Prologue

There is humming. There are trees and bits of sky and birds and people cutting each other off in automobiles. And, there is humming. The trees, cars, birds, and sky pieces are seen through a small circle in front of a window pane. There is humming behind the circle, a child’s humming. And the trees, cars, birds and sky are abandoned, for the blistered hands on the steering wheel, and the corners of a painted mouth. Red lips and crimson cheeks, covered by a white rim. Then there are blue eyes. Kind blue eyes, and the car stops.

Simon opens his door to the piercing sound of a radio song on cheap gas store speakers. The bell acknowledges his presence as he opens the glass-double doors.

“Ten on number six.”

Simon hands the cashier a ten, and glances at the passenger in his car. The boy still has a rolled up piece of paper, using it like a telescope. Simon thinks of Greg and Benny, and how in the world there gonna help him through this one.

Two weeks earlier…

1: A Dream

Simon held the baby’s head in his hands. The body had already crumbled, and now the top of the head was flaking off - skull and all. And the brain was pulsating inside the cavity. The baby giggled. Simon watched the crumbling doll-like face in horror. A woman stood beside him, smiling down at her disintegrating child. Finally the entire head collapsed as Simon placed it in the mother’s hands. She held the still-alive brain and continued to smile.

“I’m so sorry,” Simon apologized, “why are you smiling? Doesn’t it hurt to lose your child?”

“Oh,” the woman exclaimed, “But I haven’t lost him.” She sets the brain on a pedestal. “See,” she says, “He’s still alive. The body is only a mask for the real part of him. I like him better this way,” she looks down on the organ admiringly, and glances up at Simon, “He has nothing more to hide.”

Simon jerks up in bed, sweat pouring down his face and chest. He breathes harshly, as though he had been holding it for hours. Greg groans in the bed beside him and opens a wary eye.

“Simon?” He questions.

Simon stays silent, panting.

“Was it the dream again?” Greg asks groggily.

“Yeah,” Simon lets out a tense breath.

Greg sighs and lies back down. “Don’t let it bother you,” he advises as he closes his eyes.

The apartment grows lighter with the morning sun, but the clouds still cover it enough to make the rooms appear blue. The floor boards creak with a tiptoe, and grime grows under the kitchen cupboards and appliances. The

living room has a blue leather couch, and a black leather chair. Three twin beds occupy the master bedroom - the only bedroom - with a desk and a dresser in between them. Simon has always been proud of their apartment. He had met Greg and Benny at a performance arts theatre for kids. The three grabbed a few shakes and sandwiches after the show, and found they were complete opposites with quite a lot in common.

The one-bedroom apartment was all they could afford - they had each been struggling trying to live on their own. Greg and Ben despised it, but Simon always enjoyed the small space and the company.

Simon steps out of the shower and dresses in his mis-matched clown suit. He leaves his wig and make-up off; it bothers him. It’s unusually quiet as he steps out of the bathroom into the living room; there’s no fighting or loud, obnoxious joking.

“Yo,” Greg yells with a gesture of his hand. He is focused on the newspaper.

“Where’s Benny?” Simon asks.

Greg stares at the paper, “Probably trying to pick up chicks with his rope routine.”

“He’s already in his costume? Man, it’s early,” Simon yawns.

“Benny’s too afraid to be seen without it, and hell, I’m scared to look at him.”

Benny swings open the front door, “What was that?” He stares at Greg accusingly.

“Well, speak of the devil,” Greg replies, keeping his eyes on the paper.

Simon walks towards the kitchen, “Don’t you have a play tonight Greg?”

Greg finally tosses the paper and looks up at his friend, “Yeah,” he pauses to think, “But I don’t have to be in ‘till two, and anyway…”

“What is it this time? A romance? A mystery? A horror? Or a bunch of boring English intellectuals chatting over tea and scones?” Benny interrupts.

Simon laughs.

“No, Benny, it’s about a mime who is rejected by an English maid over tea and scones,” Greg inquires.

“Oh, really…”

Simon smiles in his sentimental way, “Cut it out you two, it’s a comedy right?”

“Yeah, ‘A Midsummer Night’s Dream.’ Shakespeare ya know.”

“Oh yeah!” Benny exclaims, “I remember reading that in school!”

Greg looks up, gaping, “You went to school?! That’s…”

“Shut up,” Benny sighs, “I bet you play the jackass, huh?”

“No, but actually we need an underdog for the part anyway, should I suggest you?”

Benny grunts. Simon and Greg laugh as Greg picks up the paper.

“Well,” Simon starts, “I’m gonna be late.”

“What gig did you get?” Benny asks.

“Oh,” Simon hesitates, “A birthday party.”

Greg picks up the tone and looks at his friend in concern, “You know you’re the best at it. The number one pick of the bunch. You can make ‘em laugh better than anyone.”

Simon smiles, “I know.”