Bubbles

 

By Rosemary Gemmell

No one knew his real name. He chose Bubbles the Clown because of the way he would blow bubbles around the room at the beginning of a children’s party to get their attention. It always gave him a kick the way they waited with excitement to see what he would do next.

There was something magical about the shimmering colours trapped inside each perfect circle and the way the different sizes of bubbles would drift just out of reach, inviting little hands to catch. Then they would suddenly disappear at the vital moment of contact and he would see the mingled wonder and disappointment in their eyes.

He knew it was a strange job for a man who never smiled, especially after what had happened, and the irony was never lost on him. Each time he got ready for a party, he looked at the sad reflection in the mirror and tried to remember how to smile. After he applied the obligatory white make-up and exaggerated all the other features, he finished with a wide slick of the brightest of reds to paint on a happy smile. Then he was ready to face his demanding audience, outwardly at least, and the pretence would begin again.

Sometimes he caught a speculative look from one of the mothers as she paid his fee and thanked him for entertaining the offspring. But the last thing he wanted was inane conversation or intrusive questions. He was fortunate that there were several small towns in the area where he could advertise his services. Even in this suspicious age he could be certain of regular bookings, grateful that younger children at least were still happy to enjoy a traditional time with games and party food. Since the circus seldom came to these parts, the children were delighted to have a real clown in their house.

Occasionally, a forward child would ask him the inevitable question.

“Did you work in a real circus, mister Bubbles? With lions and elephants and everything?”

He would always answer the same way, careful not to disappoint the eager faces awaiting his affirmation.

“Sure, I did. I sometimes even had a ride on one of the white horses with a feather on its head.”

They didn’t need to know that the nearest he’d ever got to a circus performance was in a ringside seat with the rest of the audience. The clown outfit had come from a fancy dress shop in his hometown and, along with his ability to do some simple magic tricks, it served to provide a living of sorts. Psychiatrists would assume he was punishing himself being surrounded by children. Yet, in some ways it kept him sane. Reminded him what it was like to see a child’s uncomplicated trust. It reminded him of Jamie.

So Bubbles the Clown continued making other people’s children laugh and wondered how long his sojourn in this parallel universe of a life would last before reality kicked him in the teeth.

As he prepared himself at the mirror, mentally and physically, for this latest party he paused at the reflection staring back at him. There was a vague feeling that soon the proverbial bubble was going to burst and he would be left in fragments just out of reach. He sighed, then painted on his happy face and smiled at the child in the photograph attached to the mirror.

“Right, no more sad face, Jamie, time for the bubbles.” He picked up one of the plastic bottles standing on his dressing table and began to blow the multi-coloured, ephemeral circles, trying different shapes, seeing how big he could make them before they burst, watching to see how high they would rise before disappearing.

Soon he was surrounded by a magical, soapy curtain and was only vaguely aware of the slimy suds dripping down his arm.

“Look, Jamie, see how many big ones I can blow now!” He could just make out the face in the photo and was sure the little boy was smiling in approval. Then he realised time was melting away with the bubbles. He gathered together some of the plastic bottles and put them into his old van along with the magic paraphernalia. He was ready to face his next audience.

*

Sharon Gates was hoping a children’s party was the right thing for her son, Jeremy. He was sometimes so quiet she worried he would ever again behave like other children his age. Today, for his fifth birthday, she was taking a chance that the excitement of other children around him, the games and presents, and especially the clown, would brighten his little face and make him happy.

She’d heard great reports of Bubbles the Clown, although she had never seen him herself. She knew his opening piece always went down well and one thing Jeremy seemed to love above all else was making soapy bubbles.

She couldn’t believe the difference it made to his little face when he blew and blew until he managed to make some that would escape from the hole in the plastic stick, and the way he would stand and watch all the tiny rainbow coloured circles until they disappeared.

Sharon was struck by the fact that he never moved, never tried to catch them, or follow them as she had done as a child. He simply watched them with wide eyes and open-mouthed wonder and would blow again and again, never losing patience. She offered to blow them for him, but he would just shake his head and clutch the little plastic bottle more tightly. It was the only time she ever saw determination in his stance and knew this was one thing he would never share with anyone.

It had been hard for them both when Colin died suddenly in an accident two years before, leaving her to pick up the pieces of their life without him. People said Jeremy was young enough to get it over it quickly, that he was too young to know what was really happening, that young children were resilient and forgot easily. But Sharon knew ‘people’ had a habit of passing on platitudes and believing things that would comfort them when they didn’t know what else to say.

