Meanwhile, the fact that Mom was all alone at home became more and more upsetting to my brother. He didn’t like that she was on her own in a dangerous neighborhood, especially considering she’d already been robbed—even if that robber happened to be our dad.
“Listen, I didn’t go to the military just to come home and end up going to jail,” he told my mom when we were at the house visiting. “If someone came in here and cooked and robbed you, fine. But people know you’re alone now, and what if someone walks in here and knocks you upside your head? Then we’re going to have a problem because I’m going to go find him and take care of him.”
But my mom refused to move. Eventually, my brother got fed up with her stubbornness and pulled me aside.
Kenneth: Look here, man. She’s getting old. She don’t know what’s right for her anymore. This is what we’re gonna do. We are going to go there when she’s at work, and we’re going to move all her shit to my house. I got an extra bed she can use.
Me: So let me get this straight. You’re upset that Mom got robbed while she was at work. So while she’s at work, you’re going to come in and take her stuff and put it somewhere else.
Kenneth: Yeah, exactly.
Me: So you’re gonna rob her?
Kenneth: No, man, that’s not what I’m doing at all.
Me: Then what’s the difference?
Kenneth: I’m not stealing it. I’m moving it to my house.
Me: So if I walk into someone’s house while they’re out, take their stuff, and move it to my house, it’s not stealing?
Kenneth: Never mind.
Me: Okay.
Even though I was out of the house, I was still a mama’s boy. I told her what Kenneth was up to, and she told him not to even think about it.
“What the fuck is wrong with you, man?” my brother yelled at me.
“She’s our mom. It should be her choice whether she moves or not.”
I didn’t like the idea of my mom, who was so strong and independent, becoming a guest in my brother’s place and dependent on him like that. It didn’t seem right for her. I also didn’t want to lose my childhood home and all the memories that were stuck in my head as firmly as the roaches on the duct tape by the sink.
Eventually, Kenneth moved all Mom’s shit anyway and she ended up living with him. She wasn’t too happy about it. So I consoled her the best I could: “Mom, this was all Kenneth’s idea.”
Our family had changed again. I was independent, Kenneth was the man of the house, and Mom was the kid. Growing up is a strange thing.
28
* * *
I WAS GONNA CALL THIS ONE “MY GENIUS FINALLY GETS RECOGNIZED,” BUT THE CHAPTER BEFORE LAST HAD THE WORD “GENIUS” IN IT AND THERE ARE ONLY SO MANY CHAPTERS YOU CAN NAME “GENIUS” IN A BOOK. THAT’S ONE OF THE MANY BURDENS OF BEING A GENIUS.
I eventually became so comfortable at City Sports, I started letting all the strange parts of my personality loose. You get a lot of weird parts to your personality when you spend half your adolescence in an imaginary fort in an old lady’s basement.
I’d ask my coworkers, “You want me to be a completely different character for the next two people?”
“Sure, Kev, be Urkel or something.”
“Okay, but y’all can’t laugh. You gotta let me talk the way I’m talking and go the way I’m going. Don’t even smile, cause that’s gonna make me laugh.”
I’d sell shoes as different television characters or using a silly voice. When that got too easy, I’d try selling a Timberland boot to someone looking for running shoes, or we’d have contests to see how many times we could make a customer say “What?” Even at work, it was still about being the fun guy.
One day, during the after-work rush, we were playing my favorite game: slipping in cuss words without customers noticing. Alice was working that day, and Michelle, one of the oldest employees in the store, was keeping count.
Me: You know, this is a great shoe, but I would say you need to probably go get a dick or something first.
Customer: I’m sorry, what?
Michelle (quietly, in background: One.
Me: I said this is a great shoe, because it’s got a great polyurethane fucksole. But you should try it on to make sure it farts first.
Michelle: Two, three.
I won that round with four curses to a single customer. Then we got bored and played the “What?” game.
“I really think this is a good shoe for you,” I told a businessman, then started mumbling, “And you know what, at the end of the day, you’ll probably fall or something if you don’t get ’em.”
“Excuse me? I didn’t catch that.”
I cursed under my breath, because it didn’t count if someone didn’t actually say the word “what.”
As the stream of customers thinned out and the end of the day approached, I was leaning on a countertop where we sold watches, heart-rate monitors, and other electronics, recapping the highlights of the day with Alice and Michelle. We were all laughing about it so much that Alice was wiping tears out of her eyes.
“You’re fucking hilarious. You should do stand-up comedy,” she said.
“Really?”
“You’re probably one of the funniest guys I’ve ever seen come through here, Kevin,” Michelle answered. She was even more enthusiastic. “No one’s even close. You should think about doing comedy for real as a second job.”
“Where would I even do comedy at?”
“There’s a comedy club near here. I’ve been there.”
“What do you gotta do there?”
“People get on stage and they tell jokes. It’s cool. You have to try it.”
That’s when I said the word that changed my life: “Okay.”
It was as nonchalant as every other “okay” I’d uttered. I basically shoulder-shrugged my way into comedy.
“You gonna do it for real?” Alice asked. She couldn’t believe I’d agreed so easily.
“Yeah, I’mma do it.”
“I know you’ll be good,” Michelle said confidently.
On the bus home that night, reality sank in. Who do I have to speak to so I can perform there? What if they say no? What the hell am I gonna talk about? How much time do they give me? How much does it pay? I basically became my mom.
When I told my friends about it, their reaction was the exact opposite of everyone’s at work.
“What?!” Zachary asked. “You gonna do what, man?”
“Stand-up comedy, at this place near work.”
“Why you gonna do that? I don’t know about that, man.”
Spank wasn’t any more encouraging. “Those people at work don’t know you, man. They think you’re funny because you talk too much and you get silly with it. But on stage, that’s gonna be pesty to people. They’re gonna tell you just like we do: ‘Yo, shut up, Kev!’?”
“Really?”
“I’m playing with you, man, but really, you need more confidence before you try to go up on stage.”