Chapter 8
I think about the note on the drive home as Tony debates with himself whether the humans on the Pokémon planet are refugees or colonists. I must have read the note wrong, though, because it’s not me but Elijah who seems like his own kind of person.
When I get home I stay in my car and open it again.
I didn’t read it incorrectly; those are the words Elijah wrote.
I don’t think he was trying to make fun of me.
Maybe I duped him. I tricked him into seeing me kindly.
I fold the paper and put it in my back pocket.
Inside, I make myself a peanut butter sandwich.
He’s wrong, I want to tell him. Or he’s right, I am my own kind of person: I’m a fool.
But even as I have these negative thoughts, the good feeling stays.
A positive feeling that’s stronger than my negative thoughts?
I close my eyes in the kitchen with the sandwich in my hand. I feel a fondness toward Elijah that I don’t know how to name. An appreciation. I want to get to know him better.
An even more curious feeling rises up as I consider the possibility that not only might he have meant what he wrote, but that he might be right.
I take out my phone, do a quick search, and press to call the number for Captain’s Comedy Club.
After a beep, a very Long Island voice says, “Thank you for calling Captain’s. Our box office is closed but you may leave a message by pressing zero now.”
I press zero.
“Hello. My name is Sean and I’m a comic.
Maybe this is absurd, but I was wondering if there are any slots left in the Joe Johnson competition.
I’ve loved Joe ever since he said boys don’t cry but they do squeeze their faces and angrily shout, ‘I wish I could cry!’ Although for me it’s less of an angry shout and more of a quiet mumble.
So if you’d like a sad guy who’s so good at pretending he’s funny that some people think he’s funny, please let me know. ”
I end the call with my number and put my phone on the kitchen counter, blinking, bewildered by my own bravery. I still have the sandwich in my hand.
The phone rings with a number I don’t recognize.
“Hello?”
A gruff voice says, “This is Sal.”
I hesitate. “Hi.”
“From Captain’s.”
“Oh.”
“I screen the calls. Listen, email me a video of one of your sets. Don’t make it more than five minutes because I’m only gonna watch thirty seconds.”
I try to figure out how to reply to this, and I come up with, “Okay.”
“The email is my name, Sal, at the website. Send something tomorrow and I’ll take a look. I don’t have time today and if you send it today I’ll forget about it.”
“Yes.” I try to add something else, and again I come up with, “Okay.”
He lets out a rough sigh. “Thank you, eh, Sean. Goodbye.”
“Good night! I mean—”
He hangs up.
I can feel the planet shift under my feet. A small shift, but enough to put me in a different place, in a different life.