Post by Sharon
This is a short story by me. It involves a widow with panic attacks forced to face her fears. Enjoy the twist ending! For my over two dozen published books, look HERE.
“Your
assignment is to go out and do one thing alone this week. Shopping doesn’t
count. You have to actually go to a place made for recreation and be seen
alone. It can be a restaurant, a museum, whatever sounds good. But,” Ruth’s
therapist leaned forward in emphasis, “it must be some place you would never
normally go with or without someone. You need novelty.”
Ruth
clenched her fingers into her purse on her lap. “You mean like going to a car
show or something like that?” She must have made a look of disgust because
Jeremy laughed.
“Yes. Something like that. What’s going on this weekend?”
He asked and picked up a paper and started to shuffle through it.
“I-I’ll find something.” She assured him.
“Do you understand why we’re doing this, Ruth?” He asked as
he remained behind the wall of newsprint.
“To learn to be my own person?” She mumbled, always feeling
like he was a teacher and she was the dimwitted student in class.
“Aha!” He snapped the newspaper shut, a huge grin on his
gaunt face. “There’s a carnival in town. That’s just the thing for you.”
She felt her stomach flutter in response. She hated the
sounds, the lights, the scary rides, the creepy workers, and the…clowns.
“Do I have to go to that?” She asked.
His face went grim as he leaned forward, his elbows on his
knees. “Ruth, because of your reaction, I’m certain this is exactly what you should do. You go to
the carnival and spend a good two hours. I expect you to leave there having
found yourself.”
“At a carnival?”
Five hours later standing before the ticket booth with cash
in hand, watching the couples and young families with small children rush
through the dirt lot and point at the brightly lit noisy rides, Ruth checked
her watch.
I get to leave at 11.
Feeling out of place by herself, she nervously skirted
along the Tilt-A-Whirl ride where the smell of fresh vomit filled the air and
gagged as she turned the corner and ran straight into her most hated fear.
A clown!
His silken billowy costume blew in the breeze, snapping
like the sails on a ship. Ruth stumbled back, terrified he would touch her.
The clown pulled his mouth
down to exaggerate the painted on frown. Above his pout, a red ball created his
prosthetic nose. Beady dark eyes clashed with the white pancake makeup and tiny
bowed eyebrows were sketched in to make him look perpetually perplexed. He had
a blue teardrop on his cheek. His hair was a skullcap with red wiry protrusions
coiling out each side of his head. Everything about him was big, bright, and
loud.
Instinctively, she stepped back again. He imitated her
motion as if mocking her.
Feeling like the frightened child she had once been at the
circus, she raced off towards the restrooms and went inside. Within the stall,
Ruth held her hands to the walls and gasped for her breath.
Panic attack number
one.
The rush of numbness raced through her body like a tsunami.
Her lips tingled, her heart pounded wildly and she beads of sweat dribbled down
her spine.
It’s just a man who’s
paid to put on makeup and a silly outfit and big shoes and wander around the
park to drum up business and festivity. He’s not coming after you, you big
baby!
Jeremy was right, if she sat through the panic attack and
observed it and it rose and fell and then was over. She didn’t die or go crazy.
One accomplishment at
a time.
Ruth
straightened up her sweater and walked outside again, determined to pretend to
be normal. She’d watched other people do many things alone like eating in
restaurants and traveling and they looked very comfortable in their skin. She
would just pretend she was one of those people who never thought twice about
going anywhere they wanted, doing anything they desired.
Deciding to firmly try and “find herself,” Ruth wandered
over to the ring toss game and promptly ordered three sets of rings to toss.
The other people around the display were tossing their rings to the bottles in
the middle, laughing and cheering as they tried to win a prize. When she tossed
the first ring, she smiled, feeling as if she were part of the crowd.
Someone next to her said, “it’s a scam, you know. The way
the bottles are lined up, you can’t land one.” He offered.
His
friend elbowed him. “That’s not true, miss. You can do it. You just have to
spin it. See?” He took his ring and spun it and it circled a bottle neck and then
flung itself at the shifty man running the game.
The men laughed and Ruth found herself joining them.
“When you open
yourself up to the world and join the living, Ruth, you will find you are alive
and not dead with your husband, Ricky. He would want you to live again. You’re
much too young to be buried with him.”
Jeremy’s
words had never been so true.
Feeling more secure to try something on her own, she walked
over to the Scrambler ride and gave the man her ticket. He clinked her into her
little bench seat and she watched the entire carnival turn into a blur of red,
blue, green, and white lights.
Ruth
laughed as the wind caught her long hair and flapped it around her until she
couldn’t see which way she was facing. The ride continued to slam the seats to
the edges of its reach and then back again, around and around. The smells of
the carnival went from nasty to sweet. Candy corn, funnel cakes, corn dogs
filled the night air mixed with the distant wood smoke of a fall night.
Ruth
closed her eyes and laughed joyously as she was slammed yet again in her seat
to the limits of the ride’s scope. The tinny sounds of the music and the
dinging of the muscle hammer attraction filled her ears.
When
Ruth climbed down from the ride, her hair was a mess, her sweater askew, her
walking unstable from the dizzying ride. And, she’d never felt so alive in the
past two years!
Ordering a huge ball of pink cotton candy that matched her
sweater, she wound the tendrils around her finger and nibbled it off with
childish delight.
Several
men passed by her, watching her licking at her pink finger and looking
sheepishly embarrassed for her delight. One even winked at her!
Feeling
a flutter of life unfold within her chest, she sighed. She felt like a woman
again. She felt like she was no longer invisible. She felt as if she were
interacting with her surroundings instead of just cutting through them on her
way to another place, never staying still long enough to make human
interactions.
