Awkward? Sure, it was awkward. In the moment, however, staring into the weeping, bloodshot eyes of this drunken circus clown as he leaned over me and grasped my hand in his, I couldn't help feeling something for the guy.
"Michael!" he sobbed. "Michael, I've changed. I swear to God, Michael; I've changed." He looked pleadingly into my eyes, stricken in the grip of some distant memory. "You were right. None of us can ever own another person. We can't even own ourselves. You were right, Michael. Can't you see that I've changed? I love you, Michael."
It was too much for me, this poor disheveled clown. He was probably going to lose his job. He'd totally flubbed his juggling act and then stumbled in a drunken stupor into the audience screaming, "Michael! Michael!" His makeup wasn't even complete. He had completely forgotten his left eye.
"Look," I said, as he squeezed my hand like a vice, "I'm sorry, but I'm not Michael. I'm not. I'm sorry."
The words took a moment to reach him. His eyes lost their intense focus and his gaze spread like ripples on a pond. Suddenly, he snatched his hand from mine violently, falling over backwards with the momentum of the movement. A couple of young guys behind me laughed as he lumbered onto his hands and knees and then onto his wobbly legs. "You're the fucking clown!" he screamed at me, and he turned and staggered away.
I tried to act like nothing had happened. I tried to shake off the embarrassment and dismay and ignore all the faces watching me. I just wanted to put the whole incident behind me, but my wife was too freaked out.
"Who was that, Mike?" she asked, concern and trepidation in her voice.
"I have no idea," I lied. "Let's just watch the show."
Hello, friends. How are you today?
Later. Love.
