She fills an unused sock with baby powder and dusts her face before smearing on orange and yellow paint. The smells of talc and greasy makeup take her back to a time before sickness stalked the land, to the din of a fall carnival, to the smell of fried foods and cotton candy, to balloons squeaking as she tied them into the shapes of animals, to a small crowd of children gasping at her magic tricks and laughing.
But now the house is quiet and Ellie Mae the clown is alone.
She dusts her face again before adding the red paint, and once more when all the painting is done. The powder keeps the makeup from getting too sticky. She’s just getting made up for a selfie, but she might as well go all out. She covers her real hair and fits a yellow wig to her head.
Earlier, she rummaged through a rainbow room of colors and shapes — boxes of pink, blue and green that she organized in her closet after the pandemic hit — to find the perfect attire: the right wig, the proper makeup and a dress decorated with little balloon animals.
In full regalia, she poses on the couch for the photograph. Still, she’s not ready to change.
She keeps the makeup on through a Zoom meeting for her day job, as if that were normal. She doesn’t depend on clowning for food. It’s a side gig. She does it for the joy.
Today is her friend’s birthday, and he’s celebrating — at safe distances — in a Walmart parking lot. “He counts down for it. For six months,” she says. “Having Down syndrome, that’s a tough hit to not get to have your birthday party.”
She decides to head out into the world.
Driving in costume used to be normal. To Easter egg hunts, like the one she was supposed to work for her church this year. To barbecues on the Fourth of July. She worries about all those kids missing out on fun, any kind of fun. Missing out on childhood. “That,” she says, “is probably the hardest thing to see.”
Outside the Walmart, she joins a parade of cars rolling slowly past her friend. When she’s up, she waves. She smiles. A drive-by celebration is still some kind of party, at least.
Back in her bathroom, Ellie Mae wipes the makeup off her face, careful to scrub away every trace of red, white and orange. Her rainbow closet has gone dark with the sky. She’s Elinor Blankenship again.
Elinor folds her animal-balloon dress and puts away her wig until who knows when.