Proud and contented, Ruth turned, holding her head up high,
spine erect, she felt taller, more slender, more graceful. She smiled with her
secret knowledge and then licked the sugar from her lips when she felt eyes
upon her.
When
Ruth turned her eyes caught the clown again. His arms were crossed over his
massive chest and his dark eyes were focused on her, the painted frown seeming
even more anguished than before. His expression reminded her of her own
expression only a half hour ago.
It
was a childish threat, but she couldn’t help feeling uneasy that he’d noticed her
out of all the people in the carnival and all the distractions. What did he
want?
She began a steady walk around the carnival grounds,
nervously capturing glimpses of his red and white satin costume. Was he
following her? She tried to zig-zag between the rides, but now she was
absolutely certain he was chasing her. It sent a shiver down her spine to
consider him getting any closer.
Without
realizing it, Ruth approached the edge of the carnival. She stopped short and
looked back to the clown standing not 20 feet away openly studying her.
Heart beat hastening, Ruth searched around for a safe
harbor. She was at the Ferris wheel now, the last ride on the edge of the
forest clearing. All Ruth’s progress in one evening was going to be ruined by
the last vestiges of childhood fear rearing its head.
Jeremy would tell her to go to the clown and have him
engage her in some trickery, but the primitive part of her mind had taken over.
Heart racing, palms sweating, she handed her last ticket to the ride attendant
and rushed forward onto the bench seat.
A whoosh beside her caught her attention as a blur of white
and red climbed into the seat beside her. The attendant locked the bar in
place.
“Sir!” She screamed out. “We’re not together.”
The attendant couldn’t hear her through the grinding of the
gears as he moved her bucket up one and filled the next seat.
The clown’s satiny fabric fluttered against her arm. She
withdrew to her side of the bench and looked out into the dark forest,
desperate to endure a few minutes of ride beside him.
Trying not to look curious, she peeked cautiously at him.
The clown was studying the distance as they continued up higher and higher
until the last seat was filled and the ride could begin.
Desperate for some sign of humanity about him, Ruth noted
that he was Ricky’s size and had dark eyes like his. She bit her lip and turned
away. This was not Ricky. This was a stranger. One who chose to spend his
evenings behind makeup and a costume where he could know what everyone else
was, but they would never know what he was.
What is he?
With a nagging inner voice, Ruth imagined what Jeremy would
say. He’d prod her on about making the clown a real person and not a fictional
character. He would tell her to take his teeth away as she had taken away the
teeth of her panic attacks by enduring them and doing things in spite of them.
“I know clowns aren’t supposed to speak, sir, but I was
wondering. Why did you get on this ride with me?”
He turned slowly and studied her with his black eyes.
“You wanted to frighten me? You saw that I was scared,
didn’t you?”
He raised one of his thinly marked brows as if puzzled. The
exaggerated pose was almost comical.
“I’m really not scared of you.” She insisted firmly as the
ride began its fast ascent and descent into the night sky. She could see in the
glowing lights of the ride her own cowering figure in his dark eyes.
He tilted his head to one side as if he didn’t buy it.
“See.” She insisted, putting her hand on his. He remained
still. She retracted.
“You’re
just a man in a costume, right? I mean, I’m not a kid. Kids are scared of
clowns. Adults know they’re just normal people wearing makeup.” She reached to
touch the white of his face, but his hand caught hers.
“I’m sorry.” She blushed excitedly. His hand was warm and
by the scent and size of him, she could feel the powerful man he was beneath
the costume. It made her mouth go dry.
He guided her hand to his wide muscular thigh in his
balloon-shaped pants. She could feel the muscles tighten at her touch. It was a
male reaction, the same reaction that tightened his hip muscles and drew his
groin into a pool of heat and throbbing ache when aroused. Curiously, she
spread her fingers on the clown’s thigh, feeling the width of his leg, the
silken fabric, and listening above the sounds of the carnival below.
Realizing how wrong it was to touch a stranger’s leg, Ruth lifted
her hand.
The
clown looked at her.
She could
tell by the corner of her eye, but she was childishly afraid to look at the
face too long with its grossly exaggerated frown.
His huge hand glided to her thigh, feeling her leg through
her taut jeans. His hand was so big and powerful, so warm. His breathing
caught.
She looked up at his face cautiously, his eyes closed as he
held her leg. He seemed to tremble inwardly. The ride jerked to a stop and she
gasped. The clown’s hand lifted from her thigh leaving a hot place where it had
rested.
The attendant grasped their cart and steadied it, opening
it up. The clown stepped out and walked down the plank and Ruth followed
feeling unsure of what the usual interactions with ride attendants and
civilians were.
When
she got to the end of the ramp, he was gone.
Certain she’d done more than enough for a night, Ruth
wandered back towards the restrooms before leaving. Near the line of forest
trees, she saw something bright. The clown. He was holding a balloon and his
grotesquely painted face frowning perpetually.
She looked around her and realized he was staring at her.
She walked over to him, unsure what to say to a man who was sworn to
silence.
He held out his hand, giving her the balloon and she smiled
at him.
“Thank
you for helping me get over my fear of clowns.”
She turned to leave, not sure what he wanted from her. His
hand came down on her shoulder and she turned back, almost hoping he wanted
something more. Perhaps another caressing touch. It had been so long since
she’d been touched that way, she flushed with embarrassment that a clown had
been the first one to reach out and connect with her physically.
It is certainly a
night of firsts.
He leaned into her under the shadows of the trees. “You
were frightened of me?” He whispered in a rusty voice that sounded as if it
were barely ever used. “Are you now?”
She shook her head, her body shivering with arousal at the
husky timber of his voice.
“I
am no longer afraid of you, either. Thank you for helping me overcome my fear
of…humans.” He confessed and then turned and strolled off
into the crowd.
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