Curing Jackson Blair: bp5

“Turn off all cell phones, take off all funny hats, no giant gloves—that means you too, Giggles,” said Mrs. Field while handing out the midterm in Sterling’s Make Up and Face Painting Class.

“Uh, Mrs. Field,” asked Jingles after reading the first question, “What if, for example, I don’t know what hypothetical means?”
“No more jokes. If you really don’t know what the word means, figure it out through context. Use your imagination.”
“But I haven’t passed Imagination Class yet.”
“Jingles! No more funny business!”
“But I’m a Funny Business Major!”

The class laughed while Mrs. Field squinted, her face was tighter than a pickle jar--and kind of looked like one too. She then told Jingles to shut up, fail the test, and get out of her classroom.

About three hours later, William found Sterling sitting on a bench outside of Bonzo Hall. Sterling was in full costume and makeup—a rare sight for William, or anybody at the school, for the last two months. For years Sterling had openly dreamed about being a clown, enough to even bring him to this over-priced, under-staffed private university.

Sterling had always been a class clown growing up but as he got into his late teens he started to see an art to the pranks, high jinks and monkey business. He started to see wacky entertainment as a science. He began to see the process of clowning and thus found subtle, new reservoirs of comedy. This also allowed him to be baffled by his more “random” peers who had neither foresight in their practice nor understanding in their habits. And while there were always other clowns to associate with, Sterling perpetually felt an intangible and indescribable distance toward them—even the ones he personally liked.

William approached Sterling, only able to understand a fraction of what bothered Sterling. Despite not knowing what was in Sterling’s head, William did have the ability to identity Sterling despite the costume, wig and face paint. This was exceptionally impressive as the sun had set and the air had turned quite dark.

“Just when I think I’m getting used to clowns,” William said, “You guys find new ways to be horrifying. There should be a law against clowns being out at night.”
“I think I failed my test.”
“I’m sorry, man. What, did you make up most of the answers?”
“Yeah.”
“Maybe there’ll be a makeup test.”
“It was a Make Up test.”
“Well, maybe there’ll be a makeup Make Up test. And so what if there isn’t? You didn’t like that class. And tests don’t matter. And why do I have to cheer up a clown?”

Sterling stood up after having a realization brought on by William’s complaining. Sterling had a moment of clarity that was so obvious he was privately embarrassed he hadn’t thought of it earlier. After digging into his pocket and pulling out fifty handkerchiefs, Sterling gave William his apartment keys and walked away. He continued walking as he took off and dropped his bright-green wig on the ground. William, stunned, managed to pick up the wig but didn’t follow Sterling. William, did however, ask where Sterling was going.

“It doesn’t matter where I’m going. It matters where I’m leaving.”
“Where are leaving?”
“Ashton University. I’m leaving Clown College.”