Behind the Painted Smile

Clowns. She twirled her straw absentmindedly around the glass of iced tea in front of her and only when he turned to wave at her did she put her lips to the straw to take a sip.

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It was 5 pm and any moment from now, he would retire for the day, taking off the orange wig to expose his dark hair beneath.

He had just one more hour to keep that painted-on smile on his face, he would soon go back to the reality of the fact that his mother was in the hospital awaiting treatment and chemotherapy.

She took another long sip and studied him carefully wondering if the joy he displayed came with the colorful costume and red honk nose or if after inserting his feet into those oversized shoes, he suddenly donned a different personality. The children shrieking around him didn't help her think properly.

There were three girls and four boys, hands locked together in a circle with the clowns in their middle chanting in audible words that caused the children to bend over in laughter or jump with glee. Their excitement was palpable.

She tried to look back to her own childhood, it was rather unexciting. She had to sit in the library all day reading up stories of Abraham Lincoln and Barack Obama, as if that had given her a job today. If only her father could see that the two children he prided himself in were now stuffing their bellies with clothes and dancing for kids across the street.

A smile touched her lips when she thought about him. He did the best he could to homeschool her brother and herself for 12 years but it didn't do them any good. Since their childhood days were spent reading up books, they were spending their adulthood playing around, until their mother's illness.

One after the other, parents came to snatch their children away from the circle and soon, he was left with just 2 of the children, a dark haired boy and a blonde haired girl. She was not blonde haired but they reminded her of them when they were much younger.

She glanced at her wrist watch again.

By the time the two kids were picked up, the sky was already turning a faint shade of orange, a color similar to the wig he yanked off his head as he came to sit opposite her.

“You look too depressed for a clown,” she didn't intend the condescending tone but it seemed to be a part of her. Of all things her older brother had chosen to become for survival, it was a clown. She took two sticks of cigarettes out and handed one to him as if it could make up for the sarcasm she just made.

“I didn't make as much today” he muttered, taking a lighter from his pocket and handing it over to her when the butt of his cigarette was glowing.

“You know, you surprise me. I'm not going to go on about how you should do something with your life, something tangible that can actually help mom. All I'm going to say is that you should wipe that fake smile off your face so we can head over to the hospital. Visiting hours end in 60 minutes”

He didn't move an inch even when she was done talking. His head was hung low and he seemed to be considering something. For a while there, she felt like picking herself up and walking out on all of this drama.

“I used to think you loved me Rivera, now I know you're just selfish and inconsiderate” she was taken aback for a while, despite being older, her brother never spoke back at her. She was the tougher one, the most sensible. Like her father always said, she should have been the first child, not him.

“You don't have a job, yet you keep criticizing the little I do to keep us going. I work here round the clock to put food on our table, keep the house running, and pay mom's hospital bills but what do you do? You sit back like dad always encouraged, playing little princess while I sweated out trying to prove a point to the both of you”

He suddenly rose and grabbed that orange wig she hated so much.

“You know what? I'm going to cater for mom's bills, that's my responsibility but you're not. So go back home, grab your things and get out of my house” he threw the cigarette stub on the ground and walked away.

She watched his retreating figure in utmost disbelief. That day when her brother dropped the clown in him and stood up for himself was finally here. She wished her father was able to see this too.

As he came to mind again, she placed her face in her hands and allowed herself to cry. She knew he would still let her in, but at least this time, the clown was shifting from being his identity to just being his mask.