She saw Jeremy change and become withdrawn, wondering if that was partly her fault. It was difficult to keep cheerful for your child when your lover and best friend had been torn away without the chance of saying goodbye. She tried to be as normal as possible, to weep silently at night when it became too much. But Jeremy had developed a habit of appearing at her bedroom door just at the very times she was awake and she found some comfort in wrapping his little body in her arms until they both fell asleep.

He would be going to school this year and she knew it was time for them to move on, to gain a little independence, for both their sakes.

Now, Sharon hoped again she hadn’t made a mistake with the party as she put the finishing touches to the iced cake she had made the day before. She would stick the candles on and light them before bringing it in. Jeremy had been abnormally subdued for a five year old about to have a party and the only thing that brought a real smile to his face was the new bottle of soapy suds for blowing bubbles. The other presents lay discarded once he saw the familiar bottle. She allowed him to enjoy his favourite game until it was time to get washed and ready for the party. In the end it was the promise of a clown called Bubbles that kept him going until the first children began to arrive.

*

He was Bubbles the Clown again, in his colourful patchwork outfit, with a wobbly blue flower sticking out of his small hat.

His big, flat feet raised some laughs and the children jostled each other as they tried to get a better view. The noise levels were as high as any other children’s party and he decided it was time to get the bubbles out.

Then he noticed him, right at the front of the row. The solemn, dark haired boy sat perfectly still ignoring everyone around him, his eyes never wavering from Bubbles’ face. Usually the mother introduced him to the birthday child so he would know who to focus his attention on but, once she had opened the door to him, this mother immediately rushed back into the kitchen. Now he was alone with about a dozen boisterous children, apart from the one who sat passively waiting.

Bubbles hesitated for the first time in his clown life. Then his world seemed to shift and be out of alignment for a moment. It was the boy. He looked so familiar that Bubbles thought he must be hallucinating after looking at Jamie’s photo that morning.

The boy was the image of his lost son. The same dark floppy hair, thin pointed face and large brown eyes fringed with long lashes; though this child was too solemn looking. Then he realised that the children were waiting expectantly, wondering why the clown had suddenly become quiet. He heard the kitchen door open and saw the mother come hurrying back into the room, her eyes immediately seeking the little boy at the front.

“Well now, who’s the birthday prince or princess today?” He shook himself literally as well as mentally, and the children laughed.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I should have introduced you to my son instead of just abandoning you.”

Bubbles looked at the pretty young woman in front of him noticing the sadness and anxiety in her large hazel eyes, and for the first time in several years he felt concerned about another adult.

“This is my son, Jeremy, and he’s five years old today.”

Once again the room seemed to shift as he heard the words. Just for a moment he was sure she had said Jamie and that his son was sitting on this floor pretending to be someone else’s child. That the past three years had never happened. That he had not killed his child by swerving to avoid hitting a dog, and crashing into a tree. That his wife had not been so broken and accusing that she’d divorced him and moved to the other side of the world. Then he heard a small voice and he knew reality beckoned.

“Are you going to blow some bubbles?”

             He looked at the quiet little boy who was the same age now as his own son had been then. He felt his eyes begin to water and blinked them rapidly, pretending this was part of the act. Then he nodded. He had a job to do and instinctively knew this was important to the unnaturally quiet boy called Jeremy. He brought out his enchanted soapy suds bottle as the children shifted and arranged themselves to watch.

Soon, the bubbles were weaving their magic spell once more as the children reached up to catch them before they vanished. He noticed Jeremy’s look of wonder and the way he sat still, watching with wide eyes as the room became perfumed with the rainbow coloured spheres. The boy was like Jamie had been, awed at the way such perfect creations could be floating within their reach one moment and suddenly be gone for ever, until the next one took its place.

            For a moment, Bubbles the Clown caught a smile from Jeremy’s mother. He wondered if he might be able to introduce himself properly to another adult at last. James Marshall. He tried it tentatively in his mind as he blew the remaining bubbles.

            He watched with the children as the last one, full of magic and dreams and hopes, rose high above Jeremy’s head then touched his mother’s arm, before it disappeared in front of their eyes.   

                                                                                         

Rosemary Gemmell

‘In my 50s and married for over 30 years, with two grown-up children, I live in the west coast of Scotland. I’m now trying to write full time, when not helping with husband’s business. Short stories and articles are published in national magazines, in the US, and Online. Children’s stories are published in three different anthologies and, during March, one of my stories was published in the fundraising book, ‘100 Stories for Haiti’. I’m a contributing writer to Suite101 online magazine. I’ve won a few competitions and enjoy giving talks on market research and markets to local writing groups and sometimes adjudicate local competitions. Also attempting adult novels and children’s novels. Writing is now a way of life and is finally being given the space it deserves to grow!’