The Wangs vs. the World(89)
People were laughing, but he felt the false note in his voice and tried to center it, to take away the performance aspect of it.
“But you know what I think? You know what I really think? Alright, join hands everybody, join hands, this is a real kumbaya moment. Guess what? We all all look alike. Every single one of us.”
It was still there, a hamminess that had come out of nowhere. Here he was, swaying theatrically, kumbayaing all over the place. Maybe it was because he hadn’t really eaten anything besides donuts before drinking those whiskey and Cokes, and these lights were bringing out his claustrophobia. Flashing forward to the rest of his act, Andrew felt a sudden emptiness. It wasn’t that different from what he’d said already. It was all Asian shit, and it wasn’t even his best stuff. What was he doing here anyway?
He looked out at the crowd, their faces turned towards him, waiting, and said, without thinking, “Hey. Have you guys ever had everything in your life change? Like, just everything? Maybe? Anybody?” He waited, hoping that someone would respond. What the hell was he going to say?
Just say everything.
Everything?
Sure. Why not? He’d never see these people again. Everything.
“Like, whatever you think you are just flips the script and you’re left reaching around like an idiot, trying to grab at something familiar, because all you want is some . . . I don’t know . . . some certainty?” A couple of guys in the front row were nodding. Heartened, he went on.
“You know, you’re like, ‘Oh, my father’s not the man I thought he was, but . . . at least I still love Cool Ranch Doritos!’ Or ‘My girlfriend just dumped me because I didn’t want to give it up to her, but, hey, I still drive a sick car!’ Or ‘Oh shit, my sick car just got repossessed but at least I’ve still got all my college buds.’ Or, you know, ‘Oh hey, I’ve been yanked out of college and my family’s bankrupt and I’m in the middle of a crazy cross-country road trip in my dead mom’s car because my dad might be delusional and my sister might be a whore and who the f*ck knows about my crazy little stepmother and believe it or not I was a virgin up until two days ago and I just lost it to, like, a thirty-five-year-old who I told myself I was in love with but that’s over and I’m stranded in the weird-ass city and how the f*ck is this my life now but, oh yeah, I can still, like, recite the Gettysburg Address so I guess I’m still me, right?’
“Yeah, here’s how the Gettysburg Address goes: Four score and seven years ago our forefathers said good f*cking luck.”
Andrew breathed. Oh shit. This was why people loved being onstage. It wasn’t the applause; it was the honesty. He’d always thought of himself as an honest person, but he saw now that he wasn’t, entirely.
A girl in the audience dressed in a horrible purple pantsuit whooped—she whooped for him!—and he thought of the woman in the donut shop, of her nails and her donut icing and of their connection. It was almost easier to open up to people he’d never see again. He plunged ahead.
“But here’s the thing. Here’s the shit of it. Here’s the bottom-down deep truth of it. I think maybe none of that matters. Like, not the Cool Ranch Doritos part, and not the losing my car part, and not even the losing my virginity part.” Even as he said it, he knew that wasn’t quite true.
“Well, shit. Okay. The virginity part matters. As much I tried to front like it was cool and I didn’t care because it wasn’t like no one wanted to sleep with me, I really do feel kind of relieved now. Even though it didn’t happen the way I thought it would—and really, what does in life?—at least it happened and I can move on and stop being so self-conscious about it all.” An absurd thought struck him. “Yo, I can start flying Virgin again! I’ve been avoiding them for years, even though they’re clearly the best airline, because I just couldn’t face the thought of anyone seeing me standing under that Virgin sign.” That actually was true. “And drinking virgin daiquiris. I weep when I think of all the frosty blended drinks I’ve denied myself.” And so was that. Andrew almost couldn’t believe these things were actually making people laugh. “Oh man, you know what? I can finally watch The Virgin Suicides! That matters, right? Right? I didn’t even want to read the book!” A table of awkwardly matched friends just offstage all laughed uproariously at that, and Andrew felt a surge of love for them, and then for everyone in the bar, and then outward until he wanted to wrap his arms around the entire city of New Orleans. “Okay, seriously though, losing my virginity matters to me, but I think maybe the only thing that really matters, like in a ‘the universe and everything in it’ kind of way, is the connection you make with another person, whatever your relationship is with them.
“So, me and you here. You know, me up here and all hundred of you down there. Alright, eighty. Seventy-five. Whatever. Yeah, all forty of you, I see you. I SEE YOU. I. Fucking. See. You. Do you see me? Because I see every single one of you even if you’re hiding behind the lardass in front of you. And that’s all we want, right? Just that? I SEE you. I feel you. I know you. And now that I’m done with being a virgin I’d f*ck every single one of you if I could and it would be tender and it would be beautiful. Yeah. That’s right. I’m not ashamed. That’s what I said. I would f*ck you with my heart, and it would be tender, and it would be beautiful.”