Her parents, teachers, and eventually her therapist repeatedly tried to convince her that clowns should be funny. Clowns should bring happiness. But for Sandy coulrophobia seemed more like a fear of her own joy. She couldn’t remember the specific encounter that ignited the fuse that would continually burn her growing up in south Brooklyn. She only knew that every weekend when the other children and even her own siblings would venture out to Coney Island, she was nowhere to be found. Her therapist told her that when individuals feel safe in a predetermined process, they might be more willing to address the issues with exceptional bravery and profound courage. Sandy had no idea what the response would be when confronted head on in the most “unsafe” manner.
In a desperate final attempt to cure her irrational occupation with the white-faced actors, her beau of six tumultuous years plans the perfect date. For days prior to the evening, Larry intimated of a fantastic night of romance, fantasy, elegance and most serendipitously, surprise. Though he should have learnt by experience, Larry threw caution to the wind, ignoring the fact that “surprise” was Sandy’s mortal enemy.
Sandy’s coulrophobia was about to clash with angrophobia – specifically her own. For in her 52 years on this planet, struggling with her fear of clowns had built up a personal rage she was terrified to release… again. Not after the Huntington Beach incident of 1968. Momentarily struck at the front door, an eerie uncharacteristic chuckle rose from deep within. Sandy understood that tonight, she would be rid of more than her fears.
“Surprise!” exclaimed Larry. HA… Ha… ha.
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