I shove open the door and march out into the hallway.
I didn抰 grow up playing sports?at least not very competitively, but this hallway is my stadium tunnel tonight. This isn抰 some big arena梚t抯 a small club, so there抯 no walk-out song to announce me aside from the roaring sound in my brain and the echos of my thoughts. Thoughts that are shaded in angry defiance: for every time someone made me feel strange, crazy, overly emotional, or too much of too many things. Even more so for all the times I was made to feel insignificant and unimportant. For anyone who ever felt they were too good for me, or better than me. For the ones who made me feel lesser than.
I抣l take this microphone and I抣l shout into it, into their fucking faces. And I抣l get them. Because they will laugh. They won抰 be able to stop themselves. Because I will shirk my pride, my self-esteem, and every ounce of self-preservation down to my marrow, and I抣l lay it all at their feet until they laugh in utter disbelief.
I don抰 want to just entertain, tonight. I want to evoke emotion. I want my jokes circulating through their thoughts, making them laugh into their coffee tomorrow.
I want to channel my inner Hazel. I want to be someone who can dance without music. Someone who can make art with my frame of understanding.
揧ou ready??Clay looks up from his phone, his eyes shifting and going wide when they meet mine.
揑抣l kick ass, Dad.?
揥hat??
I walk out onto the stage with a smile.
My set becomes a a singeing, burning thing.
It抯 not the largest club I抳e gigged at?it might even be on the smaller end of the spectrum. But people are yelping in laughter. Kara and Shauna more loudly than anyone. There are tears being wiped. Drinks being choked on. I see it when someone抯 beverage shoots out of their nose, their friends crying in agonized fits for minutes after.
Every single face in the room that I can see is losing it, and when they抮e not clutching their middles they抳e got astonished smiles tacked into the corners of their lips.
All those faces, except for one.
It started when I went off path with a lead-up story I抳e been playing with that crosses over into the PTA bit. It抯 based on another true tale which only Meyer has heard. It抯 one he begged me not to tell on stage, simply because of the punchline. But I抦 fearless tonight because I have given myself no choice otherwise, and I want their gasps and I crave the sight of them hiding their expressions in their palms, embarrassed for how hard they laugh at such an inappropriate line.
I begin by telling them that I fear becoming a parent one day, because the pressure put on parenting as a whole, nowadays, seems insurmountable. The only real goal I抎 have is to raise someone not terrible to other people. Yet, I can only imagine that this is harder than I understand, and I use this story to explain why.
I change the kids?names, but I tell everyone about a meangirl(sic) in Hazel抯 class that I had interactions with while I covered Meyer抯 volunteer hours at school (a gift for his birthday that he was more stoked for than when his show got an Emmy nod). I explain to them how this little girl pretended to be Hazel抯 friend; volunteering to help or making sure to smile and sign happily when the teacher was looking. How she抎 pretend not to see Hazel sign, or attempt to communicate with her when the teacher wasn抰. How condescending the girl was when she would interact. I watched her eye Hazel抯 artwork patronizingly, and then rearrange their art displays so that her own work was only next to her hearing friends? as if she didn抰 want to be associated with Hazel, or something. I share how Hazel would excitedly show her a beautiful drawing or a perfect spelling test score and her response was something like 揟hat抯?exciting for you,?or just 揥ow.?Never actually would tell her anything she did was good, never would pay her a true compliment, or show support. She was eight, yet knew how to be so intentional as to manipulate her words so that she was withholding.
And then, the pi鑓e de r閟istance: At recess one day, while Hazel happily jumped rope on her own, minding her own business, I heard it. I heard this little girl mimic a Deaf voice. Heard her snickering to some other little sweater-toothed, snot-licking gremlins, mocking some of the Deaf students?sounds.
Now, in stand-up, you have to be willing to offend people at times. You have to make your peace with it and draw your personal boundaries, but ultimately you will get under someone抯 skin occasionally if you抮e pushing the conversation correctly. I don抰 mess with race or say anything that will promote ableism, and I keep it light when it comes to religion. I try not to take up space where I don抰 need to.
Myself and my own lunacy, the patriarchy, and asshole kids, though? All free game.
I don抰 think this joke breaks my vow.
So, I distinctly register when this particular woman抯 expression pinches into one of disgust and loathing tonight, because it抯 also the moment that I tell everyone how I completely snapped to Meyer (in the joke, to a teacher) later and called this little girl 摋an evil little cunt creature who will grow up into some equally mean-spirited boss babe twat who produces another crotch goblin that she acts like is Jesus incarnate.?
The woman in the audience refuses to crack at any of the stuff that follows, too, and I become hung up on it. I find myself growing louder when I near her side of the stage. Looking directly at her, over and over again.
When I finish the portion of the set focused on sex stuff and the things that really blow my dress up these days, I find her again, only to see her scowl clenching harder. It drives me crazy, because all I抳e done here is joke about a mean-spirited little girl and myself. And yet, her nasty looks are all I can focus on. Her eye rolls. Every other face in here is having a beautiful night and all I see is this one.
So I decide to do something I抳e never once done in my stand-up career. I call her out.
揑 have got to tell everyone. There抯 a woman right over there who just is getting more and more visibly angry with each word that comes out of my mouth. And I have to tell you ma抋m棓 I locate her eyes. 摋the more angry you get, the funnier I find it.?I smile cruelly.
The place roars as she kicks up out of her chair and storms out.
It抯 victorious.
I might feel a twinge of guilt, later, but for now on this stage there is something violent within me, clawing through a layer with everything I say. I抦 swinging from my own wrecking ball and screaming weeeeeeeeee, practically gleeful with it.
The audience in this overheated, dingy club gives me a standing ovation when I finish, and I tear up like it抯 The Greek on a Summer night. Like it抯 a packed stadium under a sky full of stars.
And yes, it抯 not as if I don抰 easily cry as it is. But I think I抳e often felt like my success is held up by Meyer. That he somehow justifies it, I suppose. So I抦 proud that I didn抰 actually need my steady, respectable man as my foundation to feel confident or worthy, tonight.
Still, my walk to the side stage feels a little more unsteady, my legs wobbling down the stairs to go meet Kara and Shauna. I feel a bit out of control, trying to remind myself that even though that was a little outside my brand, I抳e seen and heard so much worse. It is桰抦 okay. The joke was not bad. Singling out that woman was not something I抎 ever thought of myself doing, but?it抯 not as if she was having a good time anyway?
I don抰 fully register the movement in my peripheral before hot, liquid pain cascades down the side of my face, sears against my collarbone, my hand, another splash against my shoulder on the same side.
A guttural screech wrenches its way through me before I gasp, trying to paw it it off my face.
揊arley?!?揝ecurity!?I think Kara and Shauna yell.
The seconds come into focus along with the face in front of me. The woman I dismissed, and what appears to be an empty coffee cup in her hand. Red, bloodshot eyes and a constellation of popped blood vessels on each of her cheeks. The same putrid scowl. She jabs a trembling finger at me.
揑抣l tell you one thing you have right. The idea of you ever becoming someone抯 mother is terrifying. I pray it never happens.?
A security guard smacks the cup out of her hand and a high laugh whistles out of me. Too late, I抳e been burned, I think, idly. The other guard wraps her up and hauls her out of view as Kara and Shauna swoop my way.
Did I walk down these steps ten seconds ago or ten hours ago? The moments balloon together.
揂re you okay??
揑抣l get a cool towel.?