There's a Clown at the Door

“Dad, there’s a clown at the door.”

Ted sighed at the declaration by his 6-year-old son, Bradley, who’d been telling a lot of whoppers lately. Ted sat up straight on the couch, ready to upbraid his son for lying and interrupting the football game when he heard his wife’s voice echo in his skull.

It’s just a phase. Don’t get so upset. Just humor him until it goes away.

“A clown, huh?” he asked, his voice straining to maintain a patient tone.

“Yup.” Bradley’s voice had not a hint of humor.

The front door stood to the left of his son, beyond a small patio. To his right, the stairs and the hallway to the kitchen. Behind him, the dining room. He faced into the living room, where his father tried to watch the television. Ted could not see the front door from where he sat.

“What does he want?”

“He wants to take Molly for a ride.”

Molly, Bradley’s 2-year-old sister. Ted rolled his eyes.

That kid. He considered a lecture about the dangers of constantly telling fibs, even in jest. However, the sounds of a roaring stadium crowd from the television caught his attention, and he eased back down onto the couch.

“Okay, fine. Let him take Molly for a ride.”

He heard Bradley’s pajama-covered feet quickly thump up the stairs. By the time they came thumping back down—his footsteps a little slower— Ted was once again oblivious to everything but down and yardage.

It remained silent for the rest of the first half, but not two minutes into the third quarter, Ted’s lazy Monday night was interrupted again.

“Dad, the clown’s back.”

Fully willing to play along now in the interest of getting rid of his pest of a son, he amiably said, “What does he want now?”

“He wants to take Patrick for a ride, too.”

“Patrick, eh?”

“Yup.”

“First your little sister, and now your little brother?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Where is the clown going to take them?”

“I don’t know. Just for a ride.”

“When is he bringing them back?”

“He isn’t.”

Ted sat up, looking back over the couch at his son with bemused curiosity. “You mean he’s going to keep them?”

“I guess.”

“Well, why don’t you go ask the clown what he is going to do with your brother and sister if he isn’t bringing them back.”

“Okay.”

Before Ted could say another word, Bradley padded off toward the front door. He heard his son scamper through the patio, heard the creak of the front door opening and heard Bradley’s voice. He listened with small concern for another voice, but heard no one else. He chuckled to himself as Bradley came trotting back into the living room.

“Well?”

“He said he isn’t bringing them back because he’s hungry.”

Ted’s face drew into an offended scowl. “Bradley, that’s not a very nice joke to make.”

“Sorry,” Bradley said with the voice of someone unfairly accused.

Ted rubbed his temple, his wife’s words ringing in his conscious.

“Can Patrick go too?” his son prodded.

“Yes,” Ted almost barked. Bradley ran off again.

Ted returned to his game, and threw his arms up in frustration as the replay showed the trick play paying off big. He quaffed the last warm swallow of his beer, and considered going for another when he heard soft footsteps again. He decided to lay low until his son finally decided to retire to his room for awhile.

It was peaceful for almost another hour. Ted moaned and squeezed his eyes shut when he heard Bradley coming into the living room again.

“Dad—“

“What does the clown want now?”

“He wants mom to go with him now.”

“Well, you don’t have to ask me for that. Go ask her.”

Prepare to take your own medicine, Honey.

“She’s asleep.”

“In that case, don’t wake her up.”

“But, what should I tell the clown?”

Ted felt himself on the very edge of sanity. When would this kid tire of his relentless fantasizing?

“Tell the clown to go wake your mother up and ask her himself.”

Ted chuckled as Bradley jogged off.

He woke with a flinch as the crowd erupted in cheers again. He glanced at the VCR clock. He’d dosed off for nearly twenty minutes. A loud thump sounded from upstairs, and Ted sat up.

“Bradley?”

Bradley ran into the living room. “Yeah?”

“What was that noise?”

“Oh, that’s just the clown. He’s up in your bedroom getting mom.”

Ted sighed and rubbed his eyes. “Bradley, that’s enough. It’s time for bed. Now, I want you to stop all of this. It’s late, and I don’t want you waking up your mother. You know she has to get up early every day.”

“What should I tell the clown?”

At that moment, Ted thought he might very well explode, but he somehow found a way to cap off the steam.

“Bradley,” he said very patiently, “I want you to tell the clown to bring everyone back and go home. It’s time for you to go to bed.

“But, mom’s just leaving for her ride with the clown!”

Ted didn’t know how much longer he could play along. The escalating crowd noise told him he was missing another amazing play. He gave a dismissive wave of the hand. “Fine. Let mom take her ride. You go to bed.”

“Okay.”

Ted sighed with relief as Bradley left. He had never seen such an active imagination, not even in himself when he was that age. He had just resettled himself into the couch when Bradley came into the living room again.

“Dad? Can I ask you one more thing?”

Ted summoned all his willpower. “Yes?”

“The clown wants to know if you’ll go for a ride, too.”

“No. I’m not getting up. Sorry. Tell him no.”

Ted waited for a few seconds. Bradley thumped to the front door and quickly thumped back.

“He said he’ll carry you. You don’t have to get up.”

Ted chuckled in helpless frustration. “Okay then. Tell the clown to get in here and carry me away.”

Bradley ran out of the room. Ted heard the front door open and shut with a thud. He heard Bradley making his way back to the living room. Only this time, something was different. He didn’t hear the soft pat of his son’s feet. These steps were much heavier, louder and spaced further apart. Ted giggled to himself as he imagined his overly creative son trying his best to mimic the long, heavy strides of an adult. Ted shook his head and grinned as the footsteps reached the couch.

That kid.