The Artist’s Son

5 Oct

He was to sit in this clown’s outfit all afternoon.  He didn’t need to be told.  It had happened many times before. He did not like it a bit – but it could have been a lot worse.  Last week, he had to pose as hundreds of different things for that painting of Guernica.  It was a dreadful painting. And his friend, Edgar, had come over to ask him out to play.  Not only could he not go, but Edgar had told his friends how silly he looked the next day at school, and he had been teased unmercifully non-stop, from lunch until the final bell. He had almost ended his friendship with Edgar for that, but decided not to.  Friends are hard to come by anywhere, but especially if your family moves around a lot. This clown thing was definitely an improvement. He had heard that when he was still a baby, his father had dressed him up in all sorts of hideous death-masks, but luckily the triptych had fallen through. He sighed, and wished for his mother to arrive with cocoa and cream-filled cakes.

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