Walking the Rope

The man in the yellow baggy suit engulfed in red, blue, and green polka dots sighed as he leaned on the stool, sipping a cup of water from his glass.

“Yo’ah elected officia’s…” he exhaled again.

The full crowd, most slightly intoxicated, let out a light laughter.

“Always a whole lotta talkin’ and not enough doin’.” Zany turned his white-painted face to another direction, adjusting his big, fluffy red bowtie as he did. “What exactly do they do up they’uh all day ev’ry day anyway? Anybody know?!”

“No!” a few voices called out.

“Yeah, me neitha’. All-day spa days, puh’haps?” The crowd roared while Zany blew the thick orange curl hanging over his eyes.

“An’ that good-fa’-nothin’ Andeh Connuh’!” The audience’s gush elevated, sprinkled with some “Booo!”s.

“Aw Chrast, ain’t he somethin’,” he said as the bright lights seared relentlessly from above. He lightly dabbed his forehead with a towel, careful not to smudge the precisely drawn blue diamonds. “That boy been on the city counsuh’ for how lon’ nah? And what exactly has he accomplished durin’ that tam?”

Some light “Nothin’s!” trickled from the crowd, while the rest anxiously awaited what they knew would be Zany’s hilarious follow-up.

“Oh, I know, I know! Addin’ mo’ Chris’mus lats down’tan!” Sure enough, the room saturated with laughter. “In the midduh’ of Juhlah!!” he followed, dramatically flapping across the stage in his bright-yellow-and-red oversized shoes with blue stars and laces and a bulbous front. The audience screeched as some almost fell out their seats.

“Chris’mus lats, Mistuh’ Connuh’? Rilleh? And not ev’n the sleek, smaw, all-wat ones—naw, he got those big, fat, multi-coluh’ed bu’bs…litra’lleh jus’ meant fa’ Chris’must-tam. For a youngin’s Chris’mus-tam, no les’.”

He shook his head and took another sip before briefly glancing at the glass to double-check he hadn’t left a red stain behind and then covertly pumping air with his tongue twice against his smiling clenched teeth, as if he were spitting on a sidewalk but with no spittle. “He rilleh thawght he did sumthin’ with that. That’s his big accomplishment in fahv yee-uh’s!! What ah’ you doin’ with ya’ laf, ol’ Andeh?! And mo’ impo’tently, how in Chrast’s name does this man keep gettin’ voted back in?!”

Overwhelming applause rang out as the crowd enthusiastically hooted and hollered in agreement.

“Ah’ neva’ unda’stand it,” he said.

***

“Weh, yaw’ have been great ta’nat, as aw’-ways,” Zany said a few hours later. “Ah’ see yaw’ nex’ tam, and in the mean-tam, don’t be out hea’ bein’ a what?!?”

The crowd yelled the answer in unison, belting out their final laughs as Zany squished his big, red sponge nose, making a honking sound.

“That’s rat,” he said. “Don’t be a clown. Nah, have a goodnat.”

“Everyone, give it up for Zaaany Wiiise!!” the host came out and shouted a few moments later, sending the crowd in a roar as they began trickling out.

Zany smiled and waved as he walked off the stage and hurried to the men’s bathroom, eager to finally relieve what he’d long been holding in.

As he did, he deeply exhaled.

He stared in the mirror as he washed his hands, his tongue again twice-pumping air against his teeth—a nervous, self-soothing habit he was trying to break but had since he was young.

Carefully studying his reflection, he was relieved to see that, despite how much he’d sweated during his show, his methodically crafted face paint and costume were still in-tact, appearing almost as they had the few hours before.

***

The next morning, the man in a dark-blue dress suit and white-striped red tie began to take the podium to a lightly clapping, scattered crowd gathered in the park.

Faint “boos” accompanied the applause.

“Hello, wonderful citizens of Dazenberry,” the man said in a steadied, hopeful tone. “I appreciate your coming out on this wet, overcast day. You could’ve stayed home and made sure you stayed dry, but you decided to come out and be active in your community! That definitely deserves a moment of your own praise!”

The crowd clapped lightly again.

