Fathers and Daughters

Fathers and Daughters
(A Meeting Of The minds)
Or;
Death by Socrates

He had broken every Clown code of ethics there was. He had been drunk on the job, did untactful and vile performances, worn his make-up when not working and had even cancelled appointments, simply because he was too hung over to work. He was a bungling, dirty, broken down clown¦and today he had decided...life just was not worth living.

After a night of heavy drinking, Bonko awoke at five the next morning, his eyes filled with mucous and his chin coated in spittle. Fired from his gig at a child's birthday party after openly swearing at the children who failed to laugh at his antics (his breath still smelled of stale beer) He'd thrown a swing at a chubby ten-year-old boy who'd called him Bozo, culminating in his being tossed to the curb by a mob of angry parents. Barely making it home, he had passed out on his bed, too intoxicated to remove his clown suit and grease paint.

Around one in the morning, he was still so fuddled that he wet himself, and being so wasted he could do nothing more than roll over into his pee and mutter a mild epithet.

He felt a pain shoot through his back as he slowly reached and pulled out from behind him a plastic horn. He swore but one word, "shit and tossed the horn across the room where it landed with a shrill honk against the side of a fish bowl that sported three dead goldfish floating at the surface of its stagnant water.

He tried to get out of bed, placing one hand on his mattress, But his head ached, a throbbing that increased as he tried to rise. "I need a drink, he muttered, continuing his struggle. He managed his way to the bathroom to relieve his bladder before he wet himself again. "Shit! he repeated, this time after seeing his reflection in the mirror. "I look like death¦no worse¦I look like Marcel Marceau¦if he were dug up today. He chuckled at his morbid humor and his head throbbed again, forcing him to brace it in his hands.

Bonko relieved himself, not caring that he partially missed the bowl. He turned, not bothering to wash his hands, and trudged to the kitchen. He grabbed a dirty cup from the sink and filled it with tap water, which he placed inside a filthy microwave, coated with splattered food particles on all the walls and door. He set the timer for three minutes and wondered where he'd put the instant coffee. He slumped to the floor trying to think, trying to keep his head from exploding.

One cup of coffee that is all he wanted, just one cup before he went back into his bedroom, grabbed the loaded revolver under his bed and blew his brains out. It seemed like a simple enough request...God had never been kind...all he wanted was a damned cup of joe.

The timer bell dinged and Bonko struggled to get up. His legs felt like noodles as he braced himself against the counter. Suddenly a louder bell rung and Bonko grabbed his head; "Shut to hell up! he yelled at the doorbell and slowly weaved his way toward the sound. "Who is it? he asked under his breath, believing that he had spoken aloud. His question met silence so he looked through the peephole and saw nothing. "What in Hell is going on? He asked louder and grabbed the door handle and turned. The old door, having bore the brunt of many of his drinking fits creaked loudly as it opened. He looked out at the stoop and saw nothing. He took a couple steps outside and looked to the west¦Boo! said a voice that sprung from behind and he turned, but only after jumping a foot off the ground from fright.

Standing there, all of four feet seven inches, was a brown haired girl with expressive eyes and a big smile. She wore a baggy blouse, pants, and sandals, and Bonko recognized something familiar about her, though he could not say what. He stared at the young girl of thirteen and asked, "What in Hell are you?

Though it seemed impossible to Bonko, her smile grew even wider and she stuck her arms out toward the clown, "Daddy! she screeched, piercing Bonko's equilibrium, "I'm your daughter Bubbles! The clown staggered backwards, down the steps, onto the grass, and put both hands to his head, "My daughter? How'd that happen?

"Well started Bubbles, "The daddy takes his thing and puts it in the mommy's thing and then the daddy begins to¦"

"Stop, I know HOW it happens! yelled Bonko, grabbing his throbbing head and peering angrily at the precocious teen.

"Mommy says you're a worthless drunk. Are you? I've learned never to accept just one side of a situation¦issues are rarely black and white, usually gray. When you dumped mommy for that circus contortionist it was bound to have colored her opinion. Where's the contortionist, can I see her bend?

Bonko shook his head and tried to focus, "Contortionist, Who? Oh, Madam Zahra¦Elizabeth Conway I mean, oh, she dumped me a long time ago for some big city chiropractor, I ain't seen nor heard of her in ten years¦ten years too soon by the way."

Bubbles bounded over to the clown and gave him a big hug around his waist, "Poor Daddy, I don't care if you're a worthless stumble bum, I love you just the way you are. You can't help it if you're a no good, do nothing, we all have demons, I know I have mine. For instance I'm too prideful...and I have to remind myself, just because I'm smarter and prettier than other girls, I don't have to look down on them. Noblesse oblige I always say."

Bonko held his hands out from his body, away from the bear hugging Bubbles. He looked around to see if anyone in the street was watching and then put his hands on the girls' shoulders and pried her from him, "So that makes you Zelda's daughter then? he asked.

"That's me, she chuckled, "I'm the daughter of Zelda Kirsanov, The Bearded Lady. Now there's something I don't admit everyday!

She grabbed her father's hand and dragged him inside the house, "Phew, it stinks in here, what you need is a woman's touch, it's a good thing I came! But that can wait, right now we have to talk...get to know one another¦I haven't decided if mommy is right about you yet. I was reading about Socrates and his method of discovering truth, so I have a lot of questions for you!

"Oh God! Bonko thought, "She IS Zelda's daughter¦talk, talk, talk! He looked at the girl, trying to see a resemblance and frowned, he remembered how Zelda always wanted to discuss their relationship, and he always complained that she'd make a good Nihilist---tossing Molotov cocktails to see what would stand and what would fall. As it turned out, he was one of those things not meant to last. Now one of Zelda's spawn stood before him, "Talk, talk, talk" his memory echoed.

He walked over to the oven, turned on the gas and stuck his head inside. Bubbles laughed, "Oh Daddy stop clowning and sit down, we're gonna have a long chat, just you and me. Bonko pulled his head out from the oven, remembering that he had failed to pay the gas bill, and trudged over to where Bubbles sat fidgeting. "Okay Bazarov, start deconstructing." he muttered, wishing he could just remember where he'd put that jar of instant coffee.

As he sat down at the breakfast table, he wondered briefly, why Zelda never told him about his daughter, why she had chosen to go it alone...but then he looked around and knew why. He thought for a moment that he saw her in the young girl at the table¦fortunately Bubbles was far less hairy; and for the first time since her arrival, he remembered that her mother was actually a fine looking woman. "At least the kid doesn't seem to have a beard, he reasoned, resigning himself to Bubbles' Socratic Method submitted via God's unjust retribution.