The Yellow Clown

I had been dating Stalker for about a year, and we now neared the end of our senior year of high school. I was deep in a bad relationship. Stalker's controlling and emotionally abusive behavior worsened: The guilt trips never ceased; his jealousy was out of control; he grew increasingly disrespectful of me in public. The night of Yellow Clown proved a definite turning point.

One Friday night, Stalker took me to Cici's Pizza. A busy night, we stood in line at the buffet and watched the families, who in turn watched a couple of clowns who were juggling and such. The two clowns wore bright yellow costumes with polka dots, and their faces were also painted yellow. As I watched, they dropped their act for a break. One of the clowns got behind Stalker and me in line.

Yellow Clown began glancing at me as he put food on his plate. I tried to ignore it out of respect for Stalker . . . totally undeserved respect. Stalker noticed Yellow Clown looking at me and immediately, silently, pitched a fit. I recognized the signs out of the corner of my eye, but I ignored him in an attempt to avoid a scene.

Of course, Stalker's sulking backfired when he stood stock still at the buffet and Yellow Clown cut in front of him. I suppressed a smirk and looked the other way, glancing down so that the brim of my hat obscured my face; I didn't actually want Yellow Clown to talk to me. Of course he did anyway.

"They say that beautiful women wear beautiful hats, and therefore your hat is beautiful," he said.

"Oh . . . um . . . thank you," I said, glancing at Stalker, who stolidly looked the other way, totally ignoring the scene unfolding before him.

Yellow Clown continued speaking. I missed the words as I watched Stalker pretending none of it was happening; I willed him to turn around and address me. He might even have asked Yellow Clown to leave me alone, but Stalker only stared ahead, standing stock still. I inwardly cringed as I anticipated the childish reaction I'd have to face later. Yellow Clown stopped talking; I realized he'd been trying to invite me to sit with him.

"Well," I stumbled, "Thank you, but I'm with someone." I nodded toward Stalker. Yellow Clown looked over his shoulder accordingly; Stalker continued staring straight ahead of him. Yellow Clown cast a doubtful glance at me. I pursed my lips and looked away. I hurriedly took my tray and marched to a table. Stalker soon followed; I watched out of the corner of my eye as Yellow Clown took a seat across the room. Yellow Clown sat facing me; I tried to avoid eye contact as we ate.

"I didn't like that guy," Stalker said. I inwardly rolled my eyes and gritted my teeth.

"So why didn't you say anything?"

"Why didn't you?"

"What!" I couldn't believe my ears. I hissed, "I did. I told him I was with someone." Stalker shrugged.

"He still wouldn't leave you alone."

"What was I supposed to say?"

"Anything."

"I did! I told him I was with someone, and he turned around, and you were just standing there. You could have said something." Stalker shrugged.

I awkwardly glanced across the room at Yellow Clown again. He was eating his pizza and watching me while trying not to look like he was watching me. I hoped he couldn't hear anything we said, but I doubted it since I was keeping my voice down, the restaurant was crowded, and he was not nearby.

Stalker and I finished our meal . . . not in peace, but rather in quiet. Stalker sulked, acting as though I had encouraged Yellow Clown despite my insistence otherwise. I really couldn't fathom it; Stalker had stood right there and witnessed the whole thing; he knew perfectly well I had done no such thing. I suppose he wouldn't have been contented even if I had rudely thrown pizza in the poor clown's face. That probably was what Stalker expected; he always did want fanatical devotion from me and for me not to have a life of my own.

Yellow Clown and I shared a few more moments of accidental eye contact. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I wished I had the courage to tell off Stalker, stand up, march over to Yellow Clown, and join him. Oh, if only I'd done that! I would effectively have been dumping one clown for another. But Yellow Clown was probably too old for me anyway; I was not yet eighteen at the time. I couldn't tell how old he was, of course, but judging by his (very attractive) voice, he was probably in his late twenties. But still, if that happened again today, I wouldn't think twice about leaving the one guy for the other. In retrospect, I really don't know why I didn't bail; I suppose I didn't want to create a scene. Maybe I just liked having a boyfriend, even a terrible one, though of course all too soon I would realize how foolish that was.

Stalker and I left the restaurant without further incident. I tried not to look back at Yellow Clown . . . and Stalker and I mysteriously never returned to that Cici's . . . but I never forgot him. A couple of months later, when I finally dumped Stalker, I would glance into the restaurant every time I passed, but I never saw Yellow Clown again. I kicked myself forever afterwards, but I certainly learned a lesson: Don't stick with a loser if someone better comes along.