Despite what he said out loud, he actually was grateful for the less-than-ideal weather, as he knew it meant there’d be less of not only his supporters but also…

Everyone else.

It was a welcome break from the broader spectrum of activity from the crowd on the sunnier days.

“Go ahead!” he soon followed. “Give yourself a real round of applause and pat on the back!”

The applause grew a little louder.

“Yes, yes,” he said. “So well-deserving. Now. What did we come here for today? Well, as you know, my name is Andy Connor, your dedicated city councilman, and I’m currently up for re-election and would like to humbly ask for your vote.”

The sparse crowd clapped again, and again mixed with light jeers.

“I want to continue to do great things for this city! And I will, if you let me. We’re making progress on the issues you care about most! Like, more funding for our schools and for our teachers! A safer and cleaner community for our children! Better roads and more robust public transportation!”

“And colorful Christmas lights?” a young man yelled out, and most of the crowd laughed.

“Affordable housing and lower property taxes!” Andy continued as if that interruption hadn’t happened. “Creating more space and possibility for local businesses to thrive! And much, much more!!”

He smiled as most of the crowd’s applause persisted.

“You stick with me,” he shouted, “And I’ll get it all done!”

Andy felt relieved he’d been able to successfully move past that brief heckle moment from the crowd, and without any unusual way to do so. But he also couldn’t deny it bothered him.

He knew where the heckler’s “joke” had come from.

The ongoing rivalry between Andy Connor and Zany Wise was legendary.

It was so well-known around town that, half the reason people showed up to Zany’s shows was to hear him rag on the councilman, and half the reason the community and reporters turned out to Andy’s rallies was to see how Zany was able to rattle the councilman with his recent jokes this time.

The infamous feud had even evolved into its own category in the local paper’s “best” awards of the year, earning it “Friction of the Century” for five years straight—since its inception.

At this point, much of the public and media long wanted the two adversaries to finally meet and even debate each other—a notion Zany eagerly welcomed but Andy wanted no parts of.

The councilman deemed it insulting to suggest he discuss anything, let alone serious public issues, with a “silly, cheap kids’ birthday-party entertainer,” as he once put it.

“I wish he’d just go on about his clown business,” he’d often say when asked. “Get out of politics and stick to cheap nightclub acts. Or whatever it is he does.”

Unfortunately, such insults and his repeated refusal to meet only made Zany more emboldened and relentless in his attacks.

Andy’s critics also eventually nicknamed him “‘Fraidy Andy”, often chanting it his rallies and when they’d see him on the street.

’Frai-dy An-dy! ‘Frai-dy An-dy!!

They’d even throw in alternate chants, like:

You let the big red nose step on your toes!!

and

Why so scared of the orange-green hair?!

He was grateful nothing like that happened during this speech, again likely partly due to the weather, but it was becoming more common.

***

Later that night, the billowed yellow, polka-doted plastic whooshed against itself as Zany waddled back and forth across the stage.

“Did yaw’ see that saaad Andeh Connuh’ this maw’nin’?”

“Yes!” most of the packed house yelled out.

“Out theyuh’ jus’ lahyin’ through his teeth!” he exclaimed as the room erupted in immense laughter.

“Taw’kin’ ‘bat… he’pin’ the youngin’s and cleanin’ the roads... Yeeaah, if that was rilleh true, he’da been done did it!! Rat?! Rat?!?”

The audience furiously clapped in agreement.

“Hayuh’, even Ah would make a betta’ politician!”

Deafening roars and hollers rang out at the notion.

“Ah’m surr’ess. If aw’ ya’ gotta do is jus’ say thangs, ev’n thangs you don’t ev’n b’leeve, and ya’ don’t eva’ have ta’ actually do nothin’... Hayuh’, ah can do that!!”

The heads in the crowd nodded almost as fast as the hands clapped.

“An’ what was he wearin’?!” Zany continued. “That cheap suit! Hayuh’, maybe he should ransack mah closet fa’ a thang o’ two, whachaw’ thank?” He extended his big, bright-yellow shoe out towards them and dramatically bounced his thick, black, drawn-on eyebrows up and down a few times as the audience cackled harder and louder.

