel disconcerted. The Clown makes a funny face and I feel reassured. I watch as the Clown walks away. I think the Clown will walk back and take my hand and we will continue walking. But eventually the Clown is out of view.

I walk back home. I take a shower. I sit on my couch. I look out the window.