6-Our First Date

I had been looking forward to this day for nearly a week and it had finally arrived. I was about to see Larry again, and I felt like I needed a shot of Pepto. I was nervous and nauseous, and my stomach churned like a virgin before her big date.

Larry and I had been talking on the phone and emailing each other daily since we first met, and we had finally agreed on a time to see each other in person. I was starting to feel comfortable with him over the phone, which actually made me a little uneasy.

Why did I feel so nervous about seeing him? Why was I getting butterflies over a guy I didn’t even know? We hardly even knew each other, and yet I found myself reliving every conversation in my head. The night we met, we talked until the bar closed, trading cocktail for cocktail for cocktail, and as you can imagine, by the time we walked out, we were both hammered. Yet, Larry was still chivalrous. He hailed a cab before saying goodbye, and gave me a soft kiss on my cheek, albeit he did leave a smidgen of white clown makeup on my face.

We agreed to meet at my favorite coffee shop in the Village, Think Coffee. It was a younger, college-kind-of-crowd, but the place was also more relaxed and casual. It was the perfect non-threatening environment for any meeting. I wasn’t quite ready to call this a date yet, even though I was intensely curious about learning more about the man behind the mask.

I got to the coffee shop before Larry, and ordered my usual herbal Thai tea, then walked to the back of the shop. Quiet conversations echoed in the air over an aura of freshly growned coffee beans. I was ready to spread out on the comfortable couch with my New York Times when I saw Larry walk into the coffee shop. I could feel the room shift when he entered, and I couldn’t believe my eyes. Was he kidding? Who did he think he was? He was still dressed as a clown.

Larry walked up to me, smiling, acting like nothing was out of the ordinary.

I stood up and gave him a hug.

“Larry, good to see you.”

I know that didn’t sound convincing.

Granted, this was the Village, but this was a sight you couldn’t ignore during the day. There were a few college kids pointing at Larry, the baristas behind the counter whispered to each other, nodding in our direction. Even the loner artist, --with purple, spiked hair and ripped jeans—was stretching his neck to get a better view. It was hard to ignore their stares, and the attention was overwhelming.

“Larry,” I whispered, “Why are you dressed as a clown?”

“It’s who I am. I’m a clown,” he said proudly.

Larry wasn’t wearing the same clown costume, and oversized shoes from when we met, but he was still wearing the full-face makeup. He also wore red pants with rainbow suspenders, over an oversized white shirt with purple ruffles. I guess it’s what you would call casual clown attire. I wanted to know what the hell he was thinking, dressing up like that for our meeting, but I knew I had to broach the subject delicately, sensitive of his feelings, worried about offending him.

“Do you always wear makeup?” I asked.

“Not always.”

I wanted to breathe a sigh of relief—until he finished his sentence. “Not when I go to sleep.”

My friends always said I helped put life in perspective and pushed them to greater heights, but in this situation, I thought encouragement would have gone overboard. I had to put his behavior in proper perspective.

“It’s great you take such pride in your work, but you can’t let it become your identity,” I said.

“But it’s who I am,” Larry said stoical. His face was expressionless, which was new to me, because every time he spoke before, every muscle in his face moved in a different direction. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to laugh or cry. He was a hard read.

Did he really believe this stuff?

“Larry, you’re a great clown. I have no doubt, a great performer. But you need to separate Larry from your work.”

The timing couldn’t have been more off because just as I was about to jump into my Anthony Robbins mode, three kids ran up to Larry and tugged at his oversized red pants. They jumped into his lap without asking, like he was Santa Claus. He lit up with their affection, and came to life. His energetic and gregarious spirit lifted their imagination.

Larry evolved into a mime, pretending he was stuck in a box, and couldn’t get out. The children laughed and tried to pull him out of his imaginary box, while the children’s mother smiled assuringly from a distance. Larry brought the child out of adults, and suddenly everyone in the coffee shop was watching admirably. After a few minutes of free entertainment, the children hugged Larry and said goodbye. He pretended to shed a tear and waved goodbye. A few people in the coffee shop clapped.

When the children were out of sight, Larry instantly reverted back to himself.

“Where were we? Oh, you were saying I need to separate myself from my work. And how do I do that? I’m a workaholic.”

“You start by looking inside of you to a place where there is no makeup. Why don’t you take off that makeup and see how the world treats you? You might like what you see.”

I was always preaching New Age, and reading Self-Help books, but I couldn’t believe I was actually having this conversation. Even for me, this sounded over-the-top.

“And what if I don’t like what I see?” Larry looked down at the table. I grabbed his hand.

“You will like what you see, but first you need to be honest with yourself.”

“You’re a wise woman, Elsa.”

“Thank you. That means a lot to me, especially coming from a clown.”