Miming is for Lovers, part two.

Every morning was the same. Bernie would get up, get dressed, and head to work. Every morning was the same until the morning Bernie received a small white envelope in the mail. Smiley faces and small daisies were hand drawn on the light pink stationary which held a letter written by Bernie’s Mother, Sylvie. The pink letter informed him that she would be visiting for a week next month when Chanukah was scheduled to start.

8:16 am rolled around and Bernie still hadn’t left his kitchen for work. His hands were fixed to the table and he stared across the room into the eyes of his clock that resembled the head of a cat. Five minutes and thirty-nine seconds passed when the phone suddenly rang. The answering machine clicked. Hi, you’ve reached Bernie. I can’t answer the phone right now so please leave a message and have a happy day. At the end of the message, a bike horn squeaked and then came the beep.

“Bernie? Hey, this is Carl. Where are you? Are you there? Pick up. Hello? Bernie?” Carl hung up and Bernie sat at the table until the sun set. By the time nine fifteen rolled around, Bernie had fallen asleep at the table. His head rested delicately on his folded arms and a small imprint from his blazer etched itself onto his forehead. At nine thirty-one there was a knock at the door.

“Hey Bernie, are you home?” Carl said, poking the mail flap on the door open with his finger. Bernie awoke and closed his eyes, rubbing them while some of the white makeup smeared onto his fingers. He sighed and stood, walking to the front door slowly and opening it with a frown literally painted on his face.

“Hi, Carl,” Bernie said, the rasp in his voice surprising him. Carl smiled, walked to the sofa, and sat down, propping his cowboy boots on a burgundy ottoman.

“Where were you today? Snuggles swallowed his car key again and wanted to know when Shlomo was coming. Where’s Shlomo? I want to show him my trick! Yadda, yadda, yadda. I told him you were home sick with the flu and bam, the guy coughs up his keys.”

“Oh,” Bernie started and then shook his head, remembering why he had skipped out on work in the first place. “I’m in trouble, Carl and I don’t know what to do.” He sat down on his La Z Boy chair and sighed again.

“What do you mean?”

“I got this today,” Bernie said, waving the pink letter in the air. Carl reached over quickly and yanked the letter out of Bernie’s make-up tainted hand.

“It says here that your mom is coming to visit next month for Chanukah,” Carl said, his emphasis on the CH in Chanukah made Bernie smile for a minute before he remembered his mother’s letter.

“You don’t understand. My mom is coming. Here. To visit me. Me. She can’t see me like this. She can’t see my apartment like this. She can’t…” Bernie stopped himself and leaned in closer to Carl. Carl leaned in as well and awaited the bombshell that was about to be dropped. “She thinks I’m married.” Carl’s eyes grew wide and he started laughing.

“Wait a minute, wait a minute. She thinks you’re married? Why does she think you’re married? Why would you lie to your poor mother?”

“She always told me that she wanted me to marry a nice Jewish girl and have lots of little Jewish grandchildren. It’s been her dream since I was a kid. When I became a clown she told me if  I got married, she’d start saving for a trip for me so I could train at the Theatre de l’Ange Fou in London. I’ve dreamt of training their since I was a kid! Their miming technique is flawless. They move with such ease, oy vey, I want to go there so badly…” Bernie trailed off. Carl smirked.

“So what’s the big deal?”

“If she finds out I lied, she’ll take the money back.”

            “Didn’t your mother find it odd she wasn’t invited to a wedding?”

            “Last year, I went to a workshop at the American Mime Theatre in New York and told her I met someone, that it was love at first sight, that we found a rabbi in Brooklyn, and were married. I had pictures from the workshop and sent her one of me and this mime from Times Square. I don’t know what I’m going to do; I’ve been waiting for this trip since I became a clown.” Bernie looked at the ground and sighed. “My mom will be here in a month, what am I going to do?”

            “I think it’s pretty obvious what you have to do,” Carl said. Bernie nodded his head in agreement.

            “I’ll have to tell her the truth and give up my trip to London. Maybe in a few years I’ll be able to afford it myself.”

            “No,” Carl said, getting out of his chair and pacing around the room. “We have to find you a wife. You can’t give up your dream because your mom will be here for a week. One week, it’s not even that long. I mean, hell, we could get you a girl, you see your mom for a week and then that’s it. She’ll send you to London, you’ll have a great time, and then when you come back tell your mom you got a divorce. Simple as pie my friend.” Carl patted Bernie on the back softly and walked towards the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Champ. Hang in there,” and he left, closing the door behind him.