“Maybe he could bah’ruh mah hayuhdressuh’, too,” he said, swirling a lock of bright-green-and-orange around his finger. “Although, it looks like he mat nat need a hayuhdressuh’ fa’ much longa’…if ya’ know what ah myne.”

“Ooooh,” said the crowd, amidst their chuckles, and as Zany twice-pumped air through his smiling teeth.

***

That Monday, a reporter from a local news station approached Andy as he ended a day’s work in City Hall and headed home.

“Hi, Councilman Connor,” she said. “So, you say you’re going to make a lot of change, but what do you say to the voters who believe you haven’t changed much? Who say, for example, that your biggest accomplishment the past five years was having Christmas lights installed downtown?”

Andy sighed. “And who exactly said that?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

“Well, among others, one of your biggest critics, comedian Zany Wise.”

“God,” Andy rolled his eyes. “He’s a clown—literally—for crying out loud. Are we really going to take anything a clown says seriously!?”

“Well, he isn’t the only one, sir. And in looking over your record, are you saying that’s not true?”

“No, it is not true. I’ve done plenty of things for this community. I’ve helped feed the homeless, cleaned up litter on the side of the road, organized a canned-food drive—”

“Yes, sir, but, as great as those things are, what about your voting record—getting meaningful policy passed? Records indicate you haven’t been present for most votes, and for those you were, it was for things like… Well, as Mr. Wise put—”

“‘Mr. Wise’?! Is that even his real name?! He’s a clown!! Call him as such!”

The reporter paused, conservatively smiling and clearing her throat before continuing. “As Mr. Wise put it…it’s been for things like…the downtown Christmas lights…”

“Look! I’ve done a lot for this community,” Andy huffed through grinding teeth. “And if I haven’t, ask the voters why they keep voting me back in?!”

“Sir, I’m sure they have their reasons,” said the reporter. “Some say it’s to keep your rivalry going with Mr. Wise…”

One of Andy’s eyebrows raised.

“But let me pivot for a moment,” she continued. “Speaking of Mr. Wise… Mr. Connor, why won’t you put everyone’s criticisms to rest once and for all and talk with the comedian, face-to-face? As I’m sure you’re aware, there have been growing calls for you two to meet. Don’t you think that would be good for the community?”

“No! I do not. And it’s a disgrace for anyone who thinks it would!”

“Oh, but the public has wanted to see it so badly, and it might actually help your race—you can finally tell him how wrong his criticisms of you are to his face!”

“No, thank you. I have nothing to prove to a clown. Only to the great citizens of Dazenberry, which I can continue to do as I always have, without needing to have some pointless meeting with a classless, ignorant bozo with a fake accent and a sponge nose!”

***

Following the impromptu interview, Andy finally made it to his car, and once inside, let out a deep exhale.

He hadn’t meant to let the reporter to get to him, but he worried he had. And he knew it was less about her and more about…

Him.

Andy was fully aware even his greatest supporters were growing frustrated he wouldn’t agree to meet with Zany. In fact, according to local polls, that was the lead issue against him, far trailing issues like education and tax reform.

“Just meet with him once!” even his top advisor had said. “It doesn’t have to be long. And you’ll finally put this whole thing to rest! What are you so afraid of? He doesn’t have anything on you—you’d slaughter him in a debate!”

Ironically, Zany was more popular than ever—the sort of hero in the story, ready and willing to take on the big, bad political wolf.

And with good humor, to boot.

And throughout this, Zany’s jokes—many in which Andy was the joke—only became funnier to the hundreds, and eventually thousands, who came out.

The laughs only grew longer and louder.

And Andy hated it.

Pulling down the vanity mirror, he stared at the eyes staring back at him.

He fought the urge, again grinding his teeth before closing the vanity back up, turning the ignition, and heading home.

***

After napping a few hours, he’d gotten his second wind, took a quick shower, grabbed his duffel bag, and headed out the door.

Once back in his car, he carefully looked around for any suspicious person or car.

After confirming the coast was clear, he drove about a half hour outside of town, to the back of an abandoned warehouse, where he parked and opened his duffel bag.

He opened the vanity mirror, staring back at himself once again.

While the nap had helped his energy, apparently not as much his nerves.

He twice-pumped air through his clenched teeth before slabbing the white paste onto his cheek…

***

Once fully changed, he looked in the vanity mirror once more to confirm everything was in-place.

“Oh shoot,” he said. “My nose.” He’d almost forgotten the big, red, honking sponge.

“There we go,” he said with an unsure smile.

Content with the final outcome, he grabbed his wallet, locked his car, and began on foot back towards town.

He walked about 15 minutes before calling an Uber.

“Oh wow! Zany Wise!” exclaimed the driver as he pulled up in his white sedan. “I saw the name on the app but didn’t think it was for real!”

“Yep, yep, it’s fa’ reuh’!” said Zany.

“Nice! So, we’re headed to the Comedy Zone tonight?” the driver asked.

“Yep, I belee’ that’s what it says!”

“Alright then, let’s go!”

“It’s pretty crazy that politician guy won’t meet with you,” the driver said a few minutes into the ride.

“Yayuh’… It is,” said Zany. “But what can ya’ do!”

“I know. It’s like, what does he have to hide?! If he’s so smart, why not just go ahead and talk to you? I mean, you’re the clown! Oh uhh.. No offense.”

“None taken, suh. None taken.”

He couldn’t be offended because the man was right.

He was a clown.

It was that fact alone that Andy had always banked on for how all this would eventually play out.

He hadn’t thought much of having himself be the one to oppose the meeting, figuring it’d be more believable that a politician would find it utterly ridiculous, demeaning even, to meet and debate with a rival clown…than for the clown to be the one to object.

He thought that would be enough for people to let it go. To not press it.

But clearly, he’d misjudged.

Perhaps, Zany should’ve been the one to decline after all.

That way, his crowds would’ve just slowly dwindled, and with it eventually also the white-face-painted lie they’d unwittingly helped keep alive all those years.

And then he could’ve gone back to just being himself. Full-time.

But alas, it wasn’t Zany who declined. It was Andy.

And so, the dilemma remained.

Zany casually peered out the window, watching each of the cars go by as he continued to internally debate this seemingly impossible predicament. It seemed these days, this increasingly was his mind’s favorite pastime.

And its favorite personal torture.

As he wondered, he found himself admiring the countless strangers on the road and sidewalks that surrounded him—more specifically, the likely mundaneness of their lives.

Hmmph. To be ordinary, he thought of the grey hatchback headed towards him as his Uber was stopped at a red light. I bet that guy’s biggest worry at the moment is what to cook for dinner tonight…

Moments later, Zany’s thoughts faded and his eyes began to widen as they noticed the hatchback wasn’t slowing down.

Now bulging, they jolted over to his driver who was looking down at his phone, appearing confused at the GPS directions before him.

“Hmmm, sir… For some reason, this thing is saying to go to Fore—”

“Hey! Hey!!” Zany frantically screamed as Andy. “Look out!!”

But it was too late.

Next thing Zany knew, flashes of red, orange, and blue surrounded him—bright enough to bleed through his eyelids as they mostly closed and nearly blind him when they intermittently opened.

The faint smell of smoke and burnt rubber filled his nostrils as a symphony of sirens and voices, both near and far, saturated his ears.

“Mr. Wise? Mr. Wise? Can you hear me?” Zany vaguely heard shouted, along with the sudden sight of several sets of eyeballs staring down at him, as he went in and out of consciousness.

“That’s probably not his real name,” said another voice.

“Huh? Why wouldn’t that be his name?” asked the first.

“’Zany’? ‘Wise’? You really think his name is ‘Zany Wise’?”

“Pfft, okay. Well, then, maybe he can tell us. Mr. Wise? Sir? Sir?? Is that your name? What’s your name??”

“Man, he’s out of it,” said the second voice. “Look for his wallet—let’s see what his I.D. says...”

“No! No!!” the white-paint-faced man with the big, red squishy nose muttered, barely audibly, as his hand weakly moved toward his pocket—right before he lost consciousness completely.