Free Touch of the Clown by Glen Huser

plastic grocery bag, some sandwiches, although we ate just before leaving, one of my school scribblers with its used pages torn out, in case we need to take notes, the new word-search book I slipped into the grocery cart at Safeway,
Jane Eyre, Winnie-the-Pooh.
    When I take Livvy into the children’s work-shop in the art gallery across from the theater studio, Cosmo’s friend, Bella, gives her a big hug and I know she will be okay. Her attention has already been caught by the gigantic pieces of paper unrolled over the floor. Kids have begun to paint a mural of people parading along on bicycles and skateboards and roller-blades.
    â€œYou can work with Walden.” Bella gestures to a boy who says, “Hey, can you paint some people running? I want people running in front of these kids walking a dog.”
    â€œI want to paint a dog,” says Livvy.
    â€œOkay,” says Walden. “We need more dogs.” I give Bella the grocery bag with the change of clothes. “She might need these.”
    â€œYes, Cosmo told me. Now don’t you worry–and I’ll walk her over to the acting studio when we’re finished.” Bella gives me a littlehug, too. She is a hugging sort of person with bright hair and lipstick, and a pile of jewelry. “Have fun.”
    Fun. My nerves seem to be having a jumping contest in my stomach. “Come in the side door of the theater,” Cosmo had instructed me. But I’m not sure if I can walk across the street and open the door and let myself into this whole new world. When I do move, it is like I’m a zombie.
    The workshop room is a small amphitheater with kids clustered here and there on the seat steps leading down to the stage. There are three girls in a pool of backpacks, their hair in fluorescent colors: turquoise, purple, red. A tall, gangly boy with no hair at all, his shaved head shining under the lights, is sitting off by himself reading a book. Two other boys lounge against a pillar, their quiet talk broken now and then with hoots of laughter. One has dark, curly hair tied back in a ponytail. The other looks like someone in a Gap clothing ad.
    A girl in a black leotard is going through some kind of series of exercises. Maybe she’s a ballet dancer. She lies down on one of the terrace levels and slowly raises a leg toward the ceiling.From across the room, an overweight girl with a lumberjack shirt tied around her waist watches her.
    Suddenly I am aware that someone else has come in and is standing beside me. I try not to look at him but he starts talking to me right away.
    â€œHey, is th…this…th…the clown workshop?” he struggles.
    â€œYes.” My voice comes out as a little croak. “Yes, I think so,” I say louder. He is part Native, with dark hair to his shoulders.
    â€œGood.” He smiles, flashing his teeth. “I’ve been all over th…th…” He pauses and takes a breath, “…this building.” He is wearing a small gold earring. His skin is a dark tan spotted with pockmarks and pimples. He drops his backpack and stretches his arms. I set the survival bag beside it.
    From one of the side entrances, Cosmo comes onstage. He’s wearing one of his outfits of many colors along with a red clown nose, and he moves slowly across the stage, lost in his own thoughts. We are all watching him. The overhead lights pick up the spun gold of his hair. Suddenly he stops, as if he has only just becomeaware of us, smiles and waves us down to the stage. In a couple of minutes he has us all down there, sitting cross-legged in a circle.
    Cosmo begins talking, but all I can hear to start with is a kind of buzzing in my ears. It’s like all the blood in my body has suddenly made a mad dash for my head. Rush hour in the arteries. I take a deep breath. “That’s it,” Mama would say when she was teaching me to swim. “Just take a big breath and hold it inside you and you