Chapter 22 #2
Andi and Elijah pick up plastic plates. Tony paces in the corner. I wish he would at least look at his phone to pretend he’s doing something.
Andi holds a cupcake out to me.
“I’m too nervous thinking about how to do this set,” I say.
“Do it in whatever way will let you eat,” Andi says.
“That’s actually good advice.”
“Actually?” Andi says.
I laugh nervously and take the cupcake.
“Are you interested in feedback?” Elijah asks.
A terrifying question.
“I guess I should be.”
He looks at Andi and then looks at me. “If I didn’t know you, I would have spent your set trying to figure out if you were awkward or gay.”
Andi laughs. “Why not both?”
Elijah laughs. “You can definitely be both.”
I take a bite of a cupcake and try my best to swallow it. “I’ve spent most of my life trying to figure out if I was awkward or gay. But I had a huge crush on Lauren. Which is hilarious since she turned out to be a lesbian.”
Andi holds up their cupcake. “That is, in fact, both awkward and gay.”
This would be an appropriate moment to tell Andi that Elijah and I are dating. Or should I have told them earlier? Or should I have kissed Elijah hello?
“Your beanie is fantastic,” Elijah says to Andi.
“Thanks. I hate it.”
Tony takes two cupcakes and walks away.
I look at Andi. “Elijah and I are dating.”
“What?!”
“Be right back.” I follow Tony out of the garage.
From behind me I hear Andi say, “He’s so bad at telling me things,” and Elijah reply, “Awkward and gay.”
Tony leans on the back of his green Jeep, finishing his first cupcake.
“What’s up?” I ask.
“Hm?”
He’s one of the worst actors I’ve ever seen.
“How are you feeling?” I ask.
“I am feeling like that was a useful rehearsal that will help you grow as an artist.”
“And?”
“And everything you want to talk about onstage is serious stuff, not funny stuff.”
He starts on his second cupcake. When he’s done, I pass him the 90 percent of mine that’s left.
“I’m proud of you,” he says. “But I’m sad for me.”
“Why?”
“You’re changing. Those jokes you don’t want to make anymore?
I like those jokes. The stuff you want to talk about instead?
It goes over my head. And if you pull off what you’re talking about pulling off, it could be cool and original, but it wouldn’t be stand-up.
And you wouldn’t be who you were before. ”
“Isn’t that just growing up, though?”
“And wouldn’t you tell me it’s okay to be sad about that?”
I tell myself not to disappear. “I would.”
“My role as your manager is diminishing, and that’s okay because your creative self is expanding. But if you go where you’re trying to go, you won’t need me.”
“I’ll always need you.”
“How often do you actually take my advice?”
“I don’t know. How would you even quantify—”
“You have never taken it. I track the data.”
“It’s still helpful to hear.”
“But it’s not fun to be the person you don’t listen to.”
I’m hot. My face is hot. “What do you want me to do?”
“I want you to do whatever you want and whatever makes you happy. What do I think will make you win this competition? Jokes. Without any unnecessary stories that those jokes make you think about.”
“That set I did at McGuinn’s the other night, though—”
Sweat drips down his forehead. “Sal told me you kept people’s attention, but the set wasn’t that funny.”
“Why do I care what Sal—”
“You don’t have to care what Sal thinks! But this is a comedy competition, and the goal is to be funny. Not smart, not thought-provoking, not political. The goal is to be funny.”
“I don’t think that’s my goal.”
“Then I don’t think you’re a stand-up comic and I don’t think you need me as your manager.”
Elijah and Andi exit the garage.
Andi holds up a peace sign. “Elijah’s gonna buzz my hair.”
“Right now?” I ask.
“I’ll finally be beautiful!” Andi shouts as they climb into their truck.
Elijah skips to his shiny white car. “You two should come!”
“My house!” Andi slams their door.
I want to follow. I want to be part of Andi and Elijah’s new club.
“Elijah and I are dating,” I say to Tony.
“Congrats,” he replies, expressionless.
Elijah turns and runs back to us. Not at all out of breath, he says to Tony, “Thank you for having me today. This garage is one of the coolest places I’ve ever been.
You’re a great friend and Sean is lucky to have you as a manager.
” He looks at me. “We still have to get to that stuff we were looking forward to.”
Does my face turn red? “We do.”
“Message me?”
“Yes.”
He grins and races away.
I turn to Tony, a huge smile on my face.
“I’m worried about you,” he says.
My smile drops. “Why?”
“The things you’re trying to process onstage don’t belong in a comedy club.”
“What are you talking about?”
“They belong in a therapist’s office.”
My face goes soft.
He holds open his hands. “I’m not saying it as a bad thing. I’ve been in therapy for years.”
“I’m opposed to the idea that certain sides of myself are only allowed in certain places. I reject it.”
“That’s fine. But it’s not the responsibility of a comedy club audience to accept you,” he says. “I’m worried you’re going to go up there and bare your soul or whatever, and everyone is going to look at you like you’re insane. They’re going to laugh at you, not with you.”
“If a stage at a comedy club can’t take me as I am, then maybe it’s not the right place for me.”
“That is exactly what I’m saying.”
“And maybe I don’t need you as my manager. And you don’t have to come to the show.”
Usually when I disassociate, it’s because I don’t want to feel a difficult emotion.
But looking at the pain on Tony’s face, I’m interested to notice that it’s his emotion I’m unable to allow myself to process.
I hurt someone I love, and I don’t want to be anywhere near the experience.
There’s probably a good realization here about how humans don’t allow ourselves to feel the pain we cause others, how this makes us all less human, but that’s a thought for another day.
For now, I’m silently screaming on my way to the car as Mrs.?Z shouts, “Pizza bagels!”