The Clown’s Final Fencing Match

Summary

Reunion is a word for lovers in movies. For me, it was a car crash in slow motion.

It was New Year’s Eve. The circus tent smelled of sawdust, cheap popcorn, and the stale sweat of a thousand strangers. I was mid-act, balancing on a unicycle, the clown makeup itching against my skin, when the ghost of a career-ending injury screamed back to life. My left leg—the one held together by spite and bad memories—gave way.

I hit the stage hard. The impact sent my oversized plastic mask skittering across the boards, exposing my face to the harsh spotlight.