Shirley Temper

Years ago, some friends and I were discussing an imagined scene which would epitomize the idea of tragicomedy. An example of the sort of our inquiry were the real-life rape allegations against self-proclaimed “Lord of the Dance,” Michael Flatley. To be clear, these allegations were made by a woman. This is an example of tragicomedy in that the idea or rape conjures up horrific images, while the idea of Michael Flatley conjures up (to the exclusion of all else) images that are, well, really, really gay; these images also step lively and involve colorful pyrotechnics. (See: fagbam*)

The idea that we ended up settling on (settling on, by the way, in the sense of agreeing to, not in the sense in which Clinton settled on Lewinsky, lacking any other options of the rotund, beret wearing variety) was that of a clown, naked, in full face makeup with his red rubber nose, crying and masturbating in the shower. This, however, was an agreement of sorts, because wasn’t complete: we were divided over whether sobbing would better describe tragicomedy rather than a single tear, leaving in its wake a kaleidoscopic line of smeared makeup.

Over the years, I’ve wrestled with this divide among my friends; sometimes joining one group only to open up my heart to the compelling reasons of another and, like a drunken college girl trying to get attention, again switching teams.

At long last, I’ve come to believe that the single tear is more poignant a signifier of the delicate sensibility of tragicomedy.

But on to other issues which, given the single tear/sobbing divide, have not received the attention they deserved. We’ve been over looking the hastily thrown off clown garb, a rainbow puddle in the austere, military barracks style apartment. Forgotten, they lay on the floor like a pool of hope among the ruins of the clown’s life. He too had bigger dreams. And now, at long last, I see also his shoes—both pairs. The clown shoes are on the floor alongside his regular shoes; the former triumphant red, bulbous, the latter workaday, pedestrian, grey, befitting those with normal feet and average aspirations.

I put it to you that he hadn’t ever meant to deceive us about the size of his feet, but rather, he too had bought into his own mythology: a big man with big dreams, who needed large feet to get to higher places.

*Meads, Potluri: Brooklyn, NY 2007. Consensual homosexual acts done in manner at once joyous and celebratory. Can involve pointy, paper party hats.