When I came on stage to do my routine and saw Bosco Turner, who had vanished at sea three years ago, sitting in the audience, I almost dropped my bowling pins. I struggled with my performance, knowing a dead guy was watching. Especially that dead guy.
Fortunately, my greasepaint and bright red clown mouth disguised me, for if he knew who was rhythmically throwing things about in front of him, he would have immediately attacked me. As soon as the authorities had declared Turner "presumed drowned at sea, "I moved in on his wife Delta.
After the show, I did not change clothes or remove my makeup but walked along the midway as a clown. The air smelled of corn dogs and funnel cake. The sounds of barkers attempting to lure sailors to their games of chance mingled with Jimmy Buffett music emitted from the pipe organ of a carousel with its sea horses and weird-looking mermaids. The noise swirled around my head like navy blue cotton candy, adding to my mind's mole-grey waterspout of confusion.
Delta worked at a booth close to the fairground entrance selling overpriced fair souvenirs. As I approached, I could see her cheerfully chatting with overweight, sweaty fairgoers while ringing up their purchases, charming them with her ruby smile.
Delta. Beautiful, sumptuous Delta. A ship captain's hat sat on her ebony hair, and her blue eyes sparkled. How will she take the news that her dead husband is no longer dead? Suddenly the heavyset customers were gone, and in their place stood the man himself, Bosco Turner.
My heart raced as I ducked behind the booth and strained to hear them talking, but the distance and din made it impossible. I opened part of the booth's canvas backing and saw Bosco and Delta engaged in a friendly conversation. My heart went from racing to aching. Bosco Turner had returned, and his wife was glad to see him.
The two exchanged cheek kisses, and the resurrected husband left through the fairground entrance. I approached my beloved and asked her how she felt seeing Bosco.
"What are you talking about?" she responded. "I see my husband every day."
The swirl of cotton candy noise and waterspout confusion escalated. The sound of a ship's screw churning in the ocean created a syncopated rhythm with the other noses. I became dizzy and disconnected. Spasms in my vocal cords made it challenging to talk.
Gasping as I spoke, I reminded Delta that up until an hour ago, we thought Rosco Turner had drowned in the ocean. Then, to my bewilderment, Delta grew annoyed, and her beautiful face became red and contorted with anger.
"Who are you coming around here dressed like a clown telling me stuff like that? I am not finding this one bit funny. "
Did she not recognize me? I slapped my chest with my hand, covered in a bright yellow glove, and said my name.
"Ok," she said, her voice crosser than before. "That fella drowned years ago. Now get out of here before I call a cop."
Abruptly, the waterspout dispersed, and the sounds of the midway and the ship's propeller disappeared, replaced by the silence of the ocean floor. Around me swam the mermaids of the carousel and the one that looked like Delta gave me a wink as it floated by.
