“Ready?” Mark, my cameraman, whispers from behind his camera and I nod. He starts a countdown with his fingers and throws me a thumbs up signifying that he is rolling and we are live.
“Good day world,” I speak into the mic in my hand, staring dead into Mark's camera. “Welcome to today's episode of happy people, happy places, the show that brings to you the lifestyle of unique people around us. I'm your favourite host Sasha Dawns and today I bring you the story of Clarence, a twenty-one year old with autism spectrum disorder who still enjoys the beauty of life right here in Bayport, Minnesota.”
“Hey Clarence's mum,” I call to the woman in a black gown that hugs her in the right places, standing tall in front of an ajar door and smiling like a Victorian Secret model as I mount the stairs to her. We earlier talked after her invite to have me and that makes identification easier.
“Say hi to the world Clarence mum,” I say to her and grin so wide my cheeks begin to hurt.
“Hey world, I'm Augusta, Clarence's mum,” she responds in her smooth-as-milk voice, sparing us a smile. “Come on in,” she waves us in and we follow her lead.
Her sitting room is full of knit, stuffed animals and ceramic objects in odd forms.
“Clarence made all those.” She probably has seen me staring intently at them. “Every once in a while,” she continues, “he comes up with a concept, I don't know where his motivation comes from, and either makes it into stuffed animals or cups,” she ends with a chuckle.
“Can we get a closer shot at them?” I ask and she nods in turn.
Smiling in appreciation, I move to the shelf on the wall and examine the miniature figures one after the other.
They're unique in an out-of-this-world way. They look like something aliens will fancy with the armless human figures and appendages at odd angles and position— some decapitated and having incomplete body parts, ceramic mugs in the shape of disfigured animals that have their abdomen split open with guts spilling out.
“Clarence has a very…” I search for the right word, “peculiar,” it hits me and I say it at once wishing Augusta does not notice my pause.
“Clarence has a very peculiar sense of art. Peculiar and really imaginative. I bet some of our viewers would be dying to lay their fingers on them,” I say because the atmosphere feels suffocating with tension. Maybe it's all me but I think Augusta is also under a whole lot of tension as she lets out a deep exhale and starts laughing. Her laughter is contagious, getting me laughing and Mark stifling his.
“Where is the artist, Augusta? Can we see him?” I ask when the laughter dies down.
Her eyes dart around as she shakily picks her nail cuticles after which she lets her head fall in a bow.
I look around because the tension is back and if there's anything I hate more than doing a terrible job it's being tense at work.
“Where’s your husband? She peers up with a smile, a wide smile, as I ask.
“Tony is in the garage. We could go get him up here if that won't be a—”
The dull bang accompanying the squeak of a door interrupts Augusta’s lively chatter; so do the thuds of boots on the wooden floorboards.
“Speak of the devil.” A man walks towards Augusta, shares a couch with her and kisses the side of her head. “Tony meet Sasha from that show I told you about. They are here for Clarence,” Augusta says and they both share a lingering look before Tony makes his way to me.
“Welcome Sasha. I've heard all you do and I just want to thank you for coming over.” Tony, a bulk of a man— tall and muscular— tanned enough to show how much outside work he does, walks to me with a hand that demands a shake.
I stand. Taking his hand in mine, I shake. “It’s the least I could do for Clarence,” I say and smile.
“So where is Clarence?” I throw the question out to nobody in particular and their smiles melt into grimaces. That's not alright and I'm starting to get nervous at their reactions whenever I bring Clarence into the picture.
“I’ll go get him,” Tony says after a moment of unsettling silence and stands to walk away. In his tracks, he pauses, “Why don't you get them something to cool off with while I go bring him,” Tony tells Augusta before thudding away.
“Just a minute,” Augusta says with a smile that wavers at the sides of her lips before she too slips away.
Mark looks at me and I signal him to cut his videoing. The silence is not comforting just as Clarence's art which I cannot help but stare at.
“Do you feel weird about this, Mark?” I ask with eyes still fixed on the shelves full of art.
“I can't say Sasha. Everything seems too sensitive when it has to do with Clarence. But maybe they've just got the jitters,” Mark responds.
I sigh. I don't know what else to do asides that. This is my job. Clarence is my responsibility. There's nothing else I can do or think of doing right now but sigh at how awkward things are.
Footsteps come from the direction Augusta disappeared through and when I look over, she is walking barefoot towards us. Her hands wrap around the edges of a tray that has a ceramic ensemble and a load of cookies in it.
“Tea and cookies anyone?” She lets the tray down on the centre table and takes her sit.
“Thanks. This is so lovely.” I inhale. “And they smell so good. You make so good use of your hands. You and Clarence both,” I say.
When Mark's camera faces away from me, I ask in a whisper if he is recording and he nods. Thankfully I don't get to teach him his job. That's such a relief.
We munch away and, oh gosh! The treats taste even better than they smell. In the middle of a light conversation with Augusta about Clarence's birth, Tony appears in the doorway that leads up a flight of stairs.
He looks at me then at Augusta. They share a nod and he walks to sit with her.
“So,” I say, unsure whether to ask what is on my mind. I exhale a breath, “Do we get to see—”
I don't get to finish as the sound of shuffling feet make me whisk around to the doorway Tony had just come out of.
Half of a face that is mostly obscured by overgrown hair peeks out from behind the wall of the doorway and an eye fixes at me, sending chills and goosebumps all over me.
Hey Loves, if you got here— Thank you! This isn't the end though. There are more to come, in parts, just as time goes on so don't forget to tighten your reading belts and sit in wait. Until then, stay